canal. All of this is happening under the cover of darkness, and the young Jocks rely heavily on the basic low-level soldiering skills, which cover movement at night. With technology ever moving forward, it is sometimes easy to forget the basics. My team and I are on foot and carrying four extremely heavy casualties. Davey relays via a runner, confirming that the landing site is secure. My extraction group is ready, and we prepare to move.
The evacuation must be measured at all times with clear command and control. My role ends only when our casualties are airborne; until that time, I must keep a grip on the situation. Hearing the sound of the Chinook in the distance, my mind is buzzing with questions as I mentally check that I have covered everything. Which way is it going to land? Are we at the right end of the football pitch? Are my casualties stable enough? Who am I going to hand over to? My list is endless, and no one can answer the questions. My heart races again, and my palms are still sweaty.
The Chinook comes in low and fast, touching down amidst a huge cloud of debris. On the ground, the cool night air on my face is quickly warmed by the downdraught of the powerful double engines to the rear of the aircraft.
A small green light in the back allows me to identify the loadmaster, and also gives me a path to follow with my casualties. I give the handover notes to whoever is available, and then count off all of my team before giving a thumbs up to the door gunner. It was painless and went perfectly, just as we like it.
As the Chinook takes off, my team take cover. The downdraught almost blows me over. Good positioning, Taylor, I think to myself, replaying the landing in my head.
We double back to the safety of the PB. All command elements gather in the ops room for hasty orders. No surprise to find out that B Company and its support are staying in Nad-e Ali for the foreseeable future. The unstable tactical situation here has become a major cause for concern; with so few boots on the ground, we will struggle to provide total security. I expect more soldiers will be inbound, bringing with them supplies and equipment. All we can do as a company minus is kill as many Taliban as we can in an attempt to cripple the enemy’s grip on the area. Isolated and very much alone, this could turn into a sizeable undertaking for the troops around me. As medics, we will of course support them as best we can.
Maj. Clark is concerned about Tony’s condition, and Lt Col Nazim, the Afghan commander, is worried about his men. I reassure them both that I didn’t envisage any major problems; however, any number of complications could occur. The balance of survivability is definitely in our favour; all we can do is wait for news from Camp Bastion. Another long day culminating in a casualty evacuation (casevac) has left every man exhausted.
Scanning our medical room and thinking about the questions that I often have that are never answered, I notice the silent, wide-eyed, panic-stricken faces. I am probably wearing the same expression myself. How were people reacting to combat stress and fatigue? In just forty-eight hours, so much already happened. The base was unsafe, and the blokes had yet to patrol out of it. I realise then that these men will come to rely heavily on me and my team; all of us in B Company know our roles tonight.
I need a decent night’s sleep, but not before cleaning up the mess left behind by our injured. One thing is for sure: we haven’t seen the last of spilt blood. Creatures of habit, we always square away our medical room, preparing to receive again at any time. Sorting through used bandages, my attention is diverted to something else, I overhear a conversation between the boss and the kandak commander. It seems like a heated argument, as both of them speak in slightly raised voices.
As I listen, I learn that the direct hit from the RPG has come from inside the base. An Afghan soldier fired low from the roof.
The evacuation must be measured at all times with clear command and control. My role ends only when our casualties are airborne; until that time, I must keep a grip on the situation. Hearing the sound of the Chinook in the distance, my mind is buzzing with questions as I mentally check that I have covered everything. Which way is it going to land? Are we at the right end of the football pitch? Are my casualties stable enough? Who am I going to hand over to? My list is endless, and no one can answer the questions. My heart races again, and my palms are still sweaty.
The Chinook comes in low and fast, touching down amidst a huge cloud of debris. On the ground, the cool night air on my face is quickly warmed by the downdraught of the powerful double engines to the rear of the aircraft.
A small green light in the back allows me to identify the loadmaster, and also gives me a path to follow with my casualties. I give the handover notes to whoever is available, and then count off all of my team before giving a thumbs up to the door gunner. It was painless and went perfectly, just as we like it.
As the Chinook takes off, my team take cover. The downdraught almost blows me over. Good positioning, Taylor, I think to myself, replaying the landing in my head.
We double back to the safety of the PB. All command elements gather in the ops room for hasty orders. No surprise to find out that B Company and its support are staying in Nad-e Ali for the foreseeable future. The unstable tactical situation here has become a major cause for concern; with so few boots on the ground, we will struggle to provide total security. I expect more soldiers will be inbound, bringing with them supplies and equipment. All we can do as a company minus is kill as many Taliban as we can in an attempt to cripple the enemy’s grip on the area. Isolated and very much alone, this could turn into a sizeable undertaking for the troops around me. As medics, we will of course support them as best we can.
Maj. Clark is concerned about Tony’s condition, and Lt Col Nazim, the Afghan commander, is worried about his men. I reassure them both that I didn’t envisage any major problems; however, any number of complications could occur. The balance of survivability is definitely in our favour; all we can do is wait for news from Camp Bastion. Another long day culminating in a casualty evacuation (casevac) has left every man exhausted.
Scanning our medical room and thinking about the questions that I often have that are never answered, I notice the silent, wide-eyed, panic-stricken faces. I am probably wearing the same expression myself. How were people reacting to combat stress and fatigue? In just forty-eight hours, so much already happened. The base was unsafe, and the blokes had yet to patrol out of it. I realise then that these men will come to rely heavily on me and my team; all of us in B Company know our roles tonight.
I need a decent night’s sleep, but not before cleaning up the mess left behind by our injured. One thing is for sure: we haven’t seen the last of spilt blood. Creatures of habit, we always square away our medical room, preparing to receive again at any time. Sorting through used bandages, my attention is diverted to something else, I overhear a conversation between the boss and the kandak commander. It seems like a heated argument, as both of them speak in slightly raised voices.
As I listen, I learn that the direct hit from the RPG has come from inside the base. An Afghan soldier fired low from the roof.
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