'Have you ever used a pistol?'Continued -> Page 1 - http://www.timesonline.co.uk/article/0,,2089-2252723_1,00.html
CHRISTINA LAMB, ZUMBELAY, AFGHANISTAN
ST war reporter cornered with paras in fierce Taliban ambush
“HAVE you ever used a pistol?” yelled Sergeant-Major Mick Bolton amid the Kalashnikov fire and bursts from a machinegun as we ran across a baked-mud field and dived for cover. “If it comes down to it, everyone’s going to have to fight.”
Round after round fizzed past our ears, sending up clouds of dust. My heart was thudding crazily against my flak jacket, my breath coming in short, rasping pants.
The whoosh of a rocket-propelled grenade (RPG) close enough to lift the hairs on the back of my neck was followed by an orange blaze of flame as it landed nearby.
I hurled myself into an irrigation ditch and crouched amid the tall reeds, the soil just above me flying up as bullets landed all around. Then firing started coming from behind too. The Taliban had us from three sides.
It was late last Tuesday afternoon. Justin Sutcliffe, the photographer, and I were with the elite of the British Army, 48 men from C company of the
3rd Battalion of the Parachute Regiment — with an attachment of airborne troops from the Royal Irish Rangers — facing a bunch of Afghans in rubber sandals.
We could not see them, but we knew they were less than 100 yards away.
The silver-haired sergeant-major had kept us amused for days with his wisecracks, behind which was a touching concern for his soldiers and adoration for the girlfriend he was due to marry in November, whose photo he had shown me.
Now this veteran of two tours in Iraq and six in Northern Ireland was telling us we were the closest he had ever come to being “rolled up”.
“If we get overrun I’ll save the last bullet for myself,” said Private Kyle Deerans, a handsome South African of 23. With his black floppy hair, I was sure had broken a string of hearts.
In horror, it dawned on me what had been wrong about Zumbelay, the village we had just visited on a hearts and minds mission with soft hats and offers of development projects. I should have noticed there were no children around.
There was no more time to think about that as a mortar landed nearby. “Get out of the ditch!” screamed someone.
I wanted to stay in hiding. “No, no, it’s not safe,” said Lee, a military policeman attached to the unit, tugging me away.
I clawed my way up the slippery bank, oblivious to the thorns ripping my hands. I felt terrifyingly exposed as I climbed over the mound and rolled down the other side.
“Keep down! Keep down!” came another shout. As I flattened myself, a mortar landed just where I had been crouching.
For the next two hours we were trapped under such relentless fire that we thought we would be killed. The ambush of our lightly armed patrol not only was unexpected but also brought into question the entire strategy being pursued by the British in Helmand, the huge province they have taken on.
The paras had been in lively mood earlier that day when we left Camp Price, the British base at Gereshk, a sprawling town of walled compounds, two bridges and a bazaar.
C company is a close-knit group and the trip was the furthest east they had ventured since arriving in Gereshk two months ago.
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OH!! LOL.... ->Originally posted by tankee1981:ST refers to The Sunday Times, a British newspaper here, not Straits Times.