John D McHugh

HA Drop

 

24 Nov

 

Rose and set out early this morning to carry out a Humanitarian Assistance (HA) mission. I was stuffed into the back of a Humvee loaded with blankets, clothes, shoes, and food. It was a very cramped journey, as we climbed high into the mountains. We arrived over 1000ft higher than we set out. It was extremely cold, with snow on the ground in the shade and on the mountains peaks around us. It was a beautiful setting, reminiscent of an Alpine village.

 

The ANP came with us, and the Chief Petty Officer (CPO) from the US Navy who is responsible for Civil Affairs was keen to have them hand out the goods, as it helps to legitimise them in the eyes of the locals. As soon as we arrived the CPO sat down with a retired commander (probably from the Soviet war), as the elders were away. The village has four different tribes in it, which is unusual, and can lead to tension. The commander suggested making four separate bundles in plain view of all the people gathered around, thereby ensuring that everyone knew the sharing out was fair. The children went crazy trying to grab silly baseball hats that were handed out initially, making them look way too Western. I hate those hats, but the kids love them.

 

As the divvying up began, I noticed several children hauling firewood on donkeys. These donkeys are the workhorses of Afghanistan, especially in the mountains, as there are many tracks that are impassable to vehicles but which man and donkey can use. This of course is a huge part of the problem that the Coalition faces, as it is difficult for them in their modern vehicles to reach some of the more remote areas where the Taliban hide.

 

Once the sharing of goods was over, we had a quick walk around the area with our Retired Commander. He took us to the Madrasa (school), which to my delight was downhill. We walked through the wadi and I made friends with one of the ANP. His name was John, my name is John (Nobody here seems to get that my first name is John D) so we were destined to be best buddies. He told me that this area was very dangerous for Americans, as it is the heartland of Maulvi Jalauddin Haqqani. Haqqani was one of the most influential leaders of the Mudjahadeen during the war against the Soviets (during which time he was an ally of the US) who then allied himself with the emergent Taliban. Believed to be Commander-at-large of the Taliban’s revitalised war against the coalition, he is a High Value Target (HVT) which makes him one of the most wanted men by the US, right up there with Osama Bin Laden and Mullah Omar.

 

The Madrasa was yet another dishevelled looking mud building, with a couple of black-boards inside, covered in drawing of flowers. It didn’t really inspire confidence in the educational curriculum in this village.

 

I had hoped that the convoy would make its way back down to us, saving me the hike back uphill, but of course that was wishful thinking. Gasping from the thin air at close to 8,000 feet, I eventually made it back up. We loaded up, and headed back to Firebase to load up for another HA drop.

 

The roads here are of course terrible, not the place to try a bit of drunk driving, and remember there is no snow or ice on them yet. Once the real winter sets in these villages will effectively be cut off. The other danger on these roads is the fact that once you go up a road, then the ACMs know that you will eventually go back down it. This gives an ideal opportunity to set an IED. One of the more disturbing tactics employed is to set the IED on the mountainside of the road, trying to blow the vehicle off the road and down a few hundred feet drop.

 

Arriving back to Wilderness we were given half an hour to reload and regroup, and then we were off again. The second village was much closer, and we were there in no time. At this village there were no elders available, so the Civil Affairs guy sat down with some men that were present. Usually these guys say everything is fine, and that they need nothing from the Americans. Surprisingly this time these guys were quite open about their problems. Their village was bombed by the Russians (the Afghans always blame Russian rather than Soviets for the war) and still has several collapsed buildings, and damage to others. They spoke of their need for health care, education for their children, problems with the ACMs that operate in their area. They said that this was the first time the Americans had offered help, and that all other visits consisted of kicking in doors and searching houses. They were friendly, and we sat and had Chai with them during the discussion. I know the soldiers are on antibiotics (Cipro) to help them fight off illness from these Chai encounters, but I’m relying on my cast iron constitution.

 

During the discussion an old man sitting at the back seemed amused all the time. I think he might have been a little crazy, as he wasn’t really included in the talks. I shot some portraits of him, and he seemed to find that amusing too. He ran his fingers through his long wispy beard, and I tugged my own in return. He found this hilarious, which is a change from the continual question “Are you Special Forces?” The US troops don’t wear beards, so I get a lot of attention for mine. When we left, the old man shook hands with the soldiers, but grabbed me in a big hug, which caught me by surprise. He was a funny old guy, and was still chuckling to himself as we walked back to the vehicles down in the wadi.

