War From the Ground Up (4 page)

The first half of this book,
Chapters 1
to
3
, defines the problem and sets out the difficulty of employing a traditional paradigm of war in contemporary conflicts that tend to be characterised by fragmented, rather than polarised, political dynamics.
Chapter 1
defines how war operates as a conceptual construct that seeks to connect armed force to political utility.
Chapters 2
and
3
examine the evolution of war as a mechanism; in particular how war, as defined so influentially by Carl von Clausewitz, is today often misunderstood as a concept and has been misapplied in contemporary conflicts such as Afghanistan.

The second half of the book,
Chapters 4
to
9
, form three pairs that move on from the problems of the misapplication of the traditional paradigm of war to investigate possible solutions.
Chapters 4
and
5
argue that strategy needs to be understood as a dialogue between the desire of policy and what is realistically achievable on the ground, rather than as a one-way relationship between policy and unquestioning tactical execution. This is necessary to construct a political context that enables any operational approach to be effective.
Chapters 6
and
7
examine the construction of operational approaches, and argue for the utility of a pragmatic mindset in this context, using the Borneo Confrontation 1962–6 as an extended case study.
Chapters 8
and
9
look at strategic narrative, the vital membrane that connects operational activity to its political context, a critical feature of contemporary conflict. They argue that the construction of strategic narrative resembles the art of persuasion, or rhetoric, as classically defined. The Conclusion considers contemporary strategic thought.

Strategy for liberal democracies involves all three parts of the state at war: the government, the people and the military. I have tried to write in a style that is not technical to acknowledge that all three need to be involved in strategy.

Military activity has two possible connotations: the first is the actual use of organised violence, typically by armed forces; the second is the way in which this force is understood by an audience, particularly the enemy. Antulio J. Echevarria II has argued that ‘while the US military remains eloquent in the vernacular of battle, it is still developing fluency in the language of war'.
¹
If the ‘vernacular of battle' is technical military proficiency, the language of war is what links the use of force to political meaning. The language of war in this sense is not war poetry or its equivalent; it describes the interpretive structure that ‘war' provides to give meaning to the use of force, just as an actual language gives particular meaning to a given sound or script. This chapter argues that it is the language of war that gives wider meaning to the vernacular of battle; the strategist must harmonise them both for war to have utility as an instrument of policy.

The following passage is an account of the first moments of a battle fought by the Gurkha battlegroup I was part of in a mountain valley of Uruzgan Province, South Afghanistan in October 2007, during a two-week operation named
Spin Ghar
(White Mountain).
²
I wrote it up in 2008 after I returned to the UK, to document a personal experience
before it was forgotten, with a view to it perhaps forming part of a regimental history later on. Re-reading it today, it is clear that this account has rough edges. However, I will reproduce it largely un-edited to attempt to transmit that experience, and show that for soldiers to be fixated with the enemy is normal, in the sense that when actually closing with the enemy in battle, any other way of understanding the situation goes against the emotional grain of the situation; for the protagonist to understand combat as anything other than an intensely polarised confrontation is in reality very difficult.

Figure 2: Detail of the narrow northern section of the Baluchi Valley, Uruzgan Province, South Afghanistan.

There is nothing more impressive than a company of Gurkhas in full assault order at night on the eve of battle. The three platoons and headquarters were arranged into five ‘chalks', each sitting twenty metres apart on the tarmac runway, a surface which still felt hot after midnight. These were further divided into two ‘sticks' of roughly fifteen men sitting behind one another; each of these would embark onto the designated side of their chalk's twin-bladed Chinook helicopter. My team (8 Platoon)
had an air of confidence, aggression, and the residual apprehension which inevitably accompanies anticipation of close-quarter battle.

C Company was to lead the assault into the Baluchi Valley. This was an insurgent stronghold deep in the mountainous area of Uruzgan Province. There had been no international coalition troops here for over a year, since an Australian operation had successfully cleared the valley in a vicious fight, although the Taliban had since reoccupied it.

