Knowing that, it’s little wonder that the rookie machine-gunner accidentally shot his own men, that the sergeant major didn’t use zap numbers during this attack, and that the company commander couldn’t give the leadership needed. I feel very sorry for all three of those men; they carry round a terrible weight, unfairly.
At the start of the tour, Brigadier Thomas had asked the MoD for an extra manoeuvre battlegroup to carry out everything that was expected of 3 Commando Brigade in Helmand – especially securing Garmsir and carrying out Operation Glacier. Despite countless promises from the Prime Minister about commanders in Afghanistan getting everything they asked for, his request was flatly refused. Instead, the brigadier was told to make do with what he already had, and generate any extra attack forces from his existing establishment. In other words, if Garmsir was to be held he had little choice but to send undertrained men into the most ferocious battle.
Knowing all of that, it’s hard not to form a pretty depressing conclusion about Jugroom Fort: Mathew Ford probably died because the government gave the guys on the ground far too little and asked of them far too much.
Operation Glacier continued, with the three further planned attacks passing off as intended.
Glacier 3 set out to smash a relay post – the Cruciform – for enemy fighters five kilometres south of Garmsir. But the attacking force arrived to find it had already been vacated; there were not enough men in the area to man it and fight the DC – strong evidence that the enemy’s command chain was already in tatters.
Glacier 4 and 5 were both ground assaults launched from the DC southwards. The Taliban remnants marshalled into the killing fields, exactly where Colonel Magowan wanted them – all he had to do was come and get them. Hundreds of marines and Afghan National Army soldiers, backed by Apaches and fast air, swept through two kilometres of abandoned farmland, destroying everything in their way. With nowhere to run to, the Taliban were routed.
The Garmsir DC was never retaken by the Taliban. The enemy’s southern MSR was totally severed, and many hundreds of them were killed. Most important of all, Glacier had bought the marines the time they so desperately needed to consolidate. Yet its benefits could only ever be temporary. With the Task Force never being afforded enough troops to hold any of the ground the marines had fought so hard to win, the Taliban eventually reorganised and regrouped in the south – as Colonel Magowan predicted.
Jugroom Fort was reinfiltrated, and at the time of writing, the Taliban are still there. By the spring, sporadic fighting had returned to Garmsir; killing two of the Grenadier Guardsmen who inherited the DC when the marines left in April. By late summer the hard fighting had resumed. After the guardsmen, it was the Household Cavalry Regiment’s turn – and that’s where Prince Harry earned his military spurs. He was a JTAC in Garmsir for two months, operating under the callsign Widow Six Seven. The publicity shots showed him firing a .5 calibre machine gun off JTAC Hill, which meant that by Christmas 2007 – after ten months of regrouping – the Taliban, yet again, weren’t far from the DC’s gates.
656 Squadron went home at the end of February 2007, the day of my departure coinciding exactly with Glacier’s finale. But I couldn’t leave without having to sit down for one final ammo tally with Kev Blundell. The Boss and the CO wanted the statistical data for 9 Regiment Army Air Corps’ final tour of Afghanistan before handing over to 3 Regiment. Only by working out the cost of particular operations and how much the individuals fire, can we plan for future operations.
Kev told me I’d personally fired more ammunition on this tour than the entire squadron had in the whole of the previous summer – some £2.5 million worth of weaponry. To be precise: twenty-six Hellfire missiles, fifty-four Flechette rockets and 4,120 cannon rounds.
The Koshtay raid proved to be (and still is) the most expensive single British Apache sortie in history. In our thirty-two minutes over the target area, we expended £1,060,794.20 of ammunition; or £33,149.82 every minute.
The fastest rate of fire award rightfully went to Charlotte and Tony. They put down £426,353.36 worth in six minutes over Jugroom, protecting us in and then out of the fort with Mathew Ford. They still hold that record today, and I can’t see it ever being beaten.
When we got home, I had to confess to Emily that I had returned from the fort with my life but no angel. Emily likes to think she served her purpose and wasn’t needed any more. My daughter insists she guided Mathew on his way. I’m a realist, so know what I believe: she remains MIA.
We got a chance to look at the newspaper coverage our families had kept for us. We found out more about Mathew and what sort of a guy he was. I think I would have really liked him.
He was the oldest of three brothers and known to everyone as an outgoing but gentle giant. Mathew’s mother Joan initially talked him out of his lifelong ambition to join the forces; she persuaded him to become a car mechanic instead. After seven years in the local garage, he decided to sign up anyway, telling Joan: ‘I’ve done what you wanted; now it’s my turn.’ Joan gave him her complete support, and told Mathew she was hugely proud of him when he earned his green beret. Joan didn’t want him to go to Afghanistan, his first combat tour. Mathew reassured her, telling her he’d be all right.
He was buried on 1 February – seven days after he was due to fly home from Afghanistan – with full military honours in St Andrew’s Church in Immingham, north-east Lincolnshire, the town where he’d grown up. He was thirty years old.
On a still, cold morning beneath a blue sky, his hearse was driven through Immingham at walking pace so the hundreds of mourners who lined the route could see him as he passed. His coffin was draped in a Union Flag and decorated with flower arrangements: ‘Son’, ‘Brother’ and ‘Maff’.
A bearer party from 45 Commando carried Mathew into the church, with Joan, Dad Bootsy Lewis and his fiancée Ina Reid following behind.
Mathew and Ina lived together in Dundee, where Ina was studying for her degree. They had met three years before – shortly after Mathew was posted to 45 Commando, based at RM Condor in nearby Arbroath – and instantly fallen in love. After almost six years of service, Mathew was planning on getting out of the Marines to settle down and have a family with her. He wanted to be a fireman or a policeman, but most of all he wanted to be a daddy.
The church was so full that many had to stand outside where loudspeakers relayed the service. The priest read out a message from Ina.
Another day is gone and I am still all alone.
We never said good-bye.
Someone tell me why.
You were my guiding light, without you it is dark and I am lost.
We were supposed to be for ever and thanks to you I know how
it feels to be loved.
Stay close beside me. I miss you so much.
There is no one in the world that could ever replace you.
I dream of the day we will meet again, and for ever can begin.
I hope you have the same dreams too.
I love you Mathew.
Mathew is buried in the new section of the graveyard and a bench has been placed opposite his grave for the many visitors that come and pay their respects for a man that made the ultimate sacrifice for us all.