 

All around the vehicles children and adults had gathered, waiting for the provisions that had been promised. Unfortunately the elders (who had appeared as if by magic once they heard about the free supplies) grabbed some blankets and food and then just buggered off, leaving the soldiers dealing with total chaos. There was pushing and shoving and people fighting over clothes, and it was ugly. The soldiers tried to keep some semblance of order, but with great difficulty. The kids were getting coats, and I saw one man take a coat from a little girl and give it to what was presumably his son. The girls did fight their corner though, and kept running off to add to their stash, guarded by the smaller kids, and then charged back into the mêlée to get more.

 

One soldier had picked up a small boy who he had seen shivering on the outside of the chaos. He was too small to hold his own in the pandemonium, so the soldier had briefly adopted him. The soldier shouted for a coat and one was thrown to him. He helped the little boy into it, and zipped him up and showed him how to use the hood. Then the soldier climbed into his Humvee, remerging with a muffin for the boy. The kid just crammed it into his mouth before anyone else could wrest it from him, and the soldier was delighted. This soldier is a 19 year old kid with a heart of gold, despite his sometimes foul mouth. The photos will no doubt be written off by some as propaganda, but the truth is several other soldiers behaved in the same way, I just happened to photograph this guy because it occurred right beside me.

 

Eventually everything was gone, and we loaded up into the trucks to move out. The warm glow from seeing the excited children get new coats, etc was still with all of us, when I heard a soldier say, “Now let’s see if their friends fucking blow us up on the way back to base.”

 

25 Nov

 

Stayed up late last night, which was stupid last night, as I knew I was scheduled to go out on another mission today, but the stories being told in the TOC (Tactical Operations Centre, I think) were real gems.

 

One of the stories was about an operation that some of the guys were on in Iraq, where they raided a house looking for weapons. The women were screaming and shouting and trying to fight with the soldiers, and a translator had to be brought in to calm them down and explain what was going on. This took some time, and meanwhile the search was proving fruitless, and the soldiers were beginning to think the had been given bad intel. However, once the women found out that their husband would be arrested and taken away if any weapons were found, they immediately lead the soldiers to his stash. He must have been a really abusive asshole, because they couldn’t wait to se the back of him.

 

Another source of amusement was some of the antics that the young soldiers get up to, and their total ignorance as to how much the senior officers actually know about the goings on. And the merciless way that the NCO’s work the young guys to shape them up as soldiers. The drivers seem to come in for a real hard time, as they are driving these huge cumbersome vehicles while being monitored by the Vehicle Commander. It seems that the more they try not to get in trouble, the more trouble they get themselves in. And there is one young lad here who doesn’t even have a driving license back in the States, but they don’t let that excuse him from his driving duties.

 

Anther story was about a Senior Commander who was attending a high level meeting with various Afghan representatives. His Personal Security Detail (PSD - bodyguards) was outside, when things started to get heated inside. Suddenly a cup was thrown by one Afghan at another, and guns were cocked. The Commander sent a text message to his PSD saying things were getting ugly and he might need rescuing, and the PSD, thinking he was joking, texted back, “Roger.” The Commander, realising the confusion, sent another text, saying “This is going bad,” to which he received the reply, “Roger that!” Finally he sent a message saying, “If you hear shooting, don’t worry, I have a plan, I’m going to jump out the back window.” They laugh about it now.

 

And on and on it went. Unfortunately there are loads I can’t repeat, but if you buy me a pint when I get back I might be able to remember a few more.

