Private Johnson Beharry

[big bad john]

The following is the BBC article on Johnson Beharry VC.  I haven't sen anything mentioned on him in the canadian media, so I posted a cople of pics in th ePhoto Gallery and this article FYI.  There are amazing things happening in the world today.


A 'great hero' who saved comrades 

"His level-headed actions almost certainly saved the lives of his crew"
Private Johnson Beharry has been awarded the Victoria Cross. The full citation reads as follows:
Private Beharry carried out two individual acts of great heroism by which he saved the lives of his comrades.

Both were in direct face of the enemy, under intense fire, at great personal risk to himself (one leading to him sustaining very serious injuries).

His valour is worthy of the highest recognition.

In the early hours of the 1st May 2004 Beharry's company was ordered to replenish an isolated Coalition Forces' outpost located in the centre of the troubled city of Al Amarah.

He was the driver of a platoon commander's Warrior armoured fighting vehicle.

His platoon was the company's reserve force and was placed on immediate notice to move.

  The vehicle was hit again by sustained rocket-propelled grenade attack from insurgent fighters in the alleyways and on rooftops around his vehicle


As the main elements of his company were moving into the city to carry out the replenishment, they were re-tasked to fight through a series of enemy ambushes in order to extract a foot patrol that had become pinned down under sustained small arms and heavy machine-gun fire and improvised explosive device and rocket-propelled grenade attack.

Beharry's platoon was tasked over the radio to come to the assistance of the remainder of the company, who were attempting to extract the isolated foot patrol.

Insurgent ambush

As his platoon passed a roundabout, en route to the pinned-down patrol, they became aware that the road to the front was empty of all civilians and traffic - an indicator of a potential ambush ahead.

The platoon commander ordered the vehicle to halt, so that he could assess the situation.

The vehicle was then immediately hit by multiple rocket-propelled grenades.

Eyewitnesses report that the vehicle was engulfed in a number of violent explosions, which physically rocked the 30-tonne Warrior.

  He did not know if his commander or crewmen were still alive, or how serious their injuries may be


As a result of this ferocious initial volley of fire, both the platoon commander and the vehicle's gunner were incapacitated by concussion and other wounds, and a number of the soldiers in the rear of the vehicle were also wounded.

Due to damage sustained in the blast to the vehicle's radio systems, Beharry had no means of communication with either his turret crew or any of the other Warrior vehicles deployed around him.

He did not know if his commander or crewmen were still alive, or how serious their injuries may be.

Own initiative

In this confusing and dangerous situation, on his own initiative, he closed his driver's hatch and moved forward through the ambush position to try to establish some form of communications, halting just short of a barricade placed across the road.

The vehicle was hit again by sustained rocket-propelled grenade attack from insurgent fighters in the alleyways and on rooftops around his vehicle.

Further damage to the Warrior from these explosions caused it to catch fire and fill rapidly with thick, noxious smoke. Beharry opened up his armoured hatch cover to clear his view and orientate himself to the situation.

He still had no radio communications and was now acting on his own initiative, as the lead vehicle of a six Warrior convoy in an enemy-controlled area of the city at night.

  As the smoke in his driver's tunnel cleared, he was just able to make out the shape of another rocket-propelled grenade in flight heading directly towards him


He assessed that his best course of action to save the lives of his crew was to push through, out of the ambush.

He drove his Warrior directly through the barricade, not knowing if there were mines or improvised explosive devices placed there to destroy his vehicle.

By doing this he was able to lead the remaining five Warriors behind him towards safety.

As the smoke in his driver's tunnel cleared, he was just able to make out the shape of another rocket-propelled grenade in flight heading directly towards him.

He pulled the heavy armoured hatch down with one hand, whilst still controlling his vehicle with the other.

Head exposed

However, the overpressure from the explosion of the rocket wrenched the hatch out of his grip, and the flames and force of the blast passed directly over him, down the driver's tunnel, further wounding the semi-conscious gunner in the turret.

The impact of this rocket destroyed Beharry's armoured periscope, so he was forced to drive the vehicle through the remainder of the ambushed route, some 1,500 metres long, with his hatch opened up and his head exposed to enemy fire, all the time with no communications with any other vehicle.

During this long surge through the ambushes the vehicle was again struck by rocket-propelled grenades and small arms fire.

While his head remained out of the hatch, to enable him to see the route ahead, he was directly exposed to much of this fire, and was himself hit by a 7.62mm bullet, which penetrated his helmet and remained lodged on its inner surface.

Despite this harrowing weight of incoming fire Beharry continued to push through the extended ambush, still leading his platoon until he broke clean.

  Exposing himself yet again to enemy fire he returned to the rear of the burning vehicle to lead the disorientated and shocked dismounts and casualties to safety


He then visually identified another Warrior from his company and followed it through the streets of Al Amarah to the outside of the Cimic House outpost, which was receiving small arms fire from the surrounding area.

Once he had brought his vehicle to a halt outside, without thought for his own personal safety, he climbed onto the turret of the still-burning vehicle and, seemingly oblivious to the incoming enemy small arms fire, manhandled his wounded platoon commander out of the turret, off the vehicle and to the safety of a nearby Warrior.

Led to safety

He then returned once again to his vehicle and again mounted the exposed turret to lift out the vehicle's gunner and move him to a position of safety.

Exposing himself yet again to enemy fire he returned to the rear of the burning vehicle to lead the disorientated and shocked dismounts and casualties to safety.

Remounting his burning vehicle for the third time, he drove it through a complex chicane and into the security of the defended perimeter of the outpost, thus denying it to the enemy.

  Once inside Beharry collapsed from the sheer physical and mental exhaustion of his efforts and was subsequently himself evacuated


Only at this stage did Beharry pull the fire extinguisher handles, immobilising the engine of the vehicle, dismounted and then moved himself into the relative safety of the back of another Warrior.

Once inside Beharry collapsed from the sheer physical and mental exhaustion of his efforts and was subsequently himself evacuated.

Having returned to duty following medical treatment, on 11 June 2004 Beharry's Warrior was part of a quick reaction force tasked to attempt to cut off a mortar team that had attacked a Coalition Force base in Al Amarah.

As the lead vehicle of the platoon he was moving rapidly through the dark city streets towards the suspected firing point, when his vehicle was ambushed by the enemy from a series of rooftop positions.

During this initial heavy weight of enemy fire, a rocket-propelled grenade detonated on the vehicle's frontal armour, just six inches from Beharry's head, resulting in a serious head injury.

  Beharry then lost consciousness as a result of his wounds


Other rockets struck the turret and sides of the vehicle, incapacitating his commander and injuring several of the crew.

With the blood from his head injury obscuring his vision, Beharry managed to continue to control his vehicle, and forcefully reversed the Warrior out of the ambush area.

The vehicle continued to move until it struck the wall of a nearby building and came to rest.

Beharry then lost consciousness as a result of his wounds.

By moving the vehicle out of the enemy's chosen killing area he enabled other Warrior crews to be able to extract his crew from his vehicle, with a greatly reduced risk from incoming fire.

Despite receiving a serious head injury, which later saw him being listed as very seriously injured and in a coma for some time, his level-headed actions in the face of heavy and accurate enemy fire at short range again almost certainly saved the lives of his crew and provided the conditions for their safe evacuation to medical treatment.

Beharry displayed repeated extreme gallantry and unquestioned valour, despite intense direct attacks, personal injury and damage to his vehicle in the face of relentless enemy action.

 

[tomahawk6]

Big thread here at the time he was awarded the VC.

 

[big bad john]

I missed it...it is still big news in the UK.  He is fighting to return to Regimental Duties.  At present he is still in the clutches of the public/media relations darlings.

 

[DFW2T]

BRAVO F'N ZULU..... Pte Johnson Beharry VC! 
I was in Buzargon/Al Ahmarah when this happened and we didn't know if this was an urban legend or not.  I hope his (and his comrades) recoveries are complete, your families are well  and he should know that there were a few Canucks who were glued to the SAT phones and the NET in hopes of a good end result of this ambush.
  I can tell you that the CIMIC HOUSE in Al Ahmarah was and (is recently) a "NO GO ZONE".  As not to take away from Pte Beharrys' heroic actions,  I can be PM'd to give more details on that little hot pocket of insurgency


Salute!

