Medic: Saving Lives - From Dunkirk to Afghanistan Read online

  By the same authors

  Home Run: Escape from Nazi Europe

  The Last Escape

  Tail-End Charlies

  Also by John Nichol

  Tornado Down (with John Peters)

  Team Tornado (with John Peters)

  FICTION

  Point of Impact

  Vanishing Point

  Exclusion Zone

  Stinger

  Decisive Measures

  Also by Tony Rennell

  Last Days of Glory

  When Daddy Came Home (with Barry Turner)

  Medic

  Saving Lives – from Dunkirk to Afghanistan

  JOHN NICHOL AND TONY RENNELL

  VIKING

  an imprint of

  PENGUIN BOOKS

  VIKING

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

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  (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd)

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  Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  www.penguin.com

  First published in 2009

  Copyright © John Nichol and Tony Rennell, 2009

  The moral right of the authors has been asserted

  All rights reserved

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  ISBN: 978-0-14-192111-2

  For Sophie and Harry

  This book is dedicated to our country’s exceptional military medical personnel. Their courage is an inspiration.

  Contents

  List of Illustrations

  Maps

  Acknowledgements

  Preface

  PART I : INTRODUCTION

  1. Saving Sergeant Major Stockton

  2. Inhumanity

  PART II: THE SECOND WORLD WAR

  3. Overwhelmed

  4. Bamboo Surgeons

  5. Desert Doctors

  6. Stout Hearts

  7. Bravest of the Brave

  PART III: THE FALKLANDS WAR

  8. A Long Way from Home

  9. Battle Stations

  10. Fire Down Below

  11. Gaining the High Ground

  PART IV: IRAQ

  12. Bitter Pills

  13. Under Siege

  14. A Woman’s Place

  PART V: AFGHANISTAN

  15. On Afghanistan’s Plains…

  16. Where Angels Fear to Tread…

  17. Shifting Sands

  PART VI: AFTERMATH

  18. Scars That Will Not Heal

  Glossary

  Notes

  References

  Index

  List of Illustrations

  1. Eric Harden VC. This was taken in 1940 and sent to his wife inscribed, ‘To Darling Maude From Eric xx’ (Harden Family Archive)

  2. Eric Harden’s widow Maud and their son Bobby at the Victoria Cross investiture at Buckingham Palace on 9 April 1946 (Harden Family Archive)

  3. The telegram sent to Maud Harden informing her of Eric’s death, 29 January 1945 (Harden Family Archive)

  4. Thailand, August 1945. An emaciated British prisoner at the hospital camp at Nakhon Pathom (Imperial War Museum HU4569)

  5. Jungle medicine in a bamboo hut lined with mosquito netting (Australian War Memorial ART 91848)

  6. Wounded soldiers arriving home from France in summer 1944 (from Eric Taylor, Combat Nurses)

  7. British and Canadian forces help a wounded soldier in a forest clearing in the Nijmegen area, Holland, February 1945 (from Eric Taylor, Combat Nurses)

  8. Falklands, 1982. Surgeon Commander Rick Jolly during a television interview with ITN journalist Jeremy Hands at Ajax Bay (Rick Jolly)

  9. 3 Para medical personnel treating Argentinian wounded at Mount Longdon (from Journal of the Royal Army Medical Corps, vol. 153, supplement 1)

  10. Major Roger Nutbeem, who died aboard Sir Galahad, and his young daughter Kathryn (Kathryn Nutbeem)

  11. Kathryn Nutbeem, waiting to sing at the ceremony commemorating the 25th anniversary of the Falklands War in June 2007 (Kathryn Nutbeem)

  12. Survivors of the Sir Galahad coming ashore at Fitzroy (from Journal of the Royal Army Medical Corps, vol. 153, supplement 1)

  13. A medical assistant at Ajax Bay field hospital applies Flamazine to a burned Welsh Guardsman from Sir Galahad (Rick Jolly)

