Battleworn: The Memoir of a Combat Medic in Afghanistan by Chantelle Taylor

By Chantelle Taylor

Each inch a lady and each inch a warrior. In peace and conflict Taylor is as radiant as gold and as difficult as diamond' Sam Kiley - writer of determined Glory and overseas Affairs Editor of Sky information. Chantelle Taylor joined the British military in 1998 as a wrestle clinical technician. Ten years later she made heritage, changing into the 1st girl soldier to kill a Taliban fighter in close-quarter strive against whereas on patrol in Helmand Province, Afghanistan. In Battleworn, she tells the tale of B corporation, a beleaguered staff of people who fought relentlessly to carry Nad-e Ali, a dusty, sweltering hellhole surrounded by means of the Taliban. A regimen patrol into a space saturated with enemy opponents escalates right into a seven-week siege. dealing with the potential of loss of life day-by-day, Taylor writes of gun battles and dangerous patrols, culminating within the extraction of greater than sixty-six casualties with 4 killed in motion. a strong tale written with a humility that captures the occasionally impalpable humour of squaddies at battle, Battleworn presents a testomony to strive against medics worldwide. It highlights the the most important function that they play in contemporary 360-degree battlefield.

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Extra info for Battleworn: The Memoir of a Combat Medic in Afghanistan

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She is quiet in character, an old-school Northerner who only speaks if she has something intelligent to say. She doesn’t waffle and just cracks on with the task in hand. We were here together back in 2006. Jen was a medic on the blue-light matrix, fetching casualties from helicopters and transporting our dead and wounded to the hospital in Camp Bastion. We’re taking two WMIK Land Rovers back to the ANA base. 50-cal. machine gun – with Pte Michael Duffy cleaning dust off the barrel. The stuff is everywhere, thick as snow across the compound.

The vehicle jolts, ending my reverie. Our convoy has come to a halt on the outskirts of Nad-e Ali. The two platoon sergeants, Monty Monteith and Scotty McFadden, get out of their vehicles and walk among the tired and bored troops to ensure that all is as it should be. Monty and Scotty are old friends. Monty’s weathered appearance is a look reserved for the hardened soldiers of the infantry. Scotty seems to have fared far better in avoiding the harsh ‘ten years older’ weather of the Brecon Beacons beating on his face.

The kandak is commanded by Lt Col Nazim, a tough-looking, battle-hardened veteran who fought with the mujahideen many years ago against the Russians. With Maj. Clark, Scotty McFadden, and the remainder of B Company, I press on to the Afghan National Police (ANP) compound, a sand-bricked building built around a courtyard in the centre of Nad-e Ali. Travelling with our platoon is a Ford Ranger pickup packed with Afghan police. They hang on to the sides of the wagon with one hand, as the other holds a rocket propelled grenade (RPG) launcher, with one finger precariously curled round the trigger – a weird combination that filled me with dread.

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