DFW2T

 

[tomahawk6]

http://forums.army.ca/forums/threads/28180.0.html

Here is the thread for your viewing pleasure.

 

[Michael Dorosh]

Big thread here at the time he was awarded the VC.

Seven months ago....

An update on his condition would be of interest but a recounting of his VC actions is just old news by this point.  I'll say again here what I said then - what do you do for the rest of your career in the Army after you've won the VC?

Actually, this leads to an even more interesting question...off to start a new thread.

 

[Infanteer]

I'll say again here what I said then - what do you do for the rest of your career in the Army after you've won the VC?

Get a bar?

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charles_Hazlitt_Upham

 

[geo]

Let's put it this way, you don't plan on becoming a hero.... it just happens.
All of a sudden; all of that intensive training, battle drills, etc are all tingling at your fingertips and things go click, click click... pure light, clear as day... you know what you have to do and nothing else matters.

My hat is off to the man

Chimo!

 

[Michael Dorosh]

Let's put it this way, you don't plan on becoming a hero.... it just happens.
All of a sudden; all of that intensive training, battle drills, etc are all tingling at your fingertips and things go click, click click... pure light, clear as day... you know what you have to do and nothing else matters.

My hat is off to the man

Chimo!

Some people might say getting the VC was the easy part - there are a long list of guys who got the VC and couldn't handle it the rest of their lives.  My hat is certainly off to him - and let's hope he doesn't turn out like Filip Konowal or Richardson of the Strathcona's Horse.  If he does half as well as Smokey Smith did, I reckon he'll be alright.

Posted another question for consideration here:

http://forums.army.ca/forums/threads/35786.new.html#new

 

[big bad john]

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/core/Content/displayPrintable.jhtml?xml=/news/2006/09/23/nbeharry23.xml&site=5&page=0

Beharry, VC, pays terrible price for valour
By Elizabeth Grice


(Filed: 23/09/2006)



Audio: My life as a reluctant role model
Fame and honour have come at a terrible price for Pte Johnson Beharry, the young soldier from Grenada who was awarded the Victoria Cross — Britain's highest award for valour — by the Queen last year.

 
Pte Beharry still suffers blinding pain in his head from his injuries
In an exclusive interview with The Daily Telegraph, he reveals for the first time that he is in constant pain from the war injuries he received in Iraq when rescuing fellow soldiers from his burning armoured personnel carrier.

He also says that his days of active service are at an end and that his personal life has been overshadowed by family feuding.

Pte Beharry, 27, of the Princess of Wales's Royal Regiment, twice cheated death in acts of exceptional bravery when his Warrior tank was hit by rocket-propelled grenades in two ambushes in 2004.

Exposed to enemy fire, with his hatch blown away, his communications gone and his periscope shattered, he led his five-vehicle convoy to safety then clambered on to the red-hot metal to save colleagues, including his commanding officer.

When he went to Buckingham Palace, with his wife, Lynthia, to collect the VC, the Queen told him that the injuries inside would take the longest to heal, he reveals.

The Queen's words were prophetic: although his marriage was already on the rocks, Pte Beharry said, he had yet to discover both the down side of fame and the full extent of his physical and mental injuries. Some members of his extended family, both in Britain and the Caribbean, had plagued him with requests for help, he said.

Until now, he has not responded to their accusations in newspaper reports that he has become aloof and too grand for them.

 
Pte Beharry with his girlfriend Tamara Vincent


"Everyone thinks that because I receive the Victoria Cross, I receive a wall of money," he said yesterday.

"They expect me to give them whatever they ask for. But the Victoria Cross is just a medal.

"They treat me like I owe them something. All they can think about is themselves and what they can get."

Several members of the family have circulated stories that Pte Beharry, puffed up by his honour, deserted his home-loving wife for a striking Grenadian, Tamara Vincent.

Pte Beharry says the reality is that the marriage was already over: his wife did not write to him when he was serving overseas and did not spend much time by his bedside when he was recovering from brain surgery.

Miss Vincent, 24, said: "He is a wonderful person, loving and caring.

"A lot of people try to grab him. He can't take the pressure and the stress."

