I need my pistol. I glanced back across the field, and there was Geordie, thirty metres away. The Taliban bullets cracked through the air around us. ‘Geordie, put some rounds down!’ Then I saw he didn’t have his carbine with him either. Got to move Mathew out of the fire. Get him behind the aircraft … The fuselage was only seven metres away; we were very near the blades. My eyes dipped as I grasped Mathew more firmly and tugged my foot free. My pistol poked out from underneath him. I grabbed the grip and spun round on my knees, preparing to return fire towards the muzzle flashes. As I did so, the sound of the Apache’s rotor pitch changed. Oh no … Carl started to pull power. Dust and grit smacked me in the face as I turned to see the aircraft begin to wobble. The blades coned upwards. I got straight to my feet. I could just make out Carl speaking fast into his microphone and monitoring our every move. He didn’t want to hit us when he took off.
