For ten weeks they kept the secret of Widow Six Seven

[Paragon]

From The Times

February 29, 2008

For ten weeks they kept the secret of Widow Six Seven

 

 

American pilots, Afghan soldiers and Taleban fighters - all of them were unaware that the third in line to the throne was in their midst

Ben Macintyre

 

On New Year’s Eve the battlefield air controller known to pilots as “Widow Six Seven” – but better known to the world as Prince Harry – called in his first airstrike on a Taleban position: Operation Purple.

 

At the Prince’s direction, two US F15 jets, their pilots quite unaware that they were acting on royal command, dropped two 500lb bombs on to a Taleban bunker system. A third exploded as Taleban fighters emerged from the position.

 

Working from a fortified position nearby, the 23-year-old Household Cavalry officer and third in line to the throne is formally known as a forward air controller (FAC) or joint tactical air controller (JTAC). In nonmilitary parlance, he plans, rehearses and launches air attacks.

 

Before his deployment to Afghanistan, the Prince said he craved anonymity. Fighting and living on the front line, in the dust, noise and excitement, he has discovered, he says, a sense of normality in circumstances most people would regard as anything but normal. “All my wishes have come true,” he said.

 

Two days before Operation Purple, Taleban fighters had been seen digging trenches and fortifications behind their lines. Using pictures from reconnaissance aircraft and unmanned drones, Harry’s task was to monitor movement on the ground, identify enemy forces, ensure that there were no civilians or “friendlies” in the area, and bring in the bombs.

 

On the night before the attack he stayed at his post until after midnight, surveying the area with the help of a night-flying Desert Hawk drone that beamed back pictures on the computer screen nicknamed “Taleban TV” or, more grimly, “Kill TV”.

 

Early next morning artillery forced the Taleban back to their bunkers, 150 metres behind the lines. Harry verified the coordinates one last time and called in the jets. Once the pilots were ready to attack, they radioed “in hot” to Widow Six Seven. Harry signalled back: “cleared hot”, and a few moments later the bombs began to fall.

 

On another occasion, when Taleban group was spotted moving forward to attack Camp Delhi, Harry manned the .50 calibre machinegun for the first time, firing across no man’s land while a Gurkha filmed on Harry’s handheld camera. “This is the first time I’ve fired a .50 cal,” he admitted with a grin. “It’s just no man’s land. They poke their heads up and that’s it.

 

“The whole place is just deserted,” he said, looking out over the desolate, pitted land. “There are craters all over the place – it just looks like something out of the Battle of the Somme.”

 

For two months this has been Harry’s world. He has been secretly working on the front line in Helmand, the first member of Royal Family to take part in military action since Prince Andrew in Falklands. Living on the most basic rations, deprived of clubs, drink, and his hard-living familiars, Prince Harry has never been happier. “What am I missing? Nothing, really. It’s nice just to be here with all the guys and just mucking in as one of the lads.”

 

Conditions are spartan, to say the least. At night in December in Forward Base Dwyer the temperature dropped to minus 8C (17.6F). The sleeping areas, metal cages filled with blast-proof rubble, have no heating. There is almost no running water. Shaving is restricted to once every three days, and the shower is a punctured bag in a wooden cubicle.

 

Toilet facilities consist of pipes half-buried in the sand, known as “desert roses”, and the traditional plywood “thunderboxes”, positioned facing south – “to bare your *** to the enemy”, in the standard military joke. “It’s bizarre,” the Prince remarked. “I’m out here now, haven’t really had a shower for four days, haven’t washed my clothes for a week, and everything feels completely normal.”

 

Harry arrived in Afghanistan shortly before Christmas. Within days he had been sent to Forward Base Delhi, to serve alongside Gurkha troops in the southernmost British position in Helmand. From Delhi, the Taleban front line is only 500 metres away.

 

The position comes under attack several times a day from rocket-propelled grenades, mortar shells and machinegun fire. A nearby observation post is erected on the remains of a 19th-century British fort – a reminder that Britain has fought here before. A few hundreds yards away is the shell of Garmsir, once the main trading and administrative centre for southern Helmand but now a ghost town, abandoned more than a year ago when the Taleban were driven out.

 

Asked whether he felt exposed to danger here, Harry laughed. “When you know you are with the Gurkhas, I think there is no safer place to be, really.” That is traditional soldier talk: as Harry’s comrades freely admit, this is one of the most dangerous spots in the theatre of war.

 

As well as his air traffic control duties, Harry took part in foot patrols through the town and surveyed the area from a frontline observation position. He also had responsibility for preventing “friendly fire”, protecting aircraft from ground attack, and generally coordinating movements in the air.

 

Further to the rear, he was based at Forward Operating Base Dwyer, an outpost in the middle of the desert six miles from the front. Here a cook works miracles with ration packs, doling out pasta, curries and mashed potatoes from a tent dubbed Hell Man’s Kitchen. The only real luxury is a large television with a satellite link to British Forces Broadcasting Service.

 

For someone more often seen in Boujis nightclub, Harry is in his element. “I honestly don’t know what I miss at all. Music, we’ve got music, we’ve got light, we’ve got food, we’ve got [non-alcoholic] drink.” Conscious of his image as a party animal, he added quickly: “No, I don’t miss the booze, if that’s your next question.”

 

From Dwyer, the Royal Artillery fires 105mm guns to suppress Taleban attacks at the front. Counterattacks have been few, but the collective adrenalin surges whenever the guns sound. “This is what it’s all about – being here with the guys rather than being in a room with a bunch of officers, listening to their problems, listening to what they think.”

 

Harry has also picked up the slang. “Terry Taleban and his mates, as soon as they hear air they go to ground, which makes life a little bit tricky,” he said, describing his task of monitoring Taleban positions with the latest equipment, including heat sensors to pin-point underground positions. “Having something that gives you a visual feed-back from way up means they can carry on with their normal pattern of life and we can follow them.”

 

He has been surprised by the amount of action he has seen. “I was expecting, ‘fine, you can be here for a few days but then we’ll drag you back’.” Instead, at the forward camps no special limits have been put on him by Major Mark Milford, Officer Commanding, B Company, 1st Battalion The Royal Gurkha Rifles.

 

Patrolling the empty streets of Garmsir, Harry is just another soldier. “Just walking around, some of the ANP (Afghan National Police) haven’t got a clue who I am,” he said. The Taleban, only 500 metres away, were also unaware of his presence.

 

The town has changed hands repeatedly in the course of the fighting. Although a few people have moved back, it is too close to the front for safety. Its bullet-pocked buildings are stalked by a few feral cats, the shops lying open and empty.

 

“It’s fantastic,” Harry said, as a boy trotted by on donkey, not recognising one of the most famous faces in the world. “I’m still a little bit conscious not to show my face too much in and around the area.

 

“I think up north when I do go up there, if I do go on patrols in amongst the locals I will still be very wary about the fact that I need to keep my face slightly covered. Just on the off chance that I do get recognised, which will put the other guys in danger.”

 

Dirty, unshaven, under fire, in danger and in the middle of a battlefield, the Prince, it seems, has found a measure of internal peace.

 

Compiled with reports from John Bingham, PA chief reporter