I had three hours sleep then woke up at 2300, had a shower, and got my combat gear on: desert combats; body armour; helmet; belt and pouches; twenty-two magazines worth of ammunition (one in my rifle, five in my belt, another emergency one in my rucksack, and fifteen in bandoliers which formed part of the platoon reserve); radio and spare batteries; night vision (helmet-mounted infra-red, weapon-mounted thermal sights); grenades (high explosive, smoke, red phosphorus); three litres of water; rations; bayonet; maps; and air photos of my platoon's first objective.

The platoon had rehearsed helicopter exit drills to the last detail. Every man understood the orders, and knew his part in the first phase of the operation to gain a foothold right in the enemy's command centre. What more was there to do at this stage?

The night was mild but dark, and the soldiers' faces, blackened with camouflage cream, glimmered in the half-light of the runway lights. I had a quick chat to Charlie Crowe, the company commander, who was walking around the company; he wanted everyone to be ready for a fight. This is the moment when at Sandhurst I would have imagined giving an inspiring pre-battle speech; in the event I delivered nothing of the sort. When I stood up to speak to the guys in the near dark I was looking at thirty professional soldiers whom I knew I could trust with my life and felt safe with. They were not superhuman, and many were quite young. Individually, some were probably braver than others, but as a platoon, each of them was a Gurkha soldier, not an individual. The self-perception of this status, and the ethos that underwrites it, or Gurkha
kaida
, meant that they would fight for one another, all get through it, and get through the enemy. In the end the platoon huddled together and my platoon sergeant, my three corporals (the section commanders) and I said a few brief words. I said something like ‘All right lads, I have full confidence in you. Just do your job, pass on information, and make sure you account for your battle-buddy. We'll get in there and hammer
them'. Anyone who has heard a group of Gurkhas acknowledge you with a resounding, short, and aggressive ‘Yes, Saheb!' is filled with pride and confidence.

We had to wait two hours until ‘Y-Hour' (take-off). I spent most of the time chatting to a group of my younger soldiers. Their chief topic of interest on that occasion was the secret method to chatting up ‘European girls'. This continued in a series of ripostes, typical of banter with Gurkhas: ‘Just tell them you're a Gurkha soldier'. ‘But we are shorter than them, Saheb!' (Laughter from the rest of the section.) ‘Well just impress them with exaggerated war stories'. ‘But they will be afraid, Saheb'. And so it drifted on. The Chinook crew who came over to wish us good luck shook us back to the real world.

The rear ramp was down, and I sat behind the tail gunner. The seats were up for the assault landing, so all of my men sat facing each other on the metal deck. The rotor blades make conversation impossible except through headsets. I was given one as the chalk commander, so listened in to the chat between the pilots and the tail gunner. I watched the four other Chinooks and two Apache escort helicopter silhouettes fly in formation, all lights off, tearing across the
dasht
(desert) at low level, the lights of Kandahar city itself in the distance the only obvious reference point as we headed north towards the mountains. It was both amusing and nerve calming to have the pilots' game of hangman and I spy over the headset as the commentary which accompanied the visual spectacle.

Everyone re-focused as the aircraft climbed steeply then banked round a mountain range, and the air got a lot colder. I knew that ‘L-Hour' (landing) was imminent. Would the small advance team be in position to secure the landing site? Would we be attacked on landing? What were the ‘actions on' if we took casualties as soon as we stepped off the ship? All these questions raced through my head, but we had planned thoroughly and rehearsed all of these scenarios. In uncertainty, thorough knowledge of the plan is what one's immediate doubts fall back on. Hence the importance of the confidence we had in the plan and the Battalion Commanding Officer, Lieutenant Colonel Jonny Bourne, who had planned the operation meticulously with his staff. He would be landing thirty minutes after us with A Company and Battalion Tactical Headquarters.

