I WAS THE FIRST in my squadron to pull the trigger in anger.
We took off, swept over the wall, went vertical, climbed to fifteen hundred feet. Moments later I swung the night sight onto the target area.
There! Eight hot spots, eight kilometers away.
Thermal smudges—walking from where the contact had been.
Dave said: That’s got to be them!
Yeah—there’s no friendly forces out here on patrol! Especially not at this hour.
Let’s make sure. Confirm no patrols outside the wall.
I called the J-TAC.
Confirmed: no patrols.
We flew above the eight hot spots. They quickly broke into two groups of four. Evenly spaced, they went slowly along a track. That was our patrolling technique—were they mimicking us? Now they hopped on mopeds, some two-up, some one-up.
I told Control we were visual on all eight targets, asked for clearance, permission to fire. Permission was a must before engaging, always, unless it was a case of self-defense or imminent danger.
Dave and I were ready to fire that flechette.
But permission still hadn’t come.
We waited. And waited. And watched the Taliban speeding off in different directions.
I said to Dave: If I find out later that one of these guys has injured or killed one of our guys after we let them go…
We stayed with two motorbikes, followed them down a windy road. Now they separated. We picked one, followed it.
Finally Control got back to us. The persons you’re following…what’s their status?
I shook my head and thought: Most of them are gone, because you’ve been so slow. I said: They’ve split up and we’re down to one bike. Permission to fire.
Dave said to use the Hellfire. I was nervous about using it, however; I shot the 30-mm cannon instead.
Mistake. I hit the motorbike. One man down, presumably dead, but one hopped off and ran into a building.
We circled, called in ground troops.
You were right, I told Dave. Should’ve used the Hellfire.
No worries, he said.
It was your first time.
Long after returning to base, I did a sort of mental scan. I’d been in combat before, I’d killed before, but this was my most direct contact with the enemy—ever. Other engagements felt more impersonal. This one was eyes on target, finger on trigger, fire away.
I asked myself how I felt.
Traumatized? No.
Sad? No.
Surprised? No.
Prepared in every way. Doing my job. What we’d trained for.
Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex