By Chantelle Taylor
Each inch a girl and each inch a warrior. In peace and battle Taylor is as radiant as gold and as tricky 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 strive against clinical technician. Ten years later she made heritage, turning into the 1st woman soldier to kill a Taliban fighter in close-quarter wrestle whereas on patrol in Helmand Province, Afghanistan. In Battleworn, she tells the tale of B corporation, a beleaguered workforce of people who fought relentlessly to carry Nad-e Ali, a dusty, sweltering hellhole surrounded via the Taliban. A regimen patrol into a space saturated with enemy combatants escalates right into a seven-week siege. dealing with the potential of loss of life day-by-day, Taylor writes of gun battles and threatening 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 wrestle medics worldwide. It highlights the the most important position that they play in modern 360-degree battlefield.
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Extra resources for Battleworn: The Memoir of a Combat Medic in Afghanistan
I am carrying biscuits brown and pâté, a light meal from my ration pack, and it smells like cat food. It probably tastes the same too, but I can’t verify that. It’s not something I would normally choose, but right now I don’t care. As the young Jocks eat, the banter begins; they are getting restless. Ptes Ferris and Duffy are joking, taking the piss out of each other. 50-cal. machine gun. The young Jocks fall about laughing; this is the norm around here, and Ferris’s antics are a welcome break.
We’re outsiders, observers. We, like many before us, will leave our blood in the sand, and yet, one day we’ll be going home. They, on the other hand, will remain here, and they will still have the same tribal conflicts they had long before the coalition arrived. As for Coaksee, it’s amazing what a shot of natural adrenaline can do for you. It draws out a peculiar energy. You face death and then suddenly feel reborn. The colour is back in his cheeks, and he joins the other blokes outside. My mind works overtime calculating how many casualties I think we are going to have, and, if my calculations are correct, we’re fucked.
The lead vehicles create a sand screen, which cuts our visibility to almost zero. I’m on top cover, along with Kev Coyle, our signaller. Our position gives the driver and commander a 360-degree visual scan of the ground we’re passing over and the road ahead, letting them gauge potential threats. We man the open turret on top of the vehicle; our interpreter sits quietly in the back, asleep if he has any sense. If there’s an insurgent out there looking to take us on, the top cover usually gets hit first.
Battleworn: The Memoir of a Combat Medic in Afghanistan by Chantelle Taylor