The tail gunner gave us five minutes. We all shook each other. ‘one minute!' Everyone stood up and held onto the rail as the pilot
descended steeply. Sharp landing. Everyone buckles to absorb the impact, especially with the amount of weight we are carrying. Ramp fully down: go. Nothing is actually said, we all knew what we were doing. I jumped out, sank slightly into the soft ploughed field and looked up at the large mountain to my right as I ran. Good, that was East and I knew where I was from the air-photo engraved in my head. I ran forward 10 metres, made eye contact with my Corporal next to me, giving the signal to turn right. Another 10 metres, down on one knee, scanned the ground with my thermal sight for threats. The lads had piled out of the helicopter in seconds and the ship was already taking off by the time my Platoon Sergeant, Bel Gurung, had done the headcount—he gave me the ‘all in' and we moved off. The grouped figures of the five chalks were visible in the other corners of the field as white heat signatures against a black background through my sight. The fainting ‘chug chug chug' of the Chinook rotor blades gave way to total silence. We took off the plastic bin bags we had used to cover our weapons from the helicopter dust off.

I led the platoon to the designated rendezvous with the rest of the company. Everything was going to plan, and the worst scenario of contact on landing was now thankfully redundant. Out of the darkness came the guide: ‘All right mate, how's it going? Basically, the Taliban's over there, and we're going to take you to the line of departure down this creek here, mate'. Things are far less stressful when you're actually on the ground and the ‘Op' has started, and started well. A winding 300m in a stream to the start line and we would meet our intended H-Hour (start of the attack).

John Jeffcoat's Seven Platoon went in first on time at 0400. The sound of the bar mine used to blow the hole in the wall ripped through the night. Seven Platoon wrapped up their objective efficiently without firing a shot. They found a few men with AK-47s and ammunition whom they had taken well and truly by surprise. Quick chat with JJ on the radio net to gain situational awareness and confirmation that he was secure, and my lads moved to the next target. Now everyone was awake, we had to move fast. Confirm with lead Corporal that the imposing wall ahead of us is the right compound. Flank protection in position. Fire base in position. Assault teams in position. Engineers prep bar mine. Engineers plus two Gurkhas approach wall, bar mine in place. Get on the radio: ‘Bar mine in twenty seconds'. Get down. Nothing,
wait another minute to make sure it is not a delayed fuse. Dud. Engineers go up again, another bar mine. Bang. Feel the pressure of two bar mines go off from our position twenty metres away behind cover. Get up, use weapon-mounted torches to penetrate the dust that has been kicked up. This is the most dangerous part of the assault, and my job is to get the platoon forward. A neat compound clearance by two four-man ‘bricks', over-watched by the roof team, who had clambered up as soon as the blast went off. Don't need to commit my reserve because there is no resistance. Compound clear. Rabindra's 9 Platoon echelon through us to take the next objective. My platoon is now the company reserve and we can settle a bit.

As dawn breaks there is a ghost town feel to the small hamlet that comprises ‘Objective Churchill'. After a brief pause to re-balance the company, Charlie Crowe got his platoon commanders together and sent us out to clear the area. The insurgents had been playing their usual game of watching us and declining to fight at night, where our technology counted against them.

At around 8 a.m. my platoon was contacted from the right at a distance of 100 metres with a machine gun burst. One of my riflemen was hit just above his eye, probably by a ricochet. ‘Man down!' Displaying routine bravery, one of my Lance Corporals, Bharat, ran out in the middle of this fire-fight to drag him into cover. My men dart for cover and fire back in the enemy's direction. Furious staccato shouting in Nepali-English mixture against a backdrop of automatic fire, ours and the enemy's: target indications from the riflemen who have spotted the
dushman:
‘
najik ko ruck oooh bata, hoina, hoina…tyahan cha!
Moving left to right!
Aundai cha! Duita dushman, hoina tinjana
'. [Two/three enemy popping out intermittently by a tree.] Translated into fire control orders from the section commanders: ‘
dushman
half left
najik ko ruck
100m
bata
section y-rapiiiiiid fire'. After pushing out flank protection, I leave the corporals to direct the shooting. I'm lying on my belt buckle with my radio operator getting an exact GPS grid for myself and telling Charlie where I think the enemy is and what they're doing. Casualty status from the Platoon Sergeant to tell me the casualty was safely back with the Company Sergeant Major. Sergeant Bel is invaluable; I know that he will square everything away so I can focus on the battle.