Pte Beharry's skull was shattered by the blasts and he still suffers blinding pain in his head, his back and his shoulder.

"I take painkillers but they don't touch the pain," he said.

His brain injuries have altered his easy-going personality and left him short-tempered and quick to take offence. So he stays at home rather than risk "getting into trouble" in clubs or bars.

Two years on, he is still having treatment. He said that doctors could not tell him when — or if — he would get better. Pte Beharry is now in an unusual position: superiors salute him but he has no job; he is on the Army payroll but without a role.

Flashbacks from the war wake him at night and he cannot get back to sleep.

He cannot read more than one or two pages without getting angry. The pressure to live up to an ideal is difficult, he said. "Everyone forgets the old person. They see this great person and they expect me to be that person. It's hard to live to please everyone."

Pte Beharry was one of eight children brought up in a two-room hut in Grenada. He moved to Britain when he was 19 and worked on building sites. By joining the Army, he reversed a slide into drink and soft drugs and subsequently discovered an aptitude for driving the 25-ton Warrior vehicles.

In his remarkable book, Barefoot Soldier, to be serialised from tomorrow in The Sunday Telegraph and The Daily Telegraph, he says that he now wants to show how disadvantaged young people can turn their lives around.

Asked whether there was ever a moment when he wished he were an unknown soldier again without his VC, Pte Beharry replied: "I am proud of it, but you don't get something like this for free. You get it and survive with the pain — or you get it and die."

 

[Kirkhill]

Further to Pvt Beharry's tale and from his forthcoming book.

Reprinted from the Sunday Telegraph under the fair dealings provision of the Copy Right act.

'I can see no end to the killing zone, and for the first time I feel real fear'


(Filed: 24/09/2006)



Audio: Private Beharry describes the ambush
Pte Johnson Beharry VC is the first person since 1965 to be awarded Britain's highest award for gallantry while still alive. A 27-year-old native of Grenada, who came to Britain in 1999 and joined the British Army in 2001, he was a member of the 1st Battalion Princess of Wales's Royal Regiment when he was posted to Iraq in April 2004. He was awarded the VC on March 18, 2005. This is his story, taken from his soon to be published book, 'Barefoot Soldier'.

 
The helmet Private Beharry was wearing when an RPG exploded just six inches from his face
It is just after lunch on the bakingly hot afternoon of May 1, 2004, in the British Army base at Abu Naji, just south of the Iraqi city of Al Amarah. The four Warrior armoured vehicles of 8 Platoon are lined up facing the gate, engines off but ready to go.

Mine is Whisky Two Zero, the platoon commander's vehicle, which always leads. I'm its driver.

My gunner, Sammy, and I head for the Quick Response Force Room, a small brick building close to where the Warriors are parked. Another sweltering day — 47C in the sun — any kind of shelter helps.

People are sitting where they can. Some are smoking. Some are reading paperbacks. Some are sleeping. Helmets, body armour, day-sacks and SA80 rifles fill most of the floor space.

Since the ops are non-stop, sleep is in short supply and we're learning to grab it when we can. If we're lucky, we may be able to snatch five or 10 minutes before we're summoned to deploy.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch movement beyond the door. Others seem to sense it. "Oi, oi," says Woody, another of my Warrior's crew. "Looks like party time." I pick up my helmet and body armour and join the rush for the door.

By the time we get outside, the platoon is swarming around the vehicles. I see 2nd Lieut Richard Deane lowering himself into the commander's hatch of Whisky Two Zero. Engines start. Diesel fumes belch into the air. I pull on my body armour, jump up on the hull and slide into my seat. A couple of seconds later, I have my helmet on and my radio plugged in.

"Boss, Sammy, can you hear me?"

"Roger," Mr Deane says. "Loud and clear," Sammy says.

I check that my SA80 is where I left it, in the footwell next to my knee. I press the starter button. The CV8 diesel roars into life. I slip the vehicle into drive and head for the houses that I can see at the edge of the heat haze.

Water bubbles up from a broken main in the middle of the road. The sun is high in the sky and the reek of excrement makes me gag. I've decided to drive with the hatch open; as the Boss says, you see bugger all from inside the vehicle. I hear him open his hatch, too.

