THE sun has set behind the mountains of Uruzgan province, Afghanistan. The punishing heat is fading, but in the still-warm air the sweat dries slowly on the faces of the Australian soldiers gathered in a small patrol base called Anar Juy. They are preparing to mourn a mate killed in battle earlier that day.
The patrol base in which they stand is a rough rectangle of earth-filled steel mesh cages, with a dozen layers of sandbags on top to provide further protection from incoming bullets and rockets. Two flatroofed observation towers rise above the walls. Perched on a dusty knoll, this is home for a group of around 20 Afghan soldiers and roughly the same number of Australians who are their trainers and mentors. When the base was first built, one of the Diggers looked up at its towers, radio masts and Afghan national flag, and said it looked like a buccaneer sailing ship. The name stuck; for the men who live here between patrols into the deadly Tangi Valley below, patrol base Anar Juy is known as the Pirate Ship.
In the twilight gloom the Australians begin their act of remembrance. One of the soldiers hefts an 84mm Carl Gustav, a weapon similar to a bazooka, onto his right shoulder. He hears and feels the clunk as his mate shoves an illumination round - a flare - into the rear of the weapon. He raises the muzzle to a 45-degree angle and braces his legs against the coming recoil. The watching soldiers press their hands over their ears as he says, "Firing now," then squeezes the trigger.
The flare is for Lance Corporal Jared MacKinney, killed by an insurgent's bullet in an intense threehour battle near the village of Derapet. "Crash" MacKinney was well liked, a veteran of East Timor and Iraq, a skilled marksman, greatly respected by his fellow soldiers. His death has hit the Australian soldiers hard. His wife, Beckie, is only weeks away from giving birth to their son, a brother for threeyearold Annabell. Just four days earlier, two more Australian soldiers had died: Privates Grant Kirby and Tom Dale. The toll is growing. A few of the weary soldiers shed a tear while others place an arm across a mate's shoulder. Every man has proven himself today. Some have displayed extraordinary courage. Two men, Sergeant Sean Lanigan and Private Paul Langer, will later receive the Medal for Gallantry; their patrol commander, Lieutenant James Fanning, will be awarded the Distinguished Service Medal; a fourth man, Private Shaun Parker, will receive a Commendation for Gallantry.
But among the soldiers gazing sorrowfully at the hissing flare is one whose deeds have eclipsed even these courageous actions. He is Corporal Daniel Keighran, 27, an infantry corporal on his second tour of Afghanistan, having previously served as an armoured vehicle driver supporting Australian special forces in 2007. His extraordinary feats during the Battle of Derapet on that day, August 24, 2010, will be recognised with the award of Australia's highest military honour for valour in the face of the enemy, the Victoria Cross.
The battle had its genesis in the expansion of the area of Afghanistan covered by the Australians following the departure of Dutch and French troops in mid-2010. The main Australian force comprises about 700 soldiers drawn from the Brisbane-based 6th Battalion, Royal Australian Regiment. Most of them are infantry soldiers, supported by combat engineers, armoured vehicle crews, artillery fire controllers and other specialists. They have been in Afghanistan since mid-February and have been tested in scores of encounters with the enemy. Their morale is high. They have been tempered by battle.
In July 2010 they take over the role of mentoring the Afghan army unit based in the Deh Rawod area of western Uruzgan province, in addition to their existing responsibilities in central and northern Uruzgan. East of Deh Rawod is the Tangi Valley bandit country. The road running through it towards Tarin Kot is completely off-limits to Coalition road traffic, which is forced to divert far to the south. The commander of the local Afghan army unit wants to expand his area of control into the Tangi Valley. The idea makes sense tactically and the Australians support it. In August 2010, joint Afghan and Australian patrols begin pushing into the valley, encountering enemy who engage them with rifle fire but the skirmishes are inconclusive. One patrol almost reaches a village called Derapet, where a small group of Taliban fighters fire rifle bursts before fading away. That small cluster of mud-walled buildings will soon become symbolic of Australian courage.
The officer commanding the mentoring team is Major Chris Wallace, a respected and experienced officer. In consultation with the Afghan commander he orders the soldiers at patrol base Anar Juy to discuss security with the headman and village elders in Derapet. This type of activity is one of the basic tools in the counter-insurgency campaign. It allows the Australians to explain their objectives to respected figures, hear their concerns and build trust. But because of the lawless nature of the Tangi Valley, it is necessary to mount a "fighting" patrol - a patrol that expects to get into a firefight - to reach the village, conduct the meeting then return to base. The operation will be launched on Tuesday, August 24.