  14. RAMC Medic Eleanor Dlugosz, killed by an IED in Iraq, 5 April 2007 (Sally Veck)

  15. Sergeant John Jones, killed by an IED in Iraq, 20 November 2005 (Carol Jones)

  16. Medics of 4 General Support Regiment provide medical attention to the father of a young Iraqi child, Basra, 2003 (Paul Jarvis/MOD/Getty Images)

  17. Colonel Tim Hodgetts briefs the medical team as casualties arrive after an incident in Afghanistan (Tim Hodgetts)

  18. British medics evacuate an injured Iraqi soldier from a forward operating base in southern Iraq, 26 March 2003 (Reuters/ Pool/James Vellacott/RTRKWDL)

  19. RAF fire crews in Afghanistan race to a Chinook helicopter to help unload casualties as ambulances stand by (Andy Smith)

  20. The MERT after an operation in Afghanistan (Damien van Carrapiett)

  21. Falklands, 1982 – the 2 Para Regimental Aid Post during the battle for Goose Green (Steven Hughes)

  22. Afghanistan, 2006 – 3 Para doctor Captain Harvey Pynn treats the ‘wheelbarrow’ casualty during the battle at Now Zad (Harvey Pynn)

  23. Falklands – the medical notes sheet from a casualty treated by 2 Para doctor Steven Hughes (Steven Hughes)

  24. RAF Sergeant Rachel McDonald aboard the MERT helicopter in Afghanistan (Damien van Carrapiett)

  25. Private Holly Percival during her tour in Afghanistan, 2009 (Holly Percival)

  26. Iraq, March 2003 – an RAF medic tends to two British marines from 42 Commando after they were injured during the conflict (Mirrorpix/Getty Images)

  27. Iraq, September 2005 – a soldier escapes from a burning Warrior during the incident at a Basra police station where two undercover SAS soldiers were being held captive (Reuters)

  28. RAF Flight Sergeant Frank Mincher treating other casualties in an ambulance during the same incident in Basra (Frank Mincher)

  29. Troops under attack at the police station in Basra (Frank Mincher)

  30. Surgeon, Lieutenant Colonel Paul Parker attends to the ‘smallest casualty’ of his time in Afghanistan (Paul Parker)

  31. Flight Lieutenant Andy Smith after an
emergency evacuation mission in Afghanistan, 2009 (Andy Smith)

  32. Andy Smith and the MERT in action in Afghanistan – this casualty was a Royal Marine with serious leg injuries (Andy Smith)

  33. Sergeant Major Andy Stockton three days before the incident where he lost his arm in a firefight with insurgents in Afghanistan, 2006 (Andy Stockton)

  34. Andy Stockton with his partner, Emma, following a parade where Afghanistan campaign medals were presented at the Royal School of Artillery, Larkhill (Andy Stockton)

  35. Lieutenant Colonel Paul Parker examines the remnants of Sergeant Major Andy Stockton’s arm after his evacuation from the battlefield (Paul Parker)

  36. Corporal Stuart Hale with his sniper rifle before the mine strike at the Kajaki Dam, Afghanistan, 2006 (Stuart Hale)

  37. Corporal Stuart Hale and Sergeant Stuart Pearson – both were injured in the Kajaki minefield incident (Daily Telegraph/photo Stephen Lock)

  38. The Queen presents Corporal Paul ‘Tug’ Hartley with his George Medal (Paul Hartley)

  Maps

  Acknowledgements

  There are many people who gave us their time and expertise as we wrote this book. Hundreds of medics, nurses, doctors and stretcher-bearers told us their personal stories, often reliving traumatic events long since buried. We are grateful to them all. Sadly, we could use only a fraction of the stories we heard, but we hope we have done justice to you all.

  Particular thanks also go to:

  Major General Alan Hawley, Director General of Army Medical Services, whose support for this project ensured we had access to all levels of the military medical system.

