Hellfire

BROKEN ARROW

SUNDAY, 16 JULY 2006

Now Zad

The sky over Now Zad was cobalt blue, a stark contrast with my first view of it during my initiation six weeks ago. There wasn’t any smoke or sign of battle. The place looked like a ghost town.

‘Widow Seven One,’ Jake called, ‘this is Wildman Five Zero and Wildman Five One. We have 600 cannon, seventy-six rockets and four Hellfires. Five minutes to run to the overhead. Confirm all friendly forces are in the DC and the Shrine?’

‘A-firm affirmative; hurry up please.’

Shit. The short hairs rose on the back of my neck. It wasn’t protocol to use ‘please’ in fire control orders, even in the opening calls. Widow Seven One was a top JTAC; for him to say please, the situation must be desperate.

‘Wildman Five Zero,’ Jake said, ‘any civvies in the area?’

He got a nervous laugh. ‘You must be joking. They all moved out long ago.’ I could hear loud bangs in the background but none of the gunfire we were used to when the troops were in contact.

‘Copied,’ Jake replied.

The Shrine momentarily blocked my view. As we closed in I saw the bright white building beside the DC. It looked brand new.

‘Widow Seven One, this is Wildman Five Zero. Four minutes to run. Where are they attacking from?’ Jake asked.

‘Widow Seven One. We’re getting smashed to pieces from the north. They’ve tunnelled between the terraced houses and every house on our east is firing at us. Stand by for more…’

I could hear the distinctive cracks and snaps of bullets passing the JTAC and sporadic pops and bangs.

‘…and we think they’re trying to get through the southern wall,’ he continued, ‘but we can’t really tell because the sangars have been taken out.’

Bloody hell, he had no men on lookout. They must be under some horrendous fire.

‘Copied. Three minutes to run,’ Jake said. ‘I can see a white H-shaped building just to your south.’

‘Widow Seven One. A-firm. Hurry up. We’re having a grenade fight over the southern wall.’

The Harriers had been crashed at the same time as us. We were still supposed to hand over to them when they arrived. It was just as well they hadn’t. Harriers with their bombs and rockets can’t shoot anywhere near this close to our own troops; they would have been unable to help them.

Fuck, neither can we really…

My view of the white building was improving. It was orientated side-on to us and shaped like an ‘H’. Just behind it was the base. It looked like they were virtually joined together. I knew they weren’t, because I’d looked down there on a few occasions. There was a tight alleyway.

When the troops came out for a resupply run, they would turn right and then right again to go down the alleyway between the white building and the southern wall of the DC. This was going to be tight.

The Taliban had been changing their tactics ever since we kicked off on Op Mutay. Prior to 4 June they had engaged Apaches in the open and had little respect for them. They rushed around taking potshots at us and then laid their weapons down.

After we’d spanked their arses in Now Zad they’d do anything to attack when Apache cover wasn’t expected. Now they only fought hard from concealed cover. They were tailoring their attacks to our reaction times. Thirty minutes of fighting followed by a break then thirty minutes of fighting, on and on until the early hours. This war of attrition had gone on, day and night, for weeks. It was wearing the troops down.

The Taliban were so wary of us, they’d tunnelled through buildings to get as close to the DC as possible. They’d bluffed us earlier with a half-hearted attack to test Apache cover, and when we didn’t turn up they went for it.

We’d now arrived with the battle raging and we stood a chance of catching the scumbags with their pants down. My only worry was proximity. Too close and we’d either shoot and risk killing our own troops or hold fire and film their deaths instead. I needed a piss badly now.

I looked down at the screen by my knee. Simon’s TADS image gleamed in the midday sun. There was no sign of activity in the main street.

We kicked left of the Shrine by about a kilometre, as if to go round Now Zad. Jon kicked right. We were separated by about a kilometre and getting into combat attacking positions on the DC’s southern flank.

Our sights and sensors zoomed in the white building. Puffs of smoke blossomed along its rooftop.

We tracked west of the town, and came in perpendicular to the alleyway between the DC and the white building; the area of interest. The place was heaving with Taliban, whirling like dervishes as they lobbed grenades over the fifteen-foot wall. Our guys in the DC were flinging back their own.

They had been forced out of their sangars at the south-east and south-west corners of the DC by weight of fire, so had no idea their grenades were exploding ineffectively on the enemy’s roof.

