Nad-e Ali blog 6: Ready for anything
Within moments of episode 5 going up on the blog-site, 3 Para sustained a number of casualties, or "KIAs" as they are called in military-speak. A rather bland term for the human tragedies they contain.
Outside the Battlegroup HQ entrance is a small memorial stone. A brass plaque carries the names of those killed in Nad-e Ali (North). Pretty much timed to coincide with the repatriation flight from Camp Bastion to Brize Norton, the Battlegroup HQ paraded for a vigil in front of the memorial. A photograph of our colleague rested against the cross - fashioned ingeniously out of shell-casings. The portraits have a strong similarity: the same combat uniform; same shirt sleeves-rolled; the same folded, muscular arms; the same maroon Para beret; the same confident, proud smile. Uniformity outwardly. But not inwardly. One, a senior sergeant-major, was due to return to Britain days after his death for the birth of his first child. A December newspaper article about another is on our notice board. He had received a personal letter at Xmas from Sir Alex Ferguson wishing him well and asking him to take care. He was so delighted.
The vigil is short and sombre. The padre reads a prayer, the Chief of Staff a tribute. Other colleagues say fine words. The firing of an artillery round rattles the makeshift windows. A minute of silence. The officers salute. The rest stand at attention. The quiet is rare. Only occasional bird song interrupts it. A second artillery round breaks it. And we move on.
For a few minutes the HQ is unusually subdued as people head back to their jobs. But the tempo of operations rises quickly and morale with it. There is a determination to get the job done. The Paras have a regimental motto, "utrinque paratus" - Ready for Anything. Another day in Nad-e Ali.
Normally Helmand is the centre of the world's dust production. But add some rain and the local industry is transformed into Somme-like mud. I spent several hours on Saturday at one of the northerly Check Points. It rained endlessly and the whole area became a sea of glutinous mud. The ceilings of the mud-built compounds started to collapse. Lakes of evil-looking, mud-brown water grew. We were all soaked. And cold. Helicopter flights were delayed. I'm not sure I have ever been so glad to hear the pounding of a Chinook's rotors when it finally arrived. Running across the Helicopter Landing Site I had a moment's anxiety that one of my boots would get sucked off by the mud. But happily I made it. Mud half way up to my knees.
Life eh? What would Alex Ferguson make of all this?
If you read the last episode you would have seen that a mate of mine has taken on the task of proof-reading the blogs before they are posted, having scoffed at an earlier grammatical typo (one of many, she adds). Well, guess what! Congratulations to a non-British reader who rightly commented that Mark Twain did not know a thing or “too" but knew a thing or “two”. Hehehehe. Of course my editor said she was delighted that the deliberate error had been spotted and she was glad that at least one other person was reading my blog (one more than she’d anticipated, I reckon). Good recovery. Don't hesitate to let me know if you spot any mistakes in this episode. I'll be sure to pass them on..... ;-)