Friday, 14 November 2008
Whether you’re at home, in your office at work, or on holiday, it’s easy to get comfortable in your surroundings.
Despite the occasional rocket attack, Kandahar air base was beginning to feel safe and homely.
Five days in and I was finding my feet. I was walking round unaccompanied and I wasn’t getting lost.
With 11,000 people on site it’s like a town – a multi national one at that.
So last night, stepping out (or rather flying) of the base for the first time – and out of my comfort zone, felt weird.
Lat night we left for Kabul, a northern city which is notorious for trouble.
Since operations began in Afghanistan, it’s capital city of Kabul seems to have attracted much of the press – bad press at that.
While Kandahar is known as the spiritual home of the Taliban, Kabul almost seems like one of the Taliban’s last stands. Daily reports from UK national press seem to feature death and destruction, doom and gloom.
So believe me when I say, I wasn’t massively keen on paying a visit.
But you know nothing ventured, nothing gained and members of 42 Commando’s J Company are here so it had to be worth a visit.
The flight up north was on a Hercules plane which is an experience in itself.
From the outside the aircraft looks mighty with its huge wing span and propellers. Inside they look like they haven’t been finished.
Wires and mesh hang everywhere and the seats are like ancient camping props.
But the simple fact is that they remain one of the most used and trusted resources in the military.
For take off all passengers are told to wear their body armour (in case anyone on the ground fancies taking a pop shot) and wear ear plugs.
The noise of the propellers and engines is incredible and their roar can be heard from miles around.
Somehow despite the deafening roar, I managed to slip off to sleep.
As my bleary eyes regained focus I realised I was sat directly opposite a captive Afghan. Handcuffed, with a helmet on and blindfolded he didn’t say a word and was led away first as soon as we landed.
I considered asking about him but with the air around him, his security – and that of the lads – it seemed inappropriate.
As we stepped off the Hercules we were immediately shuffled to a muster point where we were given a safety briefing, and details of how we were going to be transported to Camp Souter – 42 Cdo’s base up here.
We were then told that we would have to travel 800 metres outside of the airbase into open territory to get to the camp.
We crammed into the back of a heavily armoured Saxon vehicle, donned our body armour and the lights went out.
Those 800 metres could have been eight miles for all I knew.
Sometimes it’s better not to know how dangerous a situation could become..
Ignorance, it seems, is bliss.
The only glimpse of the night sky was through a gap in the vehicle used by the marine providing top cover.
Needless to say, when we arrived within the safe confines of Camp Souter I was relieved.
God knows how I will feel when we get out on patrol in Kabul with the lads.
Despite the occasional rocket attack, Kandahar air base was beginning to feel safe and homely.
Five days in and I was finding my feet. I was walking round unaccompanied and I wasn’t getting lost.
With 11,000 people on site it’s like a town – a multi national one at that.
So last night, stepping out (or rather flying) of the base for the first time – and out of my comfort zone, felt weird.
Lat night we left for Kabul, a northern city which is notorious for trouble.
Since operations began in Afghanistan, it’s capital city of Kabul seems to have attracted much of the press – bad press at that.
While Kandahar is known as the spiritual home of the Taliban, Kabul almost seems like one of the Taliban’s last stands. Daily reports from UK national press seem to feature death and destruction, doom and gloom.
So believe me when I say, I wasn’t massively keen on paying a visit.
But you know nothing ventured, nothing gained and members of 42 Commando’s J Company are here so it had to be worth a visit.
The flight up north was on a Hercules plane which is an experience in itself.
From the outside the aircraft looks mighty with its huge wing span and propellers. Inside they look like they haven’t been finished.
Wires and mesh hang everywhere and the seats are like ancient camping props.
But the simple fact is that they remain one of the most used and trusted resources in the military.
For take off all passengers are told to wear their body armour (in case anyone on the ground fancies taking a pop shot) and wear ear plugs.
The noise of the propellers and engines is incredible and their roar can be heard from miles around.
Somehow despite the deafening roar, I managed to slip off to sleep.
As my bleary eyes regained focus I realised I was sat directly opposite a captive Afghan. Handcuffed, with a helmet on and blindfolded he didn’t say a word and was led away first as soon as we landed.
I considered asking about him but with the air around him, his security – and that of the lads – it seemed inappropriate.
As we stepped off the Hercules we were immediately shuffled to a muster point where we were given a safety briefing, and details of how we were going to be transported to Camp Souter – 42 Cdo’s base up here.
We were then told that we would have to travel 800 metres outside of the airbase into open territory to get to the camp.
We crammed into the back of a heavily armoured Saxon vehicle, donned our body armour and the lights went out.
Those 800 metres could have been eight miles for all I knew.
Sometimes it’s better not to know how dangerous a situation could become..
Ignorance, it seems, is bliss.
The only glimpse of the night sky was through a gap in the vehicle used by the marine providing top cover.
Needless to say, when we arrived within the safe confines of Camp Souter I was relieved.
God knows how I will feel when we get out on patrol in Kabul with the lads.
Twitter: tristan_nichols
