Private
Derek Derenalagi
I went to Afghanistan at the end of March 2007. It was a summer tour with my Regiment: 2nd Battalion, The Mercian Regiment, part of 19 Brigade. My role was intelligence. I speak the language, so I can interpret into English. We would go to the villages and try to talk to locals, kind of like public relations, to inform people that it’s going to be OK, that we are trying to come and protect you guys, and that’s why we’re here. It was tough; we went through so many hard times. We had to be on the road all the time, patrolling all the time, because we came under fire 24/7.
I lost my legs on Thursday, 19th July 2007. It was a normal routine patrol. It was early in the morning, and cold when we set off. We were very close to a place called the Green Zone, which is an extremely dangerous location. We had been tasked to go and clear a Helicopter Landing Site so we could travel to other villages in the area. It was often too dangerous to travel in a vehicle because the Taliban were laying mines all over the place.
After clearing the site, we went up to the high ground so we could have a good view of the area and check that there was no form of enemy around—they normally target the aircraft as it’s about to fly out. Once we had reached the high ground I just knew that something bad was about to happen. I just knew it. Within seconds our vehicle was up in the air. It had sat right on top of two anti-tank mines that were hidden under the earth. The Taliban had put six-inch nails inside, hundreds and hundreds of them, and pieces of metal and ball bearings to do damage when they exploded. All I remember is that I was swallowed up by big clouds of smoke and I was thrown on top of some rocks. I didn’t know I’d lost both my legs or that all my bulletproof armour vests and body armour, all my weapons, everything had been destroyed. Not until I tried to stand up.
When I looked down I knew then that I’d lost both my legs because all I could see was blood all over me and all over the place. I was lying in a pool of blood and I was blustering for breath. I could hear people screaming and shouting. I knew I wasn’t going to make it. I knew that I wasn’t going to see my wife again or see my children again. That I wouldn’t come back to the UK in one piece, that I would be returning to the UK in a box or a coffin. That’s when I looked up to the sky and I said a prayer. I’m a Christian, and a very strong believer in God. I looked up to the sky and I said, “Lord, if I’m willing to use my life to encourage and to motivate others then give me back life again”, but I still knew I wasn’t going to make it as I was struggling to breathe.
Then, two guys grabbed both of my shoulders and dragged me out from where I was, straight into a waiting helicopter. They tried to keep me breathing and alive because of the amount of blood that I had lost. They took me to Camp Bastion, the field hospital, which took about twenty minutes. Once I reached it, they took me directly into the operating theatre and the last thing I remember was a nurse talking to me. She said to me, “Derek, be strong, you’re going to be OK.” Her voice was echoing, like she was speaking to me from a tunnel. All I could hear was the voices echoing and all I could see was red everywhere because of the amount of blood. And that was when I passed away. I learnt later that my heart had stopped three times before a plane flew me from Bastion to Selly Oak Hospital, Birmingham.
I was in a coma for eight and a half days. When I woke up, I saw my wife standing beside me and I thought, “What is she doing here in Afghanistan?!” My mind was still in Afghanistan and I was thinking I was still on the frontline! She was talking to me in a very soft voice telling me, “You’re OK, don’t be afraid, everything is going to be OK. You’re in the hospital. You’re in Selly Oak, you’re in England now.” I saw the doctors and the nurses standing up at the side of the bed and I said, “What are they doing here? Who are these people?” My wife said, “These are the doctors and the nurses, it’s going to be OK.”
When she’d calmed me down I said, “Can I go to the toilet, please?” I was also saying, “My boot is too hot, I want to take off my boot.” That’s when she told me I couldn’t go to the toilet. I asked why. I did ask a couple of times, I think, more than three times and on the third time she spoke to me and I could see tears in her eyes. She told me I didn’t have my legs any more. Then she took a step closer to me, took my picture and then showed me the picture and said, “This is you now.” When I saw my picture I was shocked and lost for words. I couldn’t say anything at all. All I could do was look up to the ceiling. I was silent for a couple of minutes. I couldn’t move because my back was broken. My clavicle was also broken. I’d lost five front teeth. I was badly burnt on my left side and on my buttocks and I had pieces of metal throughout my body.
After a while I said, “Do you know what? Let’s start again. Who knows, through this injury, many doors of opportunity will open and many doors of opportunity will come back, so let’s start again.” And that’s how my recovery started. I’m just a normal person like everyone else. I wouldn’t call myself a fighter, I was just doing what I love to do. I’m from Fiji, and in terms of history, Britain has played a big part in where I come from. That’s the reason why I was so willing to fight for Great Britain. If was given the chance to go back to Afghanistan again, I would do it. I’ve never regretted losing my legs.