As the commander of Australian forces in Afghanistan at the time, I will monitor the situation from the command post at Tarin Kot. The operation is well planned and well supported. Before first light, ASLAV armoured vehicles, with their 25mm cannons, machineguns and high-definition optical systems, occupy high ground overlooking the Derapet area, ready to observe and shoot. The spot occupied by the ASLAVs has been searched by combat engineers. It is a wise precaution: this is the same hill where a few months earlier Dutch and French troops were killed by an improvised explosive device (IED). The man in command of the engineers who conduct the search is Corporal Joel Toms. He will play another key role in the coming battle.
Also on the high ground are men with Carl Gustav weapons, armed today with high-explosive warheads. Two pairs of snipers are also in the field. Artillery, mortars, Apache attack helicopters and close-support jet aircraft are on call if required. An Australian surveillance drone is readied to provide aerial observation of the battlefield.
At patrol base Anar Juy, the dawn of August 24 finds Corporal Dan Keighran and the other men assigned to the patrol checking their weapons, rifle magazines, belts of machinegun ammunition, grenades, navigation devices and first aid kits. A radio check is made; the patrol has been assigned the callsign Papa Four Two. The infantry officer leading the fighting patrol, comprising both Australian and Afghan soldiers, is 27-year-old Lieutenant James Fanning. He has issued orders for the patrol the evening before; there is nothing more to be said. The first rays of sunlight creep down the sides of the bare mountains as the patrol files through a gap in the wall of the Pirate Ship and heads east.
A little while later the patrol pauses in a thick corn crop to wait for others to join them. Joel Toms and the other combat engineers arrive, having cleared the hill for the ASLAV crews. Before leaving the hill, Toms had spotted an armed insurgent crossing the river below and fired several rounds at him: the first shots of the coming battle. A section of about a dozen Australian soldiers from another patrol base a few kilometres further west also appears. Their job is to provide security for the lead elements of the fighting patrol and to reinforce them if needed. Among them is Jared "Crash" MacKinney.
The two groups of Australians haven't seen each for some time and when they meet they exchange handshakes and whispered greetings. The men all know MacKinney's wife is expecting their baby soon and Dan Keighran is among those from Anar Juy who ask, "Hey Crash, how's your missus, mate?" "Fine," MacKinney replies with a smile. "Not long now." The patrol reforms and continues east, with MacKinney's section - callsign Four Three Charlie - some distance to the rear. The combined force heading towards Derapet is now more than 40-strong, comprising 31 Australians and 12 Afghan soldiers.
Up on the high ground overlooking the valley, the ASLAV crewmen spot signs of growing danger. Their commander, Lieutenant Tim Hurley, radios that he can see groups of Afghan women and children streaming out of Derapet, heading east. Soon afterwards, Hurley sends another radio report: men of fighting age are moving into the area on foot and motorcycles, taking up positions in the crops and among the mud-walled buildings to the east and north.The men in the advancing foot patrol acknowledge the report. Their focus sharpens.
Forty minutes later, callsign Papa Four Two is moving around the south side of the village. They intend to swing left, towards the green strip of trees and crops along the river, before veering back into the village for the meeting with the elders. There is no one in sight. The men spread out, advancing cautiously. Two Afghan soldiers are in front, followed closely by Sergeant Sean Lanigan and Private Paul Langer. The only sound is the crunch of the men's boots on the stones. It is 9.10am.
The silence is shattered by a crashing volley of Taliban fire.The lead troops are caught in lowground, pinned down by fire from multiple directions. The Australian and Afghan soldiers return fire at dozens of insurgents hidden in the thick vegetation, less than 60m away. Bullets whiz past or thud into the ground, audible even above the din of rifle and machinegun fire and the bangs of rocket-propelled grenades (RPGs) fired by the Afghan soldiers. "We did what infantry soldiers do in a fight," Lanigan would later say. "We fought to regain the initiative from the enemy." At one point Lanigan looks to his right to see Dan Keighran and three other men sprinting up a bare rocky ridge, into a storm of rifle and machinegun fire. Other Australians fighting their way forward also see them go. The observers all think the same thing: surely they'll be killed.