We pass a cart by the side of the road loaded with watermelons. The guy who's selling them waves at me as we drive by. He doesn't seem to have a care in the world.

Checking my mirror, I see the four other Warriors in the convoy strung out along the street to our rear. Whisky Two Two, Broomstick's wagon, is 50 metres back. The rest are spaced out evenly behind him. Broomstick's turret is traversing from right to left, gun raised at an angle towards the rooftops. Apart from Mr Deane and me, everybody else, as far as I can tell, is battened down.

When I look at the junction ahead of us, a voice inside my head is telling me that something is wrong. I ease off the power and we start to slow.

"Bee, what is it?" Mr Deane asks. "Why are you slowing?"

"Somet'ing ain't right, Boss."

I look in the mirror again. The road behind us is as clear of people as the junction in front, and yet a minute ago - less maybe - it was busy, busy, busy … I slow down as I approach the junction and the Warriors behind me start to bunch. The street we're in is narrow. Houses rise up on either side of us. I snatch quick, nervous glances, left and right, at their flat roofs. I see nothing, no one.

"Shit!" I hear Sammy say. "Left-hand side. There's a kid across the street. Eleven, maybe 12 years old. He's holding what looks like a rocket-propelled grenade (RPG)." I'm turning to look, when there is a massive explosion and the vehicle shakes like it's been hit by a tidal wave. I grab hold of the tiny cross around my neck and do what Auntie said: I pray to God and all his angels for help.

Even though I'm heads-up scanning the road through the open hatch, I've seen nothing. The world outside is exactly as it was a moment ago. Al Amarah is still a ghost town.

"Boss … what was that?" I try to keep the fear from my voice. There isn't even a crackle of static in my headphones. "Boss, what's happened?" Still nothing. I crane my neck, but the turret blocks my view. Smelling burning, I glance back down the driver's tunnel.

Then I hear someone scream. I hear another voice, too — an inner one that tells me that RPGs come in threes. I hit the accelerator, but the power kicks in a fraction too late. The Warrior lurches and a second detonation punches the vehicle's back-end a metre and a half across the road.

The power-pack coughs for a moment and I think Whisky Two Zero is going to die on me. But, miraculously, the revs pick up again. I point her nose towards the open highway and see the barrier - a line of hastily erected breeze blocks - too late.

An instant before we crash, there is another explosion, even bigger than the last. A pressure wave, filled with noise and heat, tears past me and out of the hatch.

As I brace myself for another explosion, I feel movement from the barrier. Whisky Two Zero begins to force her way through.

Again, time slows. All I can think of is the battery of RPGs to my rear. I can't go back. I hear the screaming again. It comes from the back of the vehicle.

Bullets hit the front of the Warrior like hailstones and I look up and see gunmen shooting at us from the rooftops. Then I hear answering fire from the turret — not the rat-a-tat-a-tat of the chain gun, but an SA80 on single shot. It's Sammy.

"Drive, Paki. For Christ's sake, drive," he shouts. "There's more of them lining up with RPGs." I tread down on the accelerator, but get very little response from the engine.

"Move, Beharry. Move, move, move," Woody yells from the back. Then he calls out to the Boss. "Stop calling the Boss," Sammy shouts at him. "The Boss is dead. He got hit by the first RPG. He's lying on the floor of the turret. He's a mess, man."

A guy wearing Arab dress runs out and sprays us with his AK47. I hear the strikes pinging off the armour in front of me. "Use the chain gun Sammy, for God's sake," I shout.

"I can't man, it's jammed," he screams. "All I got is the Boss's weapon." The guy with the AK just stands there. He's 50 metres away and firing from the hip.

Something slams into my helmet and my head is thrown back against the hatch. It's a bullet. When I open my eyes the guy with the gun is still there. He keeps firing his AK until the last possible second and then darts into an alleyway as we thunder on down the street.

Black flags hang from the balconies of the houses as we pass by. Black flags, a part of me is thinking. What the hell's that all about? Are they for us? Do they know we're going to die here?