Robed figures moved backwards and forwards between the alleyway and the building, rearming with grenades.

‘Bring me onto them,’ Simon snapped.

I dragged across the cyclic and buried it in the inside of my right thigh, throwing the aircraft into a steep banked turn. I rolled it out again, facing the DC, then leaned us over so we moved crablike until I’d lined us up with the alleyway.

At this point, Jon and Jake were still wheeling round to our left.

I brought them up to speed. ‘We’ve got Taliban in the alleyway to the south of the DC and PIDd them as hostile. Tipping in on a gun run, but it’s danger close so call for clearance quickly.’

‘I’ve seen them, stand by.’ Jon broke off to speak with the JTAC. Positive ID lobbing grenades was sufficient for ROE to engage but the proximity wasn’t. It was scary. Danger close was a major league understatement.

‘Widow Seven One, this is Wildman Five Zero. We’ve PID’d them. They are danger close. Repeat, danger close. Confirm you want us to fire.’

Widow dropped his callsign to make the calls quicker. ‘How accurate is your thirty mil?’

‘I can put them through the window if you want,’ Jake replied, ‘but I repeat, they are danger close. Danger close. Get your men under cover with body armour and helmets on if you want us to engage.’

That was brave. He could post them right through the window in theory. In practice, I wasn’t so sure. Neither of us had fired this gun and we didn’t have time to test it either.

I’d pulled the stick back and dropped the collective to slow our approach until we got permission to fire. I could see the Taliban still criss-crossing the five metres between the alleyway and their building.

The JTAC came back to us within thirty seconds.

‘A-firm. Clear hot.’

Jon jumped in: ‘Checkfire! Don’t fire!’

‘Checkfire,’ I called back.

We were running in. I threw the stick left and slowed her right down. Then I crabbed her to the right, hugely reducing our closing speed, so Simon could keep the TADS on the enemy, ready for the call.

Come on! We need to get the shot in here! The Taliban had seen our approach and run for cover.

‘Acknowledge danger close with your initials and your clearance,’ Jon said.

We didn’t have cockpit recorders. If there was a board of inquiry, Jon wanted to be able to say: ‘He knew we were danger close because he said danger close. To confirm it, here are his initials.’ That was what made him one of the best SupFACs around. He was way ahead of the game.

‘A-firm, Charlie Alpha-Charlie Alpha – that’s a danger close, danger close. Clear hot, clear hot. Acknowledge.’

‘Charlie Alpha, danger close. Clear hot,’ Jake copied, cool as cucumber.

‘Running in,’ Simon called to Jake.

I could see everything on the MPD. Simon placed his crosshairs where the roof stopped and the wall facing us began. I turned us head-on to keep his sight as steady as it could be.

‘Only go for ten rounds, buddy.’ I didn’t want to cramp Simon’s style, but I didn’t want things to go horribly wrong.

‘I’ve already set it to ten. And I’m only going to pull a few of them off.’

Good call. He wasn’t going for a normal combat burst of twenty. The longer the burst, the greater was the chance of accidental movement. If you fired a fifty-round burst, it meant five seconds of holding that crosshair absolutely dead still with an aircraft that’s swooping towards the target. I was going to have to hold her steady and point straight at them to give Simon a fighting chance.

‘Do you think it’s accurate enough?’ he said.

The slightest accidental movement of his thumb would shift the TADS and moving at that speed the weapons computer would assume he was tracking the target.

We were flying at thirty knots. The Hughes M230, single-barrel, externally powered 30 mm chain gun had a three-millimetre error. At this distance – 2,000 metres – that equated to six metres.

And the gun wasn’t the only variable. I doubled the figures in my head – make that as much as twelve metres at this range. So some of our rounds could land in the compound. One thousand five hundred metres should bring the fudged error down to about nine metres – clear of the compound – if Simon was a good enough shot. If not, we’d have an authorised blue-on-blue.

‘Mate, this is it. Three mil error, double it to six for the wife and kids. Two thousand metres is twelve mils and that’s inside the compound. We need to be at a maximum of 1,500, which gives us nine. You don’t want to fire before fifteen, buddy.’

I had to hold this thing 100 per cent steady, Simon had to perform flawlessly, and we didn’t even know if the cannon was capable of hitting the target he aimed at. We both knew that if our rounds zapped into the compound, we’d be highly likely to kill or seriously injure our own troops. We would also be putting ourselves right in the Taliban’s engagement zone; we’d be sitting ducks.

