British Radical muslims fighting for Al Quaeda?

Posted: August 13, 2012 in World conflict
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The world watches an agonising struggle within Syria’s borders between the free Syrian army and the military commanded by the countries apparent ruler Bashir Al-Assad. However there’s a darker more menacing battle occurring in this inhospitable piece of land, that of the Jihadists.

 The Jihadists are a group containing members from all over the world; these radical Muslims are in the country for anything but trying to end the civil war that rages on around the innocents of Syria. Their aim is to convert the country of Syria into a radical sharia law abiding state, similar to that of Afghanistan with the Taliban. The group of course have links with Al Qaeda, in their eyes violence, not only on established enemies but also the use of weapons of mass destruction, and most notably, acts of violence towards innocent civilians, is encouraged meet the groups aims, since in their eye’s anyone killed in their ‘righteous jihad’ will be sent to heaven, and any infidels will be sent to hell.

 Recently a Syrian state TV anchor was executed, two British photographers were abducted and held hostage for a number of days before being uneasily released, but not before threats were made on their lives. These threats were made by none other than British nationals. Knives were sharpened before the innocent photographers eyes. The men brandishing the blades that would be used to sever their heads are members of our country, when their work is done in Syria they will return to our society, live in our streets, shop in our shops. The same has been seen in conflicts throughout the world, Iraq, Afghanistan and Egypt. Do these people have any place in a British society?

 ImageBritish citizens are among the murderous Jihadist groups polluting the already turbulent situation in Syria. Their number’s stretch across the country and are responsible for countless attacks on UN convoys. Although in some areas they work with, alongside the free Syrian army, other groups almost appear to be sympathetic to Assads regime. What will happen once the weapons of Bashir Al-Assad are put down? Will it be the end of the fighting or will it spiral into another Iraq type conflict. Uneasy peace being blown to pieces by the roadside bomb. Yet another tarnished country added to the list engulfed in sectarian violence. Nigeria has been plagued with such violence, most recently with the attack on churches. Yemen, another society in turmoil down to the peaceful religion of Islam being interpreted by the tempestuous few. 

Just another night in 1941

Posted: July 30, 2012 in World conflict
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Swinging in the dark air he looks above him with a final effort, the aircraft floats majestically, the bright flames pour from one side surrounded by beautiful lights exploding, lighting the night’s sky. The ghostly figure begins to swirl and tumble towards the white ground, it passes close by the still swinging man, knocked unconscious from the past 5 minutes events and the view that surrounds him. An overwhelming flash rises away from the bright ground, and the flames continue to lick through the trees. The man floats alone; the remainder of the 7-man crew remain part of the now dilapidated flaming wreck in the trees below.

 ImageHis dreams echo back to the last 24 hours, the details of their flight path, the target, the final fair-well to the coast, darkness surrounds the aircraft after just a few minutes, and looking around from the nose of his Lancaster It begins to almost impossible to view the other 1046 giants floating past him. The flight is kept short by the vast conversation between him 6 best friends, friends that have kept each other alive for 20 missions. Every night they enter the hornet’s nest, but together every night they have returned. Approaching the target the view before them never seems any less incredible. A wall of fire. A seemingly impossible amount of explosives pass but metres from their ship. Around them aircraft tumble, they drop, they twist, they explode.

 A great rumble shakes the Lancaster to its very seams, looking out to one side the fire corkscrews into the sky; the heat can be felt through the skin of the aircraft. “Lads I’ll hold her steady! Bail out, I’m right behind you” is the voice from the captain, he bravely grasps the controls enabling the crew, most of which are already dead to escape. Our lonely figure grabs his parachute and heads for the nose escape hatch. Shut. No panic, no fear just an overwhelming urge to get to the back of the now flaming plane, jumping through the door he’s met with a rush of flaming air, “bang” legs smash off the tail, the man falls, spiralling, face raw legs crushed.

 The floor comes all to quickly, and striking the snowy ground the parachute falls over the forever-disabled hero. Five hours later he is caught by the Germans, he will survive his injuries, and live life in a camp, among his peers. In January 1945 he will embark on his final walk, on crutches in a polish winter, this will ultimately be his demise.

50,000 members of royal air force bomber command were killed in the Second World War. No medal was ever handed to them throughout their campaign; no memorial would be created in their honour. They were forgotten, their sacrifice not recognised for far too many years. 

