Harding Nick - Helmand to the Himalayas: one soldiers inspirational journey

William Ernest Henley

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:

I am the captain of my soul.

Dedicated to the boy I nearly never met, to the girl I nearly never made and to the woman who held all four of us together through all over this.

In memory of those who fell on 3 November 2009, Shin Kalay, Nad-e Ali district, Helmand Province, Afghanistan.

The breath wouldnt come. The lung had collapsed in my chest, shredded and useless.

Moments before, the quiet of the morning had been shattered by the sound of multiple weapons on automatic fire opening up on the patrol. Id assessed the situation, conducted my estimate and planned my counterattack. We were under fire from a position to our front and right. I looked at the map and located a couple of compounds that were the likely staging points of the enemy attack.

I didnt know how many of them there were, so, crouching low, I inched forward to get a better fix on the situation. Thats when I saw the Taliban spotter, or dicker. He was standing there, 150 metres away, leaning against a compound wall, brazenly watching the firefight. He would have been relaying information about our numbers and position to the shooters. Bastard.

I could have killed him easily but I couldnt be totally sure that he was working for the enemy and this would have been against our rules of engagement, so I sent a warning shot into the ground next to him instead. That did the trick. He turned on his heels and ran. As soon as he fled, a second enemy position opened up directly to my front, likely drawn by my own firing at the dicker. The first round was so close I felt it whistle past my head; the second floored me. I had no time to react. It smashed into my shoulder like a sledgehammer, pulverising bone and tissue. It travelled through my chest, snapping my ribs like matchsticks and macerating a lung. I was picked up by the force and flung several metres through the air, spinning like a ragdoll.

I landed in a crumpled heap.

I tried to yell, but it came out as a rather pathetic sound.

Im shot Im shot Im shot, boys.

The rounds were still coming as the sniper who nailed me tried to finish off the job. Survival instinct kicked in, and I slithered into the ditch by the side of the road for cover. In the fetid water I began to gasp for breath.

Dust, air and shitty ditch water sucked in through the angry hole in my shoulder as I tried to inhale. The exhalation sprayed blood and fluid bubbles from the wound in a disgusting cloud. The pain was indescribable and getting worse. I couldnt move my right side as I squirmed in the mud, blood and water, and my new paralysis combined with 35kg of kit and equipment resulted in me slipping under the surface.

I heard a call down the line of troops.

Man down!

All around me there was movement. A body crashed into the muck next to me.

It was my Fijian lance corporal.

Youre going to be alright, Boss, he reassured me, as he dragged my body above the surface allowing me to breathe.

But we both knew that was a navely optimistic assessment of the situation. He set to work urgently, tugging and cutting away my kit and clothes in an effort to assess my injuries. Blood spurted in an arc from the bullet entry wound. It splashed on my face. The ditch water was tepid, but the blood was hot. I turned away as Manny joined us in the ditch and struggled to staunch the flow.

Further forward, the thunderous clatter of our GPMG sent a spray of deadly fire towards the bastards who had just hit me. Hopefully they were now experiencing the same level of pain and panic that was coursing through my body.

I tried to help my medic and remove some of the equipment I was carrying, but each movement sent a fresh wave of pain searing through my body. My arm wasnt working. My body refused to do what I wanted it to. I felt numb in some places and alive with burning agony in others. My right side felt as though all the nerves in it were being electrified and stung by bees at the same time. Nerve damage. The smashed bones in my shoulder, chest and back were in agony. I couldnt speak; I couldnt breathe. I was bleeding out and the blood was filling my chest cavity. I heard a weird sucking, gurgling sound and looked down to see the tiny round wound in my shoulder burbling with each difficult breath. The blood and air were filling my chest rapidly, and had started to prevent my good lung from opening.

We need to get him out of here. NOW! Manny yelled.

I was pulled and pushed out of the ditch and staggered back along the road we had been patrolling. Each step sent waves of pain through my broken torso. Each gulp for breath bought a fresh pulse of hurt.

I dropped in the dust. The air around me was alive with enemy fire. Too close for comfort. The ground vibrated as an RPG landed nearby. The pressure wave hit my chest and set off a fresh chain reaction of suffering. My useless lung convulsed in a chest cavity that was filling with air, blood and fluid. With all the space taken up by blood and air, my other lung struggled to inflate.

I was prone. I was a target. Manny dropped on top of me, a human shield against the threat of more hot rounds. We lay in that position for what seemed like ages while our guns sought out and neutralised the threats that were jeopardising my extraction from the scene. I knew my injuries were serious and that I needed to get to the hospital in Bastion where Id have a fighting chance of survival. But while we were pinned down in a firefight it was unlikely a helicopter would be allowed to land and take me away.

and ye though I walk through the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil. Mannys voice filled my ears. High pitched, breathless and panicking, he began to pray for us.

Damn, I really am in the shit, I thought. The medic is reciting the Psalms.

Then he started repeating the Lords Prayer over and over again. I mouthed the words in time with his. I didnt have the air in me to speak them. We lay there in the maelstrom: me, dying; Manny, squaring it with the man upstairs. My breathing stopped. I tried, but I couldnt force any air into my chest. My lungs had given up. My eyes widened. I started to panic and point at my mouth. More than anything I wanted to live. I wanted to see my wife and unborn son. I wanted to see home. I didnt want my last memory to be a dusty Afghan street. Tears filled my eyes. My senses began to dull. The sounds of battle were becoming distant.

This is it. This is how I end, I told myself.

I yawned and waited for the all-clear. Another insurgent had taken a mortar pot shot somewhere on the base. It happened at least twice a week and was more inconvenient than it was dangerous. The attacks inevitably took place at night. Each time they happened, the American early warning system screamed out and sent everyone diving for cover in the makeshift sheet metal shelters under their breeze block beds. We would all lie there in our little metal coffins, bollocks pressed tight against the cold floor.