Friendly fire

Laikipia, Kenya

My cousin Charlie Williams is a young Irish Guards captain about to deploy in Afghanistan. The other day he came to stay on our farm in Kenya’s highlands and I got a glimpse of what he’s about to go through in an exciting yet poignant way.

Charlie brought the British Army along. In fact, they ‘attacked’ us in an airborne assault. The evening before, I was astonished when a British officer pointed at Celestina and said, ‘You’re a suicide bomber.’ In reality, Celestina works on the farm with me. ‘And you, Aidan, are a truly horrible man. You’re the Taleban boss of the suicide bombers.’

At night, we were told reconnaissance teams were scouting the farmstead and eavesdropping on our radio communications. ‘Let’s blow up the British,’ Celestina happily announced on his walkie-talkie, method acting a little too enthusiastically. ‘What?’ replied a shepherd who had no idea what was going on. ‘No, I won’t do that.’ ‘Shut up, please,’ said Celestina. ‘No,’ said the herder.

At first light we heard a low throbbing and then several helicopters came zooming out of the savannah, their rotor blades strobing in the dawn. Celestina and I were out driving in the farm jeep and suddenly there were Micks all around us. They cuffed and blindfolded us, conducted an on-the-spot interrogation, then tossed us on a Puma, flew us off to their camp and gave us a cup of tea. As they choppered us home, we swooped over great herds of zebra and elephant. Mount Kenya’s snowy peak rose above the plains, as green as Ireland after the rains. Looking down on all this, a pilot said to me over the earphones, ‘You’re a lucky bugger, aren’t you?’

Kenya has become the British Army’s most important overseas infantry training spot.