Apache

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^{The Apache AH Mk1 en route to Afghanistan.}

^{Camp Bastion in the early days. It was a military camp like none of us had ever seen: two square kilometres of khaki tents, mess halls and vehicle parks in the middle of absolutely nowhere. Surrounding the camps was one of the most inhospitable landscapes in Afghanistan.}

^{Rockets being fired from the Apache’s four CRV7 rocket pods on the weapons pylons, hung from the wings of the aircraft. A maximum of seventy-six rockets can be loaded into four pods.}

^{Lance Corporal Si Hambly loading Hellfire missiles on to the Westland Apache AH Mk 1. The Semi-Active Laser Hellfire air-to-ground missile is the Apache’s main anti-tank weapon, designed to kill fast-moving armour and adapted to take out thick-walled buildings. Up to sixteen missiles can be carried on board the aircraft, mounted on to four rails beneath the wings. Able to defeat all known armour, the 20-lb high explosive warhead packs a 5 million-lb-per-square-inch punch on impact and is laser guided from the cockpit for pinpoint accuracy.}

^{The 30-mm M230 cannon fires ten High Explosive Dual Purpose rounds a second to an accuracy of within three metres. Their armour-piercing tips make light work of Armoured Personnel Carriers, vehicles and buildings. The magazine packs up to 1,160 of them, fired in bursts of 10, 20, 50, 100 – or all of them.}

^{There are two types of rockets: the Flechette, an anti-personnel/vehicle weapon, containing 80 5-inch-long Tungsten darts; and the HEISAP for buildings, vehicles or ships.}

^{Despite the vast extent of checks, double-checks and repairs, things can still go wrong – as this Rolls Royce Apache engine with a hydraulic leak shows. Requiring eighteen four-ton trucks for parts and ammunition, seven articulated lorries, five fuel tankers, three forklift trucks, two motorcycles, five technician vans, one eight-ton engineers’ lorry and one fire engine, an Apache is hugely labour intensive at the best of times. But Afghanistan is the harshest place on earth for these machines, and every hour in the air necessitates thirty-two man hours of maintenance on the ground.}

^{At the most easterly point of Camp Bastion is the flight line, with two north-south runways. Running alongside the edge of the runways are three hangars: one for aircraft; one used as a workshop; and one for personnel. This is where any personal possessions carried by pilots must be deposited before climbing on board the aircraft. Currency, wedding rings and family photos are left behind, preventing the enemy from obtaining any personal effects with which to break service personnel during interrogation.}

^{Billy (in the rear cockpit – the pilot’s seat) and me (in the front cockpit – the gunner’s seat) awaiting final checks before takeoff. As long as the Apache is on the ground, the Arming and Loading Point Commander, Corporal Si Hambly (in front of me) is in control of the aircraft. With an intercom plugged into the cockpit, Si Hambly is able to communicate with us while simultaneously supervising a team of eight, whose singular job is to get the Apache fully loaded and airborne.}

^{Equipped with mighty 2,240 shaft horse power Rolls Royce engines, the Apache is twenty-two times more powerful than a Porsche 911. In spite of the aircraft’s behemoth size and massive combat weight, these engines make the aircraft as agile and as easy to manoeuvre as any helicopter the army has ever had. The high-power engines also allow the Apache to climb in excess of 5,000 feet a minute, as well as to perform a 360-degree loop, barrel roll or wing over nose dive. The photo above is a mirror image of an Apache performing a manoeuvre.}

^{Following an anticlockwise circuit of the four northern platoon houses where we’d spent most of our first tour, our last stop was Gereshk, twenty kilometres from Camp Bastion, where we refuelled (above). There are no more inspiring places to fly than southern Afghanistan, and it is unlike anywhere I have ever been before. The landscape can only be described as both epic and primeval, and everything about it is extreme.}

^{By the end of the first week, the Boss introduced two initiatives that caused morale to soar. After assigning all the aircraft porn star names to replace the dry series of letters and numbers, it was time to rename the pilots by allocating tactical callsigns. The first woman ever to fly a British Apache, Charlotte (left) was given the official callsign of ‘Posh’. Not even Tony (right) – the best pilot in the Squadron – would deny that he looked uncannily like a chimp, so he was named for the missing link and his official callsign became ‘Darwin’. I was christened ‘Elton’, as in ‘Rocket Man’, for an unfortunate disaster at Gereshk.}

^{The Emergency Scramble is the biggest adrenalin rush of the four main tasks designated to the Apache Flights. Two Apaches are under starter’s orders 24/7, ready to lift for any location in the province. We scramble to bail out troops in contact and cover Chinooks when they’re on reinforcement or medivac flights. It’s proper seat-of-your-pants, World-War-Two-fighter-pilot stuff that always involves a mad dash to the flight line. There are two types of scramble. If the scramble is to a location that’s not under fire, a vehicle accident in the desert, for example, only one aircraft – the Incident Response Team – would escort the Chinook. Two Apaches – the Helmand Reaction Force – would lift for medivacs in the Green Zone and other dangerous locations, and in support of troops in contact. The image above shows me in close escort during an Emergency Scramble.}

^{The Leader of the Opposition, David Cameron, had already beaten Blair to a Helmand visit in July. Helmand had been a new and sexy war at the time, so the new and sexy politicians had been all over it like a rash. They didn’t go to Iraq anymore; they came to Afghanistan. And, in Cameron’s case, that even included a tour of an Apache cockpit.}

^{Ex-Prime Minister Tony Blair’s clandestine visit was the worst-kept secret in Camp Bastion; everyone had known about it for days. ‘Listen, I know you all know who’s coming out,’ the Boss said one night at an evening brief. ‘But from now on, please stop talking about it. It’s supposed to be classified.’ A posh-looking marquee was set up for Blair’s one-hour meet-and-greet visit, complete with the biggest tray of croissants I’d ever seen. In addition to opening a book on who could get the longest handshake with the PM, there was a challenge to see who could ask the oddest question of him and still get an answer. Darwin wanted to ask Blair for a picture – and then follow it up by handing him the camera to take a picture of us. In the end, we all simply gathered sheepishly around Blair; the only rebellion the odd thumbs-up behind him. After a fifteen-minute speech, we hadn’t learned anything new, and I wondered why he’d bothered to come all that way. Still, the bacon croissant was nice.}

^{We quickly realised we were the only chance for Lance Corporal Ford, the marine behind enemy lines. With alternatives quickly falling by the wayside, we came up with a rescue plan that involved strapping marines to the Apaches’ wings. Squabbling among the ranks had cost us valuable time and so, with less fuel than was legally required to get back to camp, we began the rescue mission. There were a million what ifs. I had the answers, but not the time. A three-day planning conference would have been nice. Instead, I had twenty seconds. The best instructions I could give to the four marine volunteers from Colonel Magowan’s Command Post: strap yourselves to the wings so that, if shot, you don’t fall off. And, when we get to Jugroom Fort, rescue Lance Corporal Ford and strap yourselves back to the wings. As simple and as complicated as that.}