Arriving In Afghanistan.

At the time of posting, it is 3 years to the day since I deployed on Op. Herrick 11.

But “A” Company's arrival in Afghanistan didn't go exactly how I thought it would.

I didn't really know what to expect, but sitting in an RAF base for 12 hours while half of the Company went ahead wasn't really the start to the tour I had imagined.

We arrived at South Cerney Air base in the early morning gloom on the 7th of October, 2009.

Before moving on to Brize Norton, where the flights "in country" leave from, units are processed and deposit their baggage there. Upon arriving we were told of the delay.

While it was a anticlimax, I hadn't slept for a while and the delay meant I could call my family again and get my head down.

South Cerney is probably the worst camp I've ever been on and I'm glad we didn't spent any longer there than we had to. We were taken to Brize Norton via coach with only our hand luggage in tow.

You might think that a strange term for me to use, but ’Brize is a strange mix of what you might expect from a “military airport" and a civilian one. It even has an overpriced cafe and shop.

Yet it has this not too subtle Military thread running though it, as you might imagine.

We were delayed another couple of hours before being called forward to pass through security.

Yes, security. Metal detectors, x ray machine- the lot.

Brize has that “small airport" feel, where you pass through the gate directly onto the Tarmac towards your aircraft. Through the windows, we could see a long row of the Tristar planes like the one we would soon board. The nerves had settled, to be replaced with that desire just to get the hell underway.

Finally we were called forward. We filed out on to the Tarmac towards the plane, up the steps and on board. At last, we were underway.

An RAF Tristar

The Tristar itself was another mix of the military and the civilian. It was clearly a military aircraft, stripped back and utilitarian.

But things like the in flight meals; exactly the same as a commercial flight but instead of everything saying “BA” it read RAF. They were even served to us by stewards and stewardesses dressed in those all in one flight suits. Logical but bizarre.

7 hours later during the dead of the Afghan night, we arrived at Kandahar Air Field or KAF.

During the decent, the plane is totally blacked out. Something you don't do on a commercial flight is don your helmet and body armour. There was a risk of the plane being shot down, however small.

But mainly it was in case the aircraft came under fire while it was taxiing or while we disembarked.

The risk was due to indirect fire from rockets or mortars. Both routinely plagued KAF.

The descent lasted forever. And it was unnerving to say the least. Literally in the dark as to what might happen to us.

Yet we landed safely and exited the plane without incident.

It was warm, even late into the night and the air was charged with dust-something I would become very familiar with over the next 5 months. Lit by giant floodlights, we boarded two ageing coaches and were taken to be processed.

Our journey wasn't over yet. We still had another flight ahead of us to reach Camp Bastion over the provincial border.

Our RSOI accomodation.

After a couple of hours of arrival protocol we boarded a C-130 Hercules and finally landed in Helmand province.

It had taken 2 flights, 19 hours and a whole load of coaches to reach our destination. By the time we reached our accommodation, it was the early hours.

We were greeted with somber news as we collected our kit. On the firing ranges just outside the wire, a soldier from 3 Rifles was killed and two wounded in an IED strike. We were shocked. Bastion is meant to be almost untouchable.

The “Camp” is a fortress. Made up of giant HESCO building blocks and ISO containers, with a perimeter of over 40 miles, punctuated with guard towers.

The next morning we awoke to our first real taste of being in Afghan. The heat, the dust and the sound of helicopters coming and going- this was it.

We now started RSOI-Reception, Staging, Onward Movement and Integration.

The length of the course depended on your trade and as Infanteers we would do the longest, most in depth one. We would spend around a week in Bastion before moving on to our FOB in Sangin.

Over the week we practised all the skills we had learnt during PDT in the UK.

Practicing compound clearance ops.

The key difference was applying them to them to ground and practising them in conditions we could expect when we moved forward.

 We zeroed our weapons on the ranges, searched for dummy IEDs in the Afghan soil, mounted miniature patrols, practised a FOB defence and had a lot of PowerPoint presentations.

I can't stress the importance of that week. Above all it gave us the confidence we needed in our skills.

One of things I enjoyed about Bastion was interacting with soldiers from other counties. Like the Americans, Dutch and Estonians, swapping war stories and kit.

We even ventured twice into “Camp Leatherneck”, the U.S side of Bastion.

Once to visit the PX, kind of like a NAAFI, which was a far cry from what we had on our side- you name it and you could buy it in there. In the middle of the desert.

The second time was to try the American cookhouse. Just as you'd imagine, it was big and garish and everything was super sized. 

U.S soldiers zeroing their weapons.

One of  our lads asked “How many choices are we allowed?”

The man behind the counter looked perplexed and replied; 

“As many as you want”.

Over all it was a pretty relaxed time. We had long days but were left alone once they finished.

There was plenty of contact back home via the Internet or phone and coffee shops and even a Pizza Hut for when we had downtime.

But this was not how our war was destined to be fought.

As they days passed we moved close to going out side the wire for real. To FOB Inkerman on the edge of the green zone, bereft of creature comforts and fighting  almost day in and day out.

Our time in bastion drew to a close. Obviously I was nervous and so were the lads, but we felt something different, too.

 We were on the verge of doing something we had trained so long for. here we were, ready to do our jobs for real-ready to fight.

Myself outside the entrance to 'Leatherneck.

The meaning of that fight was different for every man. While for me it was a fight against terrorism, keeping the UK safe. The Afghan and Iraq veterans among us knew the real reason we would fight and so would I, soon enough.

 When the day came to leave, each platoon would move forward to FOB Inkerman separately, in its own aircraft.

My platoon (“2”) stood waiting, weighed down with kit on the edge of the helicopter port at around 1pm.

There were Chinooks, Apaches, Blackhawks and Lynx's all  landing and taking off in front of us.

Directed towards a waiting Chinook, with it's twin rotors turning, we walked through the down-wash from the rotors, the heat from the engines and up the ramp.

The landing zone at Inkerman was outside of the base, unsecured and therefore classified as “Red”.

I was one of the last on-board. Which meant I would be one of the first off.