A movement in the shadows on the corner of an alleyway catches my eye. A guy steps out. He heaves a brown and black tube over his shoulder and fires. I should have yelled "RPG", but I can't. I'm hypnotised by the sight of the shell as it heads straight for us. A millisecond before the round hits us, I realise it's coming straight for me. I duck and pull the hatch down with a crash, then an ear-splitting explosion tears it out of my grip.

There's a scream behind me and I realise that Sammy has been caught by the explosion. There is more yelling and screaming from the back. I check the mirror and see the other vehicles. They're following me and firing back with their chain guns. They're behind me because they think that Mr Deane is still in charge of the platoon: they don't realise he's dead. Dead. The Boss. I can't believe it.

I tell myself, "Just concentrate on getting us out of this mess" — I start to weave down the boulevard. With our speed dropping off, I know we present an easy target for another RPG. We've been hit by at least four; we can't take another. A fresh volley of small-arms fire, and this time I see the sparks as the bullets crack and fly off the armour. I can see no end to the killing zone, and for the first time I feel real fear. If I f*** up now, it's not just going to be the Boss, me, Sammy, Erv (Whisky Two Zero's signaller), Woody and Clifton that will pay the price. Where I go, the platoon follows.

I check that my SA80 is still in the footwell, when I see another Warrior at the end of the street. I pull up alongside and the commander's head appears. I realise it's Major Coote, the CO. He touches the top of his head — the signal for me to follow him to a walled compound. Major Coote pulls up in front of the Warrior in the middle of the clearing and bullets start to spatter its hull.

As I pull myself out of the hatch, four or five rounds ricochet off the front of our Warrior. My God, some bastard is targeting me. I drop back into my seat. My hands are shaking. My breath is coming in gasps. If I sprint through the bullets and throw myself over the barrier, I say to myself, I'll be safe.

Choices. The Boss is dead. Sammy, Woody, Erv and Clifton all need my help. I pull myself out of the hatch. A bullet whines through the air above my head. I roll on to the turret. A bullet hits a foot from my face. I move closer.

When I lean over the hatch, I see Mr Deane slumped across the floor, face down, the back of his head is covered by his helmet. There is blood on his seat and the shredded remains of his body armour. I lean inside and tap the back of his helmet. He doesn't move.

But something inside the turret does. Sammy is hunched, clutching his sides, head lowered. An explosion has ripped the clothes from his upper body. His chest is peppered with burns.

"Sammy, man, it's me." He turns towards me and there are burns all over his face as well. When he opens his eyes they are blood red. I'm not sure he can see me.

"Paki?" He reaches out for me and I grab him by the wrist. I start to pull him towards me. A bullet hits the hatch. I let go and he falls back. The Boss groans.

Jesus Christ. The Boss is alive.

I look at Mr Deane and I look at Sammy. Smoke is pouring into the turret from deep inside the vehicle. The heat is unbelievable. I don't know how long we have before the vehicle blows. All I know is that I've got to get the Boss out. I reach down, take hold of his shirt and pull. I manage to lift him a little, but he's too heavy and slips from my grip.

"Sammy, man, you've got to help me lift the Boss." Fumbling, Sammy grabs hold of a part of the Boss's shirt and pulls. Mr Deane's head comes up a fraction and before Sammy lets go, I grab hold of the Boss's helmet. I know I only have one shot at this. I pull with all my might.

Another bullet cracks off the hatch, but I ignore it. This time, I'm not letting go. I place my feet either side of the hatch and pull. Mr Deane starts to make a terrible choking sound, but his head and upper body are through the mouth of the hatch. If I let go now, I'll never get him back up.

A volley of bullets cracks and whines off the vehicle. I'm not letting go. I take hold of one of his arms and drag him on to my shoulders. A bullet thuds into the armour a couple of inches from his helmet. I take a deep lungful of air and jump down to the ground, pull the Boss more firmly on to my shoulders and carry him as quickly as I can to the CO's vehicle. The door opens and I hand him over. I don't know who to, and I don't care. Now I have to go back and get Sammy. He's already half way out of the commander's hatch when I jump back on to the hull.

"Come on," I say, grabbing him by the wrist. There's so much blood on his face I'm still not sure he can see.