  Captain (Retired) Peter Starling, Director of the Army Medical Services Museum, Keogh Barracks, Aldershot, whose depth of knowledge of the history of military medicine was invaluable. He and his staff, especially the curator Derek Marrison, provided unstinting assistance during our visits to the museum’s amazing archive.

  Colonel Tim Hodgetts, Honorary Professor of Emergency Medicine, University of Birmingham, who shared with us his considerable expertise in the changes in military emergency medicine in recent years, told us of his own experiences in the front line and cast his expert clinical eye over the manuscript.

  Squadron Leader Damien van Carrapiett at RAF Air Command, who provided invaluable assistance, recounting his own experiences and putting us in contact with numerous serving and retired personnel.

  Wing Commander Mike Priestly, Commanding Officer of the Defence Medical Services Training Centre, and his excellent staff, for allowing us to join them on one of their intensive training exercises.

  The administrators and members of the Army Rumour Service and Rum Ration websites, for access to inside information, contacts and expertise. The good-natured banter of all those involved was a welcome reminder of the strength of character and camaraderie of our military personnel.

  Frank Garside from the British Limbless Ex-Servicemen’s Association, Major (Retired) Marie Ellis, Regimental Secretary Royal Army Medical Corps, and Captain Bill Anderson of the Queen Alexandra’s Royal Army Nursing Corps, all of whom provided contacts to many serving and retired personnel.

  Cathy Pugh, General Manager of the Second World War Experience Centre in Leeds, who searched out accounts from the centre’s archives, and Rod Suddaby of the Imperial War Museum, London.

  Patrick Bishop, Max Arthur and Hugh McManners for allowing us to tap into their knowledge and expertise of the Falklands war and operations in Afghanistan. Paul Carter for his matchless critique of the manuscript. Sarah Helm, David O’Reilly and Brian Mac-Arthur for help and encouragement.

  Group Captain Andy Bowen, Mark Pillans, Sam Harrison and Laura Kerr at the Ministry of Defence, who facilitated contact with serving military personnel and clearance for them to tell their stories.

  Our agent Mark Lucas and our editor Eleo Gordon, and the team at Penguin Books.

  Finally, and perhaps most importantly, our wives, Suzannah and Sarah, for their constant love, support and advice.

  Preface

  Although it is November the fifth, the sharp crackles and bangs snapping out over the cold, wet Hampshire countryside are not fireworks. They are gunfire, blanks admittedly, but still aggressive in intent. Along a forest trail, local walkers with their dogs are ushered away in a different direction, back to cosy, safe homes. Here a batch of young men and women are learning about war. Soon they will be off to join it, in Afghanistan, a hot and dry place as different from this soggy wood on the edge of the garrison town of Aldershot as it is possible to imagine. What makes the day even chillier for those of us watching them at the Defence Medical Services Training Centre at Keogh Barracks is the very real prospect that some will not return in one piece and some not at all. A patrol is coming our way, creeping in and out of the trees in their khaki coveralls, Bergen rucksacks on their backs, SA80 assault rifles held across their chests, fingers twitching, eyes alert. Ambush! A seasoned Scottish sergeant leaps out into their path and blasts at them with rapid fire from his automatic weapon. They return fire, scatter, hug the ground, call out instructions and guidance to each other. Casualties! Two men are down, simulating the wounds they were assigned for the exercise. One is very quiet, just lying there, not moving. The other is screaming, moaning, groaning, calling for help, swearing like… a trooper. ‘Medic! I need a sodding medic, for effing sake!’ he yells. He is in luck. They are close by, ready to go into action, just as medics have been through centuries of warfare. This is what these particular youngsters are here for. They are members of the Royal Army Medical Corps and they are training to go into combat and save the lives of their comrades under fire.

  The drill they follow is well defined and precise. First they must see off the enemy and secure the ground. Defensive pickets are posted, spreadeagled in the wet bracken with clear firing arcs through the trees and down the forest path.