When the hail of bullets first breaks over the patrol, Keighran instantly realises the bare ridge rising to the right is a vital location. In an infantry firefight it is standard procedure to get a machinegun to the best position - usually any piece of high ground to support the rest of the force. Keighran knows this. He also knows that the position will be open to enemy fire, and that the insurgents will almost certainly realise the Australians will try to use the ridge line. He goes anyway. Within seconds of Keighran starting up the slope, leading two Afghan soldiers and Private Shaun Parker, who carries aMAG58 machinegun, bullets slash across the ridge, kicking up dust all around them. Keighran will later recall how that 45m dash seemed a very long way. "I thought I was done for," he says. "Just as I hit the crest two machinegun bursts landed all around me. I could see rounds hitting the dirt right in front of my feet."
Miraculously unharmed, they reach the ridgeline and throw themselves onto their bellies. Bullets are tearing up the ground and Keighran realises their dash has carried them too far: they are fully exposed to the incoming fire. "Back! Back!" he yells above the noise, and the four of them begin wriggling backwards. Dirt and rock fragments from ricochets are thrown into Keighran's face. He stops several times to return fire, shooting towards the muzzle flashes and smoke in the greenery below. Eventually they reach a position where they are partly shielded from the incoming rounds and Keighran tells Parker to bring the machinegun into action. Patrol leader Lieutenant James Fanning would later describe the sound of the machinegun as "music to the ears" at a time when all hell was breaking loose around him and his team.
"You'd be hard pressed to find a better soldier than Shaun Parker," Keighran will later say. Parker is also physically tough: despite being only average height and build, he has run up that ridge carrying aMAG58 weighing 11kg and close to a thousand rounds of ammunition totalling a further 25kg, in addition to at least 20kg of body armour and other gear. Gasping for breath after the mad run up the ridgeline, Parker starts firing bursts, directed by Keighran. The two Afghan soldiers also return fire under his guidance.
In the ambush area below, Sergeant Sean Lanigan is firing round after round from his rifle while shouting orders to the Afghans and Australians with him, pinned down in the shallow ruts and hollows in the ground where they'd flung themselves when the firing started. He orders one of the Australians to fire 40mm grenades from the launcher slung under the barrel of his rifle; the flat crump of exploding grenades adds to the racket. The Afghan soldiers just ahead of Lanigan are firing RPGs, the back-blast of each one smashing back over him and the others. Finally, he throws a red smoke grenade to mark their forward line so that the ASLAV armoured vehicles can start shooting. Their fire strikes ground just ahead of the pinned-down patrol: the accurate and deadly fire of the ASLAVs saves lives many times that day.
Lanigan, a man of few words, is someone you'd want with you in a fight. He is also a wonderful mentor and guide for the Afghan soldiers, whom he likes and respects. Realising the insurgents are occupying one of the close-by aqueducts - the dug-out irrigation channels running between fields - even in this extreme situation he tries to coach the Afghans to assault the aqueduct. Eventually, though, he turns to Lieutenant Fanning, who is sharing the dubious shelter of a tree trunk with him, and calmly says, "I'm pushing forward," before shouting to Private Paul Langer: "On me! Let's go!"
Langer doesn't hesitate. Together, they run forward into the waterlogged aqueduct. They work as a pair, firing past each other, dashing forward, clearing Taliban insurgents who fight back hard, not just from within the aqueduct but from many other directions. Others soldiers follow them. When their assault is complete, Lanigan and Langer have secured a vital area of the battlefield, from which much of the later fighting is conducted. Their actions will be recognised by the Medal for Gallantry.
In the thick of the battle the patrol commander, Lieutenant Fanning, tells Corporal Lukas Woolley to get more firepower up onto the ridge to support Dan Keighran. Woolley is an energetic man who needs no encouragement. He rounds up several Afghan soldiers carrying RPG launchers and machineguns and shepherds them to the ridgeline, where Keighran takes charge, placing them in the best fire positions. In doing so Keighran exposes himself to more incoming fire, a pattern that will be repeated again and again over the coming hours.
For the first 30 or 40 minutes of the battle, most of the enemy fire comes from the area close to the Australians fighting in the low ground near the village. Now the battle area begins to expand, as more and more Taliban arrive. The insurgents in the battle area are also moving around, exploiting their knowledge of the ground, showing surprising tactical skill.
Additional enemy machineguns are also brought into action from further up the valley. More and more fire is being directed at the patrol and the ridgeline occupied by Dan Keighran and the others. In his words, "Every insurgent in the valley who owned a PKM [machinegun] had dug it out of wherever it was hidden and was getting into the fight." He is busy on the two radios he carries, talking to his boss, Fanning, and the other troops down below to coordinate the supporting machinegun and RPG fire from his team on the ridge.