We hear another burst of gunfire and I pull him down below the level of the turret. A volley of shots rakes the front of the vehicle. I hop down onto the ground and drag Sammy after me. We make it to the Warrior. I climb into the back and sit him down on one of the bench seats.

I turn around and head back towards Whisky Two Zero. Smoke is pouring from the commander's hatch. I run around to the rear. The door is open a crack. I take hold of it and yank it back. Big Erv is pointing his SA80 at my chest. There's blood on his face and a wild look in his eyes. He's a split-second away from pulling the trigger.

"Erv, it's Beharry!" Woody says, appearing out of the smoke. Erv lowers his rifle. He's bleeding from a cut just below one of his knees. Woody is a mess, too. His face is covered in cuts.

His helmet has been blown off and he's missing most of his hair. There's blood on the floor and the walls. I can see daylight through the left-hand wall, where the molten jet of the RPG scythed through the armour and the turret cage.

I hear something behind me. I swing round half expecting to see an Iraqi with an AK, but I'm confronted by a sergeant.

"You lot, move, now. This wagon is on fire." I stagger around to the back of Whisky Two Zero and pull my day-sack from the rack, then Sammy's and the Boss's.

Weighed down by three day-sacks and two SA80s, I turn and run towards the waiting Warriors. Sammy and Erv are seated towards the back of the compartment. Woody is sitting by the door.

I collapse on the seat opposite him. The door closes. It feels like I've been sealed inside an oven. I try to breathe, but I can't. The vehicle moves, and I tip forward, ending up with my head on the floor, alongside Sammy's feet.

"Get his helmet off!" I hear somebody yell. And then I can't hear or see anything else at all.

After spending a night in an Army Medical Centre for heat exhaustion, Beharry then returned to active duty on May 3, driving a replacement Whisky Two Zero, once again commanded by Richard Deane, who had returned to active duty, a week later, after having recovered from shrapnel wounds. Then, in the middle of the night of June 11, 2004, they encounter another ambush.

I'm looking for the turning to Purple Four and cursing the fact that it's so dark. There's a flash to the left. Mr Deane shouts a warning. Sammy yells my name. I see something out of the corner of my eye. The nose of a shell, flipped out fins, a plume of smoke — less than a Warrior's length away.

There's a flash of light and an unholy crash, and something slams into my head. I get a ringing in my ears and a metallic taste in my mouth. I open my eyes, but I can't see. I try to remember where I am, what I'm supposed to be doing, but I can't.

Nothing comes to me. Nothing at all.

"Bee!"

Mr Deane is talking to me. He's angry with me. Mustn't disappoint Mr Deane … "Bee, can you hear me?"

"I hear you."

"Get us out of here! Go, go, go!"

Of course, I'm in a Warrior, a Warrior — I slip into reverse and hit the accelerator. We shoot backwards.

"Go, Paki, go," Sammy yells. "There's more of 'em out there. They're lining up for another shot!" More of who? Another shot of what? RPGs — I remember now.

Got to get us out of the kill zone. Got to get us away from here. We're not on a road. We're racing backwards across about 200 metres of open ground. What am I doing here? We hit something and stop. Shouting. Gunfire. Darkness. Something slides out of the darkness and parks in front of us. Another Warrior. In front of me it starts to move away.

"Follow him, Bee," Mr Deane says. "OK," I tell him. But I can't move my foot. What's happening to me? Suddenly, I hear another voice. "I got you mate. You're OK now."

I look up. Sgt Chris Broome — Broomstick — is staring down at me. What's he doing here? He takes hold of one arm. Somebody else grabs the other one. They pull. Lift me out. Next thing I know, I'm in the back of a Warrior. I open my eyes. Broomstick is still looking down at me. My head is in his lap. Tears are rolling down his face. Tears …

"Stick?"

"Yeah, mate?"

"Am I dying?"

"Nah, mate you're not dying."

"It hurts Stick. It hurts."

"Hang in there Harry, we're nearly there mate, nearly there." The Warrior's door opens. People stare at me. It's like they've just seen a ghost. I feel myself starting to slide. I'm going on a journey. I wish I knew where.