Africa, a history in violence

Posted: June 13, 2012 in World conflict
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In 1994 a small country in central Africa overnight turned on its self. The population was decimated. Described as being the most efficient killings since the atomic bombs, in 100 days an entire race of people was brought to its knees and very nearly completely removed from existence. This country was Rwanda and no accurate numbers have ever been placed on the amount of people who died in this obscene violence. The culture shattered was that of the Tutsis, they were enticed in the village churches where they were then slaughtered, machete rape and rifle were the weapons of choice, the world stood by, families turned on one another because there mothers father’s uncle was a Tutsi, and an unimaginable horror was the result.

Once again this area of central Africa has erupted in rebel violence, the group known as M23 (named after a peace agreement signed on march 23rd 2010) have upped arms in a political action against the Congolese government for not honouring its agreement to integrate the defence congress into the army.  They also wish for action to be taken against a group accused of perpetrating the violence that ripped the country of Rwanda in two over a decade ago. Known as the FDLR or federal department for the liberation of Rwanda. I must add the group M23 are defected soldiers of the Congolese army, they are well trained, well equipped and appear to be disciplined. Rwanda is also suspected of helping supply the group since the original defection in April.

The democratic republic of the Congo has been scarred, torn and tortured by war in recent years, scene of some the most inhumane mass killings in living memory. 2008 yards from an overworked and overwhelmed United Nations compound, 150 members of a town called Kiwanja were murdered, ripped out their homes and riddled with bullets. I believe the word barbaric is used too often however this is the only way to truly describe these disgraceful acts, the group accused of the killings was one ironically under the name of CNDP, (the national congress for the defence of the people), defending the people is not something they did well. However this group now operates under a new name… M23.

The violence in Africa is complicated, long lived and appears to have no boundaries, it continues with the drop of a hat and any forced peace is short-lived and extremely delicate. Any man has the potential for a militia leader and bountiful rewards lie in Africa’s vast natural resources. It is also a continent tarred by its own brush, the countries violence free suffer from the countries engulfed in flames, bringing potential for huge profits in tourism and development for the continent crashing down. For example: Kenya is a country famed for its safaris drawing people from all over the world to its plains to see arguably the best wildlife in the world, however with one swift action from a militia in neighbouring Somalia; taking hostages to meet their own aims, the tourism temporarily vanished, and once again the historically violent Somalia was front page news and country awash with conflict. Overnight, tourism replaced by terrorism.

Combat Stress: A fire of the mind

Posted: May 15, 2012 in middle east, World conflict
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A man sits within a tunnel, unshaven unwashed, the aroma is spectacular. People pass by, not a second glance, not a second to spare some change. This man sleeps every night in terror not in fear of robbery, he has nothing to lose, not through fear of being beaten, this mans taken the hardest beating of his life and all others are a mere hindrance. As his eyes close his mind is opened to a world in flames. His friends are dead, his cloths shredded, blood pours from his once incredible face and there’s a sharp pain down both legs.  The flames lick around the seat he remains on, the piercing heat pours in through the metal framework that surrounds his body. He pull’s his frail skeleton from the wreck, just 10 feet between him and his world. Sweating and shaking he wakes up screaming, looking down he see’s his injuries. Injuries of the body that healed 3 years ago, these injuries remain in the soul. The bullets rip through the tunnel every night. The battle of the Fallujah rages on in his skull, every turn a trap, every step an ambush.

After returning from Iraq he was hit with episodes of rage, he beat his father in a drunken wrath. He woke up hands wrapped around his wife’s throat. A car horn is a trigger to a vexation beyond all recognition, not just a passer by, but a man that wishes death upon this already traumatised mind. His friends taken from him in a rocket attack appear in the street, in the bars, in the car. Work becomes impossible, a rifle range takes him back to the burning porter cabin, a car door takes him back to the fire fight his mind remains in. he left the military without seeking help believing the symptoms would stop once he withdrew, however they didn’t, the support was gone, his wife was gone, his life was gone. The anger grew, the alcohol became normal, the debt grew. He became reclusive, pushing away the very people that help him at every corner. With all he knew and loved gone, the money to pull himself out of the situation he was in gone, his possessions; repossessed, all he has is a tunnel, a haunting, and a scar in body and mind.

Violence in a war-zone is normal, it is necessary, it is a lifesaver, if you unleash more violence than your adversary you live… they die. Hundreds of soldiers throughout the world bring this violence back home with them; combat stress and posttraumatic stress are now more recognised and therefore more prevalent than ever before. With soldiers returning from theatres like Iraq, and Afghanistan daily with severe issues, the awareness for these conditions must be increased, the hardest men and women in the world sometimes need help.