At one point Keighran realises he needs to push over the ridgeline to get a better look at the enemy firing from the low ground, so he can direct the ASLAV fire. He dashes forward as bullets cut across the hillside. The ASLAV crews respond to his directions and start slamming cannon rounds into enemy positions right in front of the main group below. The boom of high-explosive airburst rounds, fired from Carl Gustavs on the same ridge as the ASLAVs, also echoes around the hills.
Keighran is constantly on the move as he adjusts the fire of the men with him. He shouts to Shaun Parker that he's going to draw enemy fire so Parker and the others can spot the Taliban firing positions among the corn and marijuana crops. In amazement, Parker watches him go, running along the bulletriven ridgeline, then he starts firing his MAG58 machinegun in bursts at the enemy's muzzle-flashes below. Keighran sprints to a new position further up the ridgeline before being driven to take cover again by the weight of incoming bullets, from where he returns fire from his own assault rifle. Several times he rears up again to expose himself fully to the enemy below, and is rewarded with yet more bullets, revealing the locations of yet more Taliban gunmen. Shaun Parker's MAG58 is hammering back at them.
Keighran realises that his new position would be a good location for the artillery officer accompanying the patrol - a Joint Fires Observer (JFO) trained to coordinate all forms of ground fire, artillery, attack helicopters and combat aircraft. Keighran spots Captain Brendan Perkins about 100m back down the ridge. Rising to a half-crouch, he races down the bare ridgeline, again chased by bullets. At times he is forced back onto his belly, crawling forward as rounds snap past, before again rising to make another dash. He slides to a halt beside Captain Perkins and, dispensing with the courtesy of ranks, shouts, "Mate, we need you up on this ridge! Follow me!" The pair retrace his dangerous journey, working their way back up the hill through a welter of fire.
To help Perkins in his role as JFO, Keighran then repeats his earlier trick: he deliberately stands up and makes a dash to draw enemy fire, so others can spot the shooters. This is no rush of blood to the head. It is a deliberate act of selflessness. Enemy bullets are already flailing the ridgeline before he rises; the torrent of fire builds in intensity and focuses on him the moment he stands up. Then, incredibly, he does it again. And again, each time attracting even heavier fire. It works: three more enemy firing positions are spotted and engaged.
With the volume of enemy fire mounting, patrol commander Fanning sends an urgent call over the radio to the section held in reserve: "Four Three Charlie! Get up here!" Jared "Crash" MacKinney and his section mates start running towards the clamour of the firing. After struggling over rough ground in searing heat for more than half a kilometre, the soldier carrying the section's MAG58 machinegun starts to flag under the crushing load of the gun, ammo, body armour and other equipment. MacKinney grabs the MAG58 from him and hands over his own weapon. They continue up onto the lower part of Keighran's ridge, which is still being raked by heavy fire.
The pair drop onto their bellies in a position to provide supporting fire, with MacKinney deciding to retain the machinegun. As he is about to shoot, a bullet strikes him in the left shoulder and enters his chest, doing terrible damage. He collapses face-down behind the MAG58 and lies still. The soldier beside him immediately renders assistance. Another soldier leaves cover, running across to help. With bullets slashing past, the men drag MacKinney into some meagre protection, little more than a small hollow. Other soldiers see that the vitalMAG58 is unmanned; it is snatched up and brought into action.
Keighran stands up and runs, once again. Taliban machine-gunners see him and swing their weapons onto him. Bullets tear the air around him and smash into the dirt near his feet. While he is drawing the bulk of their fire, soldiers trained in advanced first aid work on the unresponsive MacKinney. They keep it up, under fire, while a helicopter is summoned. Still ducking bullets, the men begin to carry him to an area close to Derapet village for evacuation.
Corporal Lukas Woolley seems to be everywhere. He has dashed forward through heavy fire to pass out ammunition. He has made the radio call reporting the casualty. Now he makes a headlong run over several hundred metres to mark the landing zone for the evacuation helicopter. On the way he collects a couple of combat engineers including Corporal Joel Toms; they begin checking the landing area for IEDs, probing for buried explosives and triggering devices, racing against the clock as the helicopter approaches.