Whatever we did, it was going to be a nightmare down there.

We were busting every rule, doing everything our training told us not to do.

But what choice did we have? If the enemy broke through it would be like a knife fight in a bar. We’d be useless.

We had a JTAC under such immediate threat that he was prepared to risk bringing rounds down on his own men to save the majority and hold the base. To them, surrender was not an option; the Taliban would skin every one of them alive.

We had one shot and this was it.

I accelerated to sixty knots so I had speed to manoeuvre if we were shot at.

I called down the range. ‘One point nine…One point eight…’

‘Nice and steady, Simon. Any movement will throw those rounds.’

‘I fucking know that, Ed.’

Of course, he did. But just saying it made me feel better.

I saw figures spilling out into the alleyway again. They moved towards the DC wall with what looked like a wooden cross in their hands.

Simon had his TADS on the same point – he had no choice but to hold it perfectly still – and I was still counting down. Simon had zoomed in to make sure there was no error on trigger pull, and when you zoomed in at that range, the image on the screen was massive.

The figures moved out of the frame and I looked up to see what they were up to. They’d got to the base of the wall.

‘…One point six… one point five…’

A split second before Simon pulled the trigger, they bomb-burst away from the wall and ran back towards the building, dragging the cross with them.

The gun pumped. My feet vibrated. Simon’s crosshairs never moved a millimetre. I saw the counter on the MPD drop quickly from 300 to 295 as the rounds swirled away, but didn’t need to look; I’d heard and felt five distinctive thumps.

After throwing their grenades, the last three Taliban returned to what they thought was the safety of their building, just as the rounds ploughed into the wall and roof. I saw all five rounds impact. Three bored small black holes in the roof and the two that hit the wall head-on made a much bigger splash. To the casual observer it must all have looked pretty insignificant, but to me it meant one thing: the gun was on. It was Deadeye Dick.

I called Delta Hotel – Direct Hit – on the JTAC’s frequency.

My jubilation was swept aside by Widow Seven One. ‘Stop! Stop! Stop!’

I broke hard right with the cyclic and ripped up the collective from the floor, climbing away from the building. We’d descended to 1,000 feet and were now 1,000 metres away from the Taliban. I’d been trying to keep the same aspect all the way, and I didn’t want to change the profile of the aircraft while Simon was fighting to keep his crosshair still.

I flew the death profile, straight into their eyes. If they stood their ground now and decided to fire, they could shoot us just as easily as we could shoot them. I shouldn’t have been doing it. But there was no one looking up at us – the men I’d seen on the street had run back. My only concern was that these rounds had gone into the compound. I’d witnessed the damage they did to buildings and the men hiding within.

‘STOP STOP STOP,’ the JTAC repeated. ‘Your rounds are landing inside the DC. Copy?’

Simon yelled, ‘Fuck!’

‘Wildman has stopped,’ I called back. I craned my head over to the left as the DC came into view. No one was firing up at us; it was just dust billowing in our own courtyard.

Fuck, had Jake blown it and hit the compound? I couldn’t see Wildman Five One. They’d continued round the wheel and would have set themselves up to cover us. I knew Jon would be right behind me in my six o’clock position, with Jake’s cannon at the ready. As we broke off our attack run, Jake would fire straight down to cover our sharp break. Setting up the racetrack, we called it, or setting up a pattern – one shooting, one setting up, then one breaking off, one running in.

Jon came through: ‘Mate, you hit the DC.’

What the fuck was he thinking?

I guess he thought we’d just fired a ten- or twenty-round burst, only saw a few splashes on top of the building and assumed the rest had raked the compound.

I flung the Apache onto its left side as we hit altitude and spotted Jon and Jake off to the west, where we’d begun our attack run.

I flipped onto the inter-aircraft radio and pressed the mic button on the cyclic while Simon scoured the target and DC for enemy and friendly fire. ‘We didn’t. Every round landed on the building. Did you fire to cover our break?’

This wasn’t a bitching contest. I just needed to confirm my theory.

‘Negative,’ Jake said. ‘We did not fire.’

‘I thought not. I’m 100 per cent sure that it wasn’t our thirty mike mike in the DC. They were grenades, not thirty mil. I saw them being thrown from the alleyway just before we fired.’