Lets not just walk past the man in the burning tunnel called his life, pull him out the wreck he finds it so hard to leave. Because tears alone wont heal this mans burns.

Violence in Syria Continues to Spiral Beyond all Control

Posted: May 14, 2012 in World conflict
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A further 30 people have been killed overnight in Syrian clashes. Raston became the latest city to fall victim of the heavy violence on behalf of the Syrian rebels. This follows a series of 2 blasts in the thriving city of Damascus, resulting in the deaths of 55 people on Thursday morning. The blasts were the most deadly since the uprising began in 2011. There is an obvious disregard to civilian lives throughout the country both on behalf of the rebels and the Syrian authorities, who, whilst trying to retake Homs from rebel hands early this year, unleashed a deadly series of artillery strikes into heavily populated areas within the city.

The blasts were said to have been caused by two improvised explosive devices ranging from 225kg to 450kg, to put into perspective the explosion from a 500lb (230kg) bomb dropped from an aircraft causes a danger area of around 300m, add this to a concrete road at rush hour and the devastation is truly horrifying. The use of a weapon such as this in such a densely populated area has got to be the work of an organisation capable of truly horrendous acts. This leaves the otherwise innocent population of Syria between a rock and a hard place; the government wishes them dead, as do the rebels. Is it not time something must be done?

Instead the world looks on, the human rights watchdog has condemned the violence however condemnation will only go so far, increasing pressure on the UN will undoubtedly have an effect eventually, however, with coalition countries withdrawing from Afghanistan due to public pressure within their own border’s, how many of these countries will be willing to commit to creating peace within a country in turmoil? The jihadist group al-Qaida has been suspected of causing the violence, and with increasing civilian causalities within Syria due to IED and suicide bombings it appears increasingly and more importantly disturbingly likely.

The group under their new commander recently encouraged the use of civilian victims and weapons of mass destruction to achieve their goal of a world under an extremist sharia fist. The Syrian authorities have, using an overwhelming and fierce retaliation, also created an increasingly desperate force, fighting against their troops, who, have reportedly slaughtered up to 9,000 victims, merely trying to live in a country torn at the seams by the vicious, oppressive regime.

However, there appears to be 2 very different rebel tactics in use within Syria, the first, armed attacks directed towards the Syrian army, and other authorities, similar to the attack last night. Causing the deaths of the soldiers who themselves, operating under orders have been spearheading the bombardment of civilian locations under rebel control throughout the country, 23 of which were killed in last nights raid. And the second, the use of suicide and improvised explosions as mentioned earlier. Could we be seeing (as seen in every major middle-eastern conflict in the last 500 years) an influx of foreign fighters, wishing to push through their ‘jihad’, appearing to not have any regard for the lives of the people of Syria. If this is the case there is a very real danger of the crisis spiralling out of control.  Creating an insurgency, that could cost the lives of far more innocent victims. The violence needs to be stopped, and needs to be stopped soon.

Just Another Day on MERT

Posted: May 7, 2012 in Afghanistan
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The shout came through, that nerve trembling burst of static alerting you to the worst day of someone else’s life. Immediately the brews are dropped, the film that was so intriguing is now just a distant blur, a memory of a former care free life… the pan where the Chinook helicopter is kept is only a short distance away some 300 metres, and yet it’s the single most physically exhausting run of my life. The adrenaline causes vision to blur, legs to shake you feel weak and helpless, and an overwhelming need to vomit takes hold. As we arrive at the helicopter the crew are already there preparing, running backwards and forwards looking at the various dials and ensuring everything is working to an acceptable level, our body armour, helmets and rifles are left on the seats and quickly put on. As the blades begin to turn the section commander is receiving the information on the casualty, their location and current state, enemy presence etc, this gets passed back as hand signals and we all know to a point what lies ahead.  Finally we lift off the Chinook banks right and speeds away from bastion, we know the casualty is ISAF and the flight time is 10 minutes, the area where the rest of my unit works is anything from 2 to around 10 minutes, and with the direction we were heading its unlikely to be a friend, I can feel myself begin to relax, and can see from the others faces they too have come to the same conclusion. With everyone knowing what they’re doing, the medical equipment passed back from the medics all ready to go there’s a brief respite, a small 5 minute chance to relax, I spend my time looking out over the compounds and the hundreds of people living in this truly nails place, they don’t care what we do, who we are or the names of the soldiers that have died or been grotesquely injured in their name, if it suits they’re friends until of course we move out of their village and then they’re more than happy to dig that hole ready for the IED to be placed later… Supporting the highest bidder, if the Taliban dominate, the locals support them, if we dominate the locals support us.