  If you look closely at the faces under the helmets of those gripping the rifles, softer features and a few straggles of longer blonde hair identify the girls. It is a surprise to find them in such a combative situation, armed and ready to fight. Theoretically, women are not allowed on the front line in the British Army, denied jobs where the primary duty is ‘to close with and kill the enemy face to face’, as the Ministry of Defence defines it. They are thus excluded from the infantry, the cavalry and the armoured corps. But they are now a large and much valued part of the military medical system. They get no special treatment and nor would they ask for it. As medics, they are every bit as exposed to danger as the men and every bit as courageous in the line of fire.

  With the area secured, the medical work begins. The noisy casualty needs calming, but his swearing indicates that he is awake and has no problem breathing. The priority is the quiet one. He is rolled into the recovery position – face down, head to one side – and methodically examined. Is he bleeding? Check. Is he breathing? Check. Does he have a pulse? Check. It’s vital not to panic, to keep your head, to follow procedures even when it’s cold and confusing and all hell is breaking out around. The instructors ram home the point. Heroics and hysterics will not save lives. Calm assessment and the right action will. Talk to the casualty, the instructors urge, ask him his name, what happened, how he feels, where it hurts. As with any GP in a surgery or doctor in a hospital casualty department, information is the key to diagnosis and treatment. The ‘casualties’, though fellow trainees, are well briefed in their pretend injuries – some have already served in Iraq and Afghanistan and may well have seen them for real, in the flesh, as it were. One is acting as if he had a sucking chest wound. The real thing would have air leaking dangerously from his lungs like a punctured tyre and could kill him in minutes. It needs a special air-tight dressing from a medic’s professionally packed Bergen. The other casualty is haemorrhaging badly, fake blood spurting feet into the air from a plastic pouch and spattering red across the autumn leaves on the ground. As he thrashes about in pain, the medics struggle to get a tourniquet around his beefy thigh.
Rain is falling heavily now and a bitter wind has sprung up. Patching up people is taxing enough on the nerves in a ward or consulting room, as the high stress levels in doctors and nurses show. Down here in the cold and the mud, with a battle, albeit a simulated one, raging around them, it is an entirely different experience, calling on every last fibre of resolve.

  Now comes the hardest part of the exercise. The company aid post, which sounds grand but in reality is just a largish, stand-up tent with room for two stretchers on trestles, is a mile away. There is a field ambulance to take the casualties there – as, on an actual operation, there might be a helicopter – but it cannot get any closer to them. It is parked 600 yards away, at the top of a steep and muddy hill, and there is no stretcher. Brute strength is the answer. The biggest of the medics stoops and hauls the casualty across his shoulders in a fireman’s lift. He totters under the weight – who wouldn’t? – and we all smile, because there has just been a story in a newspaper about a fire brigade in the Home Counties banning this manoeuvre for health and safety reasons. Apparently it’s been ruled unsafe because someone might get hurt. Perhaps we should send the health-and-safety brigade to Afghanistan and unleash them on the Taliban, someone suggests. The medic in question isn’t finding any of this funny as he begins to make his way to the ambulance. He starts at a good pace but quickly slows as the 15 stones of soldier on his back take their toll. He staggers a little, stops, starts again, then puts down his man and thinks about having a rest. It’s only an exercise, for God’s sake. The instructors harry him. Come on, laddie, this isn’t a game. This is for real. Keep going. When you’re in Afghanistan, you won’t be able to take a rest. Someone’s life will be down to you. Are you going to let him die? Keep effing going!

  And he does. He picks up the casualty again and sets off, though his legs are buckling now. He is carrying more than his own weight uphill over slippery stones, and the strain is immense. He is breathing hard. He is hurting. But, in fits and starts, he gets to the waiting ambulance, hands over his casualty, and then collapses on a log. His Olympian effort has paid off. The look on his face as he gasps for air and holds his aching side is half grimace, half smile of satisfaction. He knows that if he ever has to do this for real – and the odds are he might – then he will be up for it. He can be relied on.