I switched back to let the JTAC know what had happened.

‘Negative, negative. That’s not us. That’s grenades coming into your compound. We had a Delta Hotel on the building to your south. They’re trying to break into the DC. Copy?’

‘Widow Seven One, copied. Re-attack… Re-attack.’

I thanked God that as the SWO I’d been watching the rounds like a hawk. I’d been studying the effects of weapons on different buildings so I could improve our effectiveness. I’d looked at every single cannon round fired in-theatre to learn how they impacted on different surfaces, and had taught the tactics accordingly.

If you had a man running along a boggy track in the Green Zone and there was a wall behind him, you didn’t aim down at him and the ground. If the rounds missed, they were going to explode harmlessly in the earth. Smack the wall next to him as he was running and the frag would get him first time. You didn’t even have to hit the guy.

‘Wildman Five Zero, running in with ten rounds of thirty mike mike.’

Brilliant – they were on ten rounds as well.

I’d levelled off and turned the aircraft so we were on the opposite side of the target from Jon. The white building was orientated east-west. I’d run in from the west, fired the cannon rounds, kicked off south-east, then climbed, constantly turning the aircraft left so I could keep an eye on the compound. I didn’t want to fly away from it; I wanted to keep it in sight.

Simon was concentrating on his target and I was concentrating on the landscape around it. I looked for leakers so I could call Simon onto them. Exactly the same was happening in the other Apache.

Simon zoomed in to see if there was anyone in the building. He studied doorways and windows.

With a final jink we were now turned head-on. Looking down on the compound from the east, I saw Jon flying directly towards it from the west. He was much closer than us.

We were facing each other and Jake would shoot straight ahead. It wasn’t a problem; I knew the rounds were going downwards. But I had a job to do in a few seconds. There was no chance the enemy would go one-on-one with an Apache, but when we turned tail on them they’d send a heat-seeker up our backside or loose off some RPGs.

We needed to cover each other.

As soon as Jon and Jake had finished their run, I had to be in position for Simon to fire his cannon rounds at the building to cover their break – or if I saw any hostiles outside the building, to shoot them myself. By the time I’d talked Simon onto it, it would have been too late; platform protection was a split second win or lose decision.

I could see Jon tanking in towards the target.

We were 2,500 metres out and closing slowly. We were pointing nose to nose. They were closer and faster. When they turned to get away, Simon would have his crosshairs ready to go and I would be looking through the cockpit window; looking at the alleyway and the main street in front of the building for any leakers or Taliban trying to shoot up Jon’s bird.

Either of us could fire – whoever had control of the gun last. We both had weapon controls. He had the gun up and it was now slaved to his crosshairs. But if I saw something I’d call, ‘My gun’, press ‘Gun’ on the cyclic and it would jump to my eye and be under my control instead.

It was Simon’s job primarily to attack the target; to achieve mission success. He was this aircraft’s mission commander. It was mine to defend the aircraft; to maintain platform protection. If I spotted a threat to my Apache or Jon’s that took higher priority than killing a Taliban any day. It was all about mutual support. That was why we always made sure we could see and defend one another.

Simon had popped his screen out one field of view, expanding the image so he could see the whole of the white building. He could now push the crosshairs onto whatever target he wanted, steady them, and pull the trigger as and when.

I scanned the area for anyone taking a pop at my wingman. The gun wouldn’t do anything until it was slaved to my eyes. But the moment I saw something it would be: ‘My gun!’ – bang – gone. As I made the call, I’d flick up with my thumb and pull the trigger. Within a split second, rounds would pour off the aircraft.

We were running in, but still slowly. Jon was hammering down. When he passed the target he was going to have to climb and turn back as soon as possible to cover our attack run. I was holding back to give him the time to do this; he’d be doing the same on our attack run. We didn’t want two aircraft with their tails towards the target.

‘Firing,’ Jake called.

I saw a grey smudge appear under the nose of their Apache, either side of the barrel, as the cannon’s propellant hit the air after being spat out by the muzzle break. Simon scoured the building for leakers. I was primarily looking out for Jon.

‘Breaking,’ Jon called.

They broke off their run and I watched the rounds impact all along the top of the northern wing. He broke south-west, as we’d done. I watched him climb away and waited until he came up level. Their gun was smack on too. Jake’s shooting was spot on; this was going to be our day.