At the 2 minute point a final check of my rifle is made and I’m ready to get to work. As we approach the Chinook banks hard to the left and seems to fall to the floor, the tail is dropped and my foot hits the soft ground of a ploughed field, the mud sticks to your boots and combined with the weight of the kit we carry it makes it hard work just moving. Nowhere is safe and a step can’t be made without scanning the ground before hand to ensure it’s not me adding to the casualty list. Our 4 man team pushes’ out to form a cordon around the helicopter, by this point the adrenaline is pumping, the rifles in the aim ready to use. I use the sights to find the enemy to prevent them from engaging the aircraft in its extremely vulnerable state. Time seems to slow down, the ground appears to lift up around us and the sounds of whips cracking over our heads seem to drown out all other noise the rotors, the shouts fade into the background and the sound of incoming rounds take 100 per cent of my concentration, a feeling of immense frustration of my unbelievably exposed position takes hold, I dive to the floor cocking my rifle desperately scanning the hedge lines. “this guy is going to fucking die” I whisper under my breath, fed up of the bullshit, the bollockings, the constant worry of hitting an IED and in that one moment all that aggression was released and the person responsible for all the dead soldiers, all the people forgotten about and left with life changing injuries, was whoever was firing at me and he was going to die… whilst I was having the battle with my head the stretcher was carried on behind me, I caught the lads eye his face was yellow with blood loss, and the entrails that used to be a leg dragged on the floor behind the stretcher, this was only an initial glimpse into the injuries i’d soon be having to deal with and with that thought my heart sunk. The incoming rounds now seemed trivial, a mere hindrance in the way of the Chinook doors, no longer my fight, and leaving that piece of ground that seconds ago was my fortress was quite possibly the hardest thing I’ve had to do this tour.

As I ran onto the helicopter the rifle that had been so important on the ground was now obsolete and left on my seat as I ran forward to help the medics. I moved towards the casualty and was hit with the smell, a mixture of aviation fuel, cordite,grease and most of all blood, that smell will never leave me. It was only now the true extent of the injuries became apparent, one leg was gone at the hip the other at the knee, pelvis smashed, 7 of his ten fingers gone however the wedding ring remains, a reminder to the real casualties of this war. I began stuffing the holes where the leg used to be but it became rapidly apparent that although not completely dead the injuries he had sustained were beyond any repair. As I look up I see the doctor shake his head and before I know it the all too familiar question, “does anyone have any objections to stopping this now”. There is no answer but the feeling is clear among us, I lean back on my knees and look at the shell that less than an hour ago was a soldier and someone’s mate, still alive in the minds of an entire family, just another 30 second piece on the news. I take my seat next to the other soldier also picked up from the site, his injuries may appear physically small, just a graze to the head from the blast, go much deeper, and the tears in his eyes as the union flag gets pulled over the mutilated body of another young life taken in war, tell the story of what’s to come for this wounded man. I place my hand on his shoulder in some loose form of condolences however it will take a lot more hands on a lot more shoulders to make any difference to the people who loved that life.

Upon returning to bastion I retake my place watching the same film, drinking the same brew, attempting to return to that same care free life, waiting for the next shout to come through.

This is the story of 1 MERT callout, the same day these events took place a further 8 shouts came through…

Contact IED

Posted: May 5, 2012 in Afghanistan
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The morning broke with the sun rising over the desert. There’s never a bright glow as you’d imagine, never a red fire ball on the horizon, but the light just seems to spill over the ground like a wave over rocks.

I’m in Helmand province, Afghanistan, stood in the “crows nest” atop the roof of one of our vehicles, the WMIK, (now out of service due to its inability to keep the crew alive during an IED blast) one of our main fighting vehicles. Its chassis is based on the land rover defender, the body panels are removed an replaced with ballistic nylon pads, a roll cage is fitted, and finally a .50 machine gun is attached to the roof. These vehicles when new were difficult to drive, lacked power and were outrageously top heavy, but now after 5 years of service were barely useable, but us British always like an underdog and its quite possibly the favorite vehicle among the troops. We’re placed in a position close to todays target, a settlement we refer to simply as settlement 2. Running along its length is a road we’ve nicknamed Broadway, this acts as the divide between the two tribes in the village, tribes, which seem hell-bent on making each other’s lives as difficult as possible. There have been a number of IED strikes in the area and we’re intending on going into the village to gauge the atmosphere, and hoping to find some much needed information on where the strikes are derived.