The courageous American helicopter crew make two attempts to land through enemy fire but are beaten back. Finally, Lieutenant Fanning orders "Rapid fire!" from every man on the battlefield and the ASLAVs up on the supporting position. Under this covering fire, the helicopter gets in on the third try. MacKinney is loaded on and the chopper lifts off for the Tarin Kot hospital, only minutes away by air. Despite everything, he is dead when the helicopter lands. A few minutes later, from the command post within the Tarin Kot base, where I stand monitoring the battle with the commanding officer, Lieutenant Colonel Mark Jennings, I telephone my boss back in Australia to tell him the bad news. Soon, a pregnant Beckie MacKinney will hear she has lost her husband. The faces around me in the command post are grim.
Back at Derapet, the fighting rages for a further two hours. The MAG58 machineguns consume hundreds of rounds while magazine after magazine is clipped onto rifles with sizzling barrels and rapidly emptied in the desperate battle. Apache attack helicopters make repeated runs with their deadly cannons, while the 25mm fire of the ASLAV armoured vehicles provides vital close support. Throughout, Dan Keighran remains up on the ridge, constantly moving, dodging bullets, directing the supporting fire.
Finally, the sheer intensity of the battle begins to wear on both sides. The enemy, a disciplined force of up to 100 fighters, has suffered heavy losses - at least 30, perhaps as many as 50, have been killed or wounded - but there are no further Australian or Afghan army casualties, a testament to their skill and luck. Lieutenant James Fanning weighs the situation and wisely decides to extract his exhausted troops and head back to Anar Juy.
The Australians start to peel away, the men taking turns to pull back and provide covering fire. They are followed by several groups of insurgents. The Diggers mount a series of blocking actions, hitting the pursuing Taliban, inflicting more casualties. Dan Keighran, Shaun Parker and the others come down off the ridge; it's the first time in more than three hours that they have been out of the line of fire. A single precisionguided artillery shell drops from the sky and slams into one of the mud-walled buildings occupied by insurgents. It's like a full-stop on the battle. Finally, the Australian-Afghan patrol is in the clear.
The patrol shakes out into tactical formation and begins the trek back towards the Pirate Ship. They carry MacKinney's body armour, helmet and other equipment, a burden of sorrow. Keighran takes his turn carrying the gear, but now he is running on sheer willpower as exhaustion and thirst hit him and the other men. By the time they reach Anar Juy, several have vomited from extreme fatigue, Keighran among them. The heat, the stress and the constant exertion of the day have stretched them to their limits. Keighran will later say that he had never been so physically shattered in 10 years of hard military training and operational service.
Finally entering the gap in the wall of the Pirate Ship, the men say little to each other. They have survived an intense period of combat, a fight that will be dubbed the Battle of Derapet, but lost a good mate. There is no backslapping or exultation, just relief - and sadness. But the men immediately reload their magazines, clean their weapons and make ready to go again if needed. There is no rest until everyone is fully ready. They receive warning of a possible patrol the next day.
A few hours later, soon after dusk, the men gather to mark Jared "Crash" MacKinney's passing. The bang of the illumination round being fired into the sky is replaced by silence, apart from the hissing of the burning flare. With the others, Dan Keighran lifts his face to the light and thinks of Crash. When the flare finally sputters and dies, he turns towards the accommodation shelter, tired beyond words. In his sparse bunk space, musty with the smell of dirt and sweaty combat gear, he thinks of his wife Kathryn for a few moments before sleep overcomes him.
He has said nothing of his own actions that day, but the other Australians at patrol base Anar Juy know that they have witnessed hair-raising courage. They know Dan Keighran changed the tide of the battle, and saved lives. He repeatedly, deliberately and knowingly exposed himself to enemy fire to relieve the pressure on the rest of the patrol and to enable others to spot the Taliban gunners. He placed his own life in danger, repeatedly, for the sake of others. He willingly stood in the face of withering fire to distract the enemy while his mates worked to save a fallen comrade. He directed supporting fire vital to the outcome of the battle, one that has inflicted a major blow to the Taliban and that would later be seen as the start of the process of securing the Tangi Valley. He was an inspiration to those with him in the fight.
On August 24, 2010, Dan Keighran marked himself as a hero, although he would never be comfortable with that label. His mates knew it from the opening minutes of the Battle of Derapet. Now, with the award of the Victoria Cross, the rest of Australia knows it, too.
John Cantwell, who signed the papers nominating Keighran for the VC, was the National Commander of Australian forces in Afghanistan and the wider Middle East in 2010. He retired from the Australian Army in 2012 with the rank of major-general.
His book Exit Wounds (MUP) was published in October.