‘Stand by.’ This time I wasn’t going to dive. I didn’t want to drop my height. With an accurate gun and TADS Simon would cope with deadly precision. I flew level, Simon’s cannon aiming progressively lower.

Again, Simon had his crosshairs on the junction between the roof and the wall.

‘Covering.’ Jon was letting us know they were in a position to attack if we should be fired at.

‘Wildman Five One, running in with twenty rounds of thirty mike mike,’ Simon responded on the JTAC frequency.

I accelerated and as Simon pulled the trigger I called on the inter-aircraft. ‘Wildman Five One, engaging, twenty rounds, thirty mike mike.’

Rounds thumped along the wall and the roof.

Jon came on the inter-aircraft radio: ‘Not sure we’re having much effect on it.’

I said, ‘Small holes on the roof mean they’re penetrating before exploding. It’ll be devastating in there.’

‘Copied.’

The HEDP rounds were exploding against the wall. That was okay, but the frag was on the outside. The ones that hit the roof looked innocuous, but they were penetrating. I wouldn’t have wanted one joining me in the room with a thousand shards of frag and a big flame and shock wave.

‘Breaking!’ I pulled up as hard and fast as I could, flying southwest, straining to find my wingman as I came round. They were all set up.

Wildman Five Zero thundered in once he saw we were ready. He fired all over the roof. There was still nobody out in the street. They must all have been inside.

We turned back in. Simon aimed his crosshairs up a little from where he’d fired last time. As he went to pull the trigger, he called, ‘Engaging!’ and moved his line of sight slowly upwards as he pulled off a twenty-round burst. The thirty mike mike stitched their way along the roof.

No one had left the building yet.

Widow Seven One called: ‘We can hear screaming. Keep it up!’

It would have been Armageddon inside those walls.

Wildman Five Zero said, ‘I’m going for the doors and the windows – you go for the other wing.’

That made sense to me. If I’d been hiding in that first wing, I knew where I’d be trying to run. We’d repeat what we’d just done on the last run, the length of the other roof. Jake had the doors and windows covered in case they were thinking about making a break for it.

Jon and Jake drove in. I didn’t see their rounds as they ripped across the far elevation.

We ran in seconds behind and blasted another twenty-round burst along the second roof.

Smoke curled from the entrance holes and billowed from the doors and windows.

Jon and Jake fired another twenty-round burst into the main elevation of the second wing.

After several of these attack runs we’d stripped both tops and both exposed sides. The only bit we hadn’t engaged was the central, linking span of the H.

Simon said, ‘The final hiding place.’ He aimed his crosshairs at the central section of roof. Below it was a steel door. He pulled the trigger and punched rounds through the roof, the door and down to the base of the building.

Jake said, ‘Watch and shoot and look for leakers. Copy.’

We were heading west, within 1,000 metres of each other. We wheeled around, looking for movement. The only thing coming out of that building was smoke.

‘Widow Seven One, this is Wildman Five Zero. How are things now?’

‘Widow Seven One, the grenades and shooting stopped when you started attacking. And the screaming’s stopped. Did anyone escape?’

After a brief pause Jon clicked his mic. ‘Did you see anyone?’

I said over the intercom, ‘Simon, you see anything, buddy?’

‘Negative. Not a soul.’

‘One hundred per cent no from this aircraft.’

Jake replied, ‘Widow Seven One, this is Wildman Five Zero – that’s 100 per cent negative. We’ll stay around for as long as we can.’

We didn’t want to leave them. If anyone had survived, they were going to have to run out of this building at some point, and when they did, we were going to nail them. Either that or they would choke to death.

We swarmed and waited for a breakout. They would have to run across the main road or head for the Shrine.

‘Widow Seven One has now got our men in the sangars again.’ The watchtowers could now see and kill any leakers themselves.

A Harrier turned up, callsign Topman, and we spoke to the Widow.

‘Widow Seven One, this is Wildman Five Zero. With Topman on station, we’re sorry, but we’ve got to break off.’ We were under orders to save aircraft hours.

‘Thank you very much. I’ll see you tonight.’ He sounded 100 per cent more cheerful than he had when we’d turned up.

‘If it was down to us, we’d be here every night. Good luck,’ Jake replied and he meant it too.

‘Wildman Five Zero…this is Topman…You got anything for me?’