Weeks later, after a period in a coma and extensive brain surgery as a result of his severely fractured skull that doctors feared he would not survive, Beharry wakes up to discover his cousin, Gavin, at his bedside, telling him that the newspapers were saying he should be awarded the Victoria Cross.

'I didn't do nothing, Gav. I was just doin' me duty. Any of me mates would've done the same."

"Well, officially you're a hero, mate. Even your commanding officer says so. Listen: 'The squaddies' overall CO in Iraq, Lieut Col Matt Maer paid tribute to him last night. He said, "To do what he did showed extraordinary courage. Hero is a grossly overused term these days, but he is a true hero." ' "See? That's what they're saying."

"Well I don't feel like a hero," I tell him."'I feel like a Kentucky Fried Chicken. I want to get out of here."

Abridged extract from 'Barefoot Soldier', by Johnson Beharry (Sphere), available for £16.99 (rrp £18.99) plus £1.25 p & p. To order, call Telegraph Books on 0870 428 4112



Information appearing on telegraph.co.uk is the copyright of Telegraph Group Limited and must not be reproduced in any medium without licence. For the full copyright statement see Copyright

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/core/Content/displayPrintable.jhtml?xml=/news/2006/09/24/nbeharry24.xml&site=5&page=0

 

[Cloud Cover]

My good God, that story is unreal. 

 

[big bad john]

The helmet Private Beharry was wearing when an RPG exploded just six inches from his face

 

[17thRecceSgt]

I would have loved to have had a story like this for all the young troopers to read when I used to do Armd QL3 courses.  I read it twice.  Amazing.

Alittle disturbing to read that his family started to go alittle off the deep end.  One would think they would support him, not the other way around.  People are weird sometimes.  Weird=need a kick in the guts in this case.



Mods - Is it possible at all to remove the posts of Micheal Dorosh from this thread now??  They...take away from the thread IMHO.

 

[big bad john]

FINALLY!

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/5381106.stm

VC hero Beharry awarded promotion 

Pte Beharry was seriously injured while serving in Iraq
The first living soldier to be awarded the Victoria Cross (VC) in nearly four decades has been given a promotion, the Ministry of Defence has said.
Johnson Beharry, from Grenada in the West Indies, was promoted from private to lance corporal for "distinguished and exceptional service".

The 27-year-old was given the VC last year, for his actions in Iraq.

He twice led comrades to safety during attacks in the town of al-Amarah in May 2004, suffering serious injuries.

On 1 May 2004, he guided a five-vehicle convoy through a mile of enemy ground to drop off wounded comrades.

Weeks later, his vehicle was hit by a rocket-propelled grenade. Despite suffering a serious head wound, he managed to reverse his Warrior to safety.

Family feud

But he has recently revealed how the fame accompanying his VC award - the first to a living soldier since 1969 - came at a high price.

In his book Barefoot Soldier, due to be published soon, he has revealed that his days of active service are over because of a brain injury he suffered in the second attack.

And amid family feuding, he and his wife announced their separation last year.

L/Cpl Beharry's promotion means his daily pay has risen from £54.60 a day to £58.79.

As the holder of the Victoria Cross he also receives an annual award of £1,495.

 

[Kirkhill]

The things you don't have to do to get a promotion.

 

[big bad john]

He was due for his promotion before he got his VC.  His actual promotion is long overdue.

 

[geo]

I would have loved to have had a story like this for all the young troopers to read when I used to do Armd QL3 courses.  I read it twice.  Amazing.
Alittle disturbing to read that his family started to go alittle off the deep end.  One would think they would support him, not the other way around.  People are weird sometimes.  Weird=need a kick in the guts in this case.

MRM,
For someone from the West Indies to have met HRH QEII and now beneficiary of an annual gratuity for life, many from his old home town probably think he's a millionaire... and with respect to the Woman that was his wife... she had pretty much  left him prior to deployment so..... the H@ll with her IMHO

WRT the promotion - good for him, It's about time - though I imagine his injuries might have been the root cause of the delay (prolly declassified in his Med category)

 

[17thRecceSgt]

roger

 

[The Bread Guy]

Kinda puts the conditions back home in perspective when you're considered uber-well off getting an extra $200-300/month (if you believe Wikipedia - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Victoria_Cross#Annuity ), don't it?