Our intention was to move at first light, but difficulty with radio communications have forced us into delaying our op and by the time we begin to move its already 0845. I take my seat in the back of the mastiff, a vehicle designed as an “urgent operation requirement” to be used as a patrol vehicle capable of taking blasts whilst keeping the crew safe, a job it does extremely well! A job it does not do extremely well however is having enough space to fit people and equipment, as a result this morning there’s 8 of us crammed into a space built for 6, along with more equipment than was used during the entire first gulf war. The vehicle roars into life with a familiar grumble, as we begin to move the suspension creaks under the strain of 26 tons and lumbers forwards. The lead vehicle, a welter weight in comparison is the Panther, at a mere 8 tons it provides the job of a lead scout scanning the ground to ensure the patrol doesn’t roll into any avoidable un-pleasantries. Inside the Mastiff situational awareness is non-existent, you have to just sit and wait for the call to get out, and then learn very quickly the lay of the land, try and work out where you are and then get the job done. The suspension on these vehicles is truly medieval, as a result you spent more time trying to hold yourself in position than anything else, I sit holding onto my day-sack and trying desperately to keep my rifle from being thrown out the holder that broke around 2 months ago, and never got replaced. Music spills through from the driver’s compartment, Johny Cash, when the man comes around.

Suddenly there’s an almighty destructive bang… It feels as though Thor’s hammer has struck the metallic shell of the vehicle. I immediately think it’s our Mastiff, the explosion was that ferocious it can’t be any other… Surely, grabbing my legs I’m hit with an overwhelming relief. The top cover drops into a ball on his stand. My relief turns to guilt, I believe he’s been hit, but thankfully after an agonizing wait he reply’s to our shouts, “fuck… Shit… I mean, CONTACT IED! The panthers hit!” Once again the guilt returns, a lifetimes worth of emotions in a disgustingly short period of time can’t be good for any mind.

As last man in the vehicle I realize it’s now my job to get out the safe haven of the Mastiff and walk towards the seat of the explosion. It’s very rare for just one IED in place, they often have up to 3 secondary traps, it’s like running into a building engulfed in flames. I’ve no idea what waits for me but as I open the door I see the rear lights of the panther, deformed in a molten twisted fashion dug into the ground like a gothic figure. I most definitely fear the worst. I step out the door facing the most hostile 50 meters of my life, armed with nothing but a metal-detector. With adrenaline coursing through my veins hesitation isn’t an option, and so myself an one other, Hilly, we begin to move. The panther is in a horrendous state, a fire extinguisher that used to be attached to the rear of the vehicle sits 200 meters away, and shards of the vehicle’s armour litter the ground between myself and the remnants of the £500,000 Panther. Over to my left is the village, usually crammed with activity the place is desolate, A sure sign something isn’t right. Step bystep I progress to the explosive carnage. I begin to smell a familiar aroma. Fuel. The explosion has hit the tank; fuel is covering the back of the wagon, all over the floor and continues to spill onto the ground. Normally this wouldn’t be problem, but in the Afghan sun it renders the entire panther its own IED. Finally I approach the driver’s door, looking through the window the driver is staring straight forward, white as a sheet. But miraculously unharmed. I shout through to the other passengers, telling them to climb out the hatches over to me, they’re are all completely un-injured, the passenger in the back can’t hear a thing, completely deaf, which provides some much needed humor. Looking up from the growing fountain of fuel, I see the commander clambering out his hatch, fag between his fingers, just about to flick it on to the ground, “PUT THE FUCKING FAG OUT!” He stops in his tracks, pulls the cigarette back into his hand and scrapes it onto roof; I’ve never been so pleased to see someone stop smoking. Leading the way we trudge back to the Mastiff, leaving the dismantled shell that used to be the lead vehicle. I realize if that had been the WMIK that had driven over that IED, I’d have been literally scraping up 3 bodies.

Our patrol was incredibly lucky that day. 410 British soldiers have not been so lucky. The Panther without doubt saved the lives of 4 friends, without that vehicle, the Mastiff, and all the other armoured equipment now used in Afghanistan 410 dead would be far, far greater. IED’s take a man from the peak of physical fitness, tough, battle hardened individuals down to the depths of invalidity, both physically and mentally. I will, soon be adding a story of another MERT call-out, which will show what effects the IED has on the individuals and friends this cowardly weapon causes.


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