‘Negative, the place looks quiet. Speak to Widow Seven One for AOR update,’ Jake said. ‘We’re breaking for homeplate.’

We couldn’t tell Topman any more. All we’d done was turn up and hammer the white building, and we were now about to clear off. We didn’t really know anything else.

After the JTAC read out the AOR brief – what had happened and what the threat was – we headed back to base.

We fuelled up and taxied into the bays. After shutting down the engines, the lads went to work replenishing the 30 mm and the techs checked the aircraft.

We were loaded up and ready to close down before Jon and Jake so I got on the radio.

‘Saxon this is Wildman Five One, permission to close down?’

‘Saxon. Close down.’ This was a good sign. It meant that Now Zad had calmed down for the time being. Otherwise we would have been told to stay on the APU ready to take over from Topman.

Jake’s grin stretched from ear to ear as we walked into the Ops room. ‘Hey, guys! How you doin’?’ He was quite proud of his Joey impression.

Everyone looked up. There were no smiles.

‘Oh look, it’s the murderer.’ Chris shook his head.

Jake was always having the piss taken out of him royally, but not this time. This time, something was badly wrong.

‘President Karzai wants to know why we’ve slaughtered innocent Afghan nationals.’ The OC glared. ‘You do know what that building was, don’t you?’

Jake looked worried.

‘Did it look nice?’

‘Well…Yes…’

‘Nice white building? Didn’t see any red crosses on it, did you?’

‘What?’

I trawled my memory at warp speed. I suddenly felt very uncomfortable.

‘You shot up the fucking hospital.’

‘No!’ Jake went white as a sheet and glanced anxiously at the rest of us – his flight.

‘It’s called The Clinic. It’s a hospital.’

Our jaws dropped.

Jake leaned forward and pressed his hands on the Ops table to steady himself. The room remained deathly quiet.

I piped up to give him a bit of support. ‘You complied with ROE, mate. I saw Taliban running out with mousehole charges too.’

Chris burst out laughing, followed quickly by everyone else.

‘It is a clinic,’ he said. ‘But everyone left ages ago.’

We had a quick brew after the debrief, in place of the lunch we’d missed. We seemed to have lost our appetites.

‘Do you know what was worrying me most when they told me it was a clinic?’ Jon said. ‘They heard loads of screaming.’

I nodded.

‘I pictured little kids and all sorts,’ Jon said.

‘My stomach did a Fosbury Flop,’ I said.

The Taliban went to town before we’d even got our wheels back on the ground. They sent a message to Kabul to say that the Apaches had shot up a clinic and killed scores of sick and injured people. Karzai had swallowed it.

We passed the clearance issue straight to Widow Tactical Operations Cell. The JTAC said he had no choice, and that we’d done what he’d asked. Everyone who’d been to the Now Zad DC knew the building was empty and that it posed a threat to them but it didn’t stop the shit from Kabul.

There was a big debate. It went back to the ROE.

Could he see the target? Yes he could. Was that it in his sphere of influence? Yes it was. Could he have stopped the attack using a much softer approach by escalating the level of force to match the attack? No he couldn’t; they were about to go Broken Arrow. Our Charlie Alpha JTAC was off the hook, but the buck didn’t stop with him.

Kabul still wanted answers and that meant sending the tapes to the CO in Kandahar so he could judge for himself before answering up the chain of command.

With the UK government breathing down his neck, Lieutenant Colonel Felton needed some answers and fast. He rang up and made it perfectly clear that he trusted us, and if something was amiss he would still defend us when the time came. He wanted to know if we had seen anything that could have prevented the attack on the clinic, and did we use proportionality?

We saw everything and it was perfectly clear that the Taliban were using the building as a vantage point to attack the DC. They were not afraid to continue their assault in full view of us and used the building as a refuge between attacks. If we hadn’t fired and ended up leaving Now Zad after running low on fuel, they would have continued their attack.

Any fast air on call could not have dealt with a target this close to the DC. Our men there had a one-shot chance of survival. Their final chance was an Apache attack – no other airframe would have worked – to destroy all of the Taliban in the adjacent building before they either broke into the DC or we ran out of fuel.

The CO thanked us and the tapes were to be dispatched by Lynx to Kandahar for him to look at later on.

For weeks afterwards, Jake still shuddered when people walked up to him and muttered the word clinic. And many did.