 

So anyway, I woke up late and had 15 minutes to get some coffee into me and get to the convoy briefing. Yet again, the threat was assessed as “Very Fucking High!!!” At least there is continuity. I squeezed into my place behind the CPO, and as we drove he explained the difference between what we did yesterday (HA) and what would occur today. This was a joint HA and Medical Tailgate mission. A Medical Tailgate is where medical assistance is offered on the spot, by the military’s medical personnel. Today we had a Physician’s Assistant, which is one step below a Doctor, and a medic with us. We climbed into the mountains with a bigger convoy than yesterday, and along even worse roads. When we arrived at the village, it was a strange arrangement of a few villages really, in close proximity. A central area was designated as the treatment spot, with the HA set up off to one side. The plan was to get the locals to form an orderly queue (wishful thinking in Afghanistan) and then bring them for medical treatment first, and then on to the HA handout point, and then out the other side. Again, we had ANA with us to give an Afghan Government face to the operation.

 

The villagers started to gather as word spread, and very quickly a large group, maybe 100, men had turned up, plus hoards of children, but not a single woman. I was informed that this was normal, and opinion seamed split on the issue. Some soldiers believed it was better to help some people than none, while other soldiers said they should force the villagers to allow the women to be treated too, or treat no-one at all. “If we’re here to spread freedom and democracy, doesn’t that apply to medical treatment too” one soldier said to me. However, as some of the little girls came forward to see the Doc, I began to suspect that some of the ailments that they requested medicine might in fact be those of a mother hidden away, and not the child at all. There were all sorts of shenanigans going on, with every patient it seemed asking for extra medicine and claiming a multitude of different complaints. At one stage the Doc had an argument with a man claiming that a prescription he had was for his daughter, and the Physician’s Assistant (PA) eventually losing her patience and telling the man that a little girl does not have a prostate.

 

Painkillers and multi-vitamins were handed out liberally, but there were some other diseases which would require further treatment, and the PA recommended to these that they visit a hospital before the weather got worse.

 

After each patient was seen, they had an X marked on their hand with a magic marker, and then they headed to the CPO for their share of the blankets, school packs, dental care packages, etc, that he had to offer.

 

As I tried to capture the scene it became apparent that while the men and boys were keen, almost demanding, to be photographed, the girls would turn their heads or pull their scarves over their faces. It was a shame to see these young girls already programmed to hide themselves away, and I did my best to get pictures of them while they could still be seen. After a while some of that Afghan pride began to exercise itself, and a few of them stared straight down my lens, while others had to be stalked like game.

 

As the day progressed more people arrived from outlying areas, and the crown just got bigger and bigger. I was moving amongst them when I was accosted by an old man, who berated me in Pashto. I was rescued by an Afghan who spoke good English, a Doctor from Kabul it transpired. He said he visited the village once a month to try and help the people there, and we spoke for some time about the security situation and how it made life difficult for these ordinary Afghans. As always, the Pakistanis were held by this man to be the root of all Afghanistan’s ills. He also told me that after a recent HA mission in a village in nearby Ghazni, the Taliban turned up after the US forces left, and they gathered up all medicine, blankets, and any other piece of Western Aid, and burned the lot.

 

We were still chatting when I heard the call to mount up, and after a brief goodbye I dashed back to my designated vehicle. On the way back I told the CPO about the Doctor, but it turned out he hadn’t come forward and identified himself to his visiting counterparts. I later learned this was quite common, bt no-one knows why.

 

When we returned I was worn out from the trip, as it is physically draining to be bounced around in the back of a Humvee, especially in this unforgiving terrain. I was looking forward to grabbing a nap, when the guys from ANO Platoon came looking for me. Two of their soldiers were re-enlisting, and they wanted me to photograph their swearing in. That would have been OK, but they wanted to do it at one of the Ops, which meant a long climb up a mountainside. I decided not to bring my body armour, as it is technically inside the wire, but even so it was exhausting. What made it worse was that on my way up a Sergeant came running up behind me, and I thought, “There is no way I’m getting passed by him.” So I dug in and ran as hard as I could. For about 20 yards. Then, I thought, “Hmm, I am getting passed after all, and also, my chest is about to explode.” By the time I got up there I was shaking so bad we had to wait 5 minutes before I could hold the camera steady. It was worth it though, as the sun was just setting and I the photos came out well. Not the sort of stuff that would go on the AFP wire, but the guys seemed pretty pleased.

 

After that I needed to eat, and sleep. The newest addition to the food options here are Cold Weather MREs. These are like the ordinary MREs I have described before, but with much higher calories. They require hot water, because they are just dried food, but they taste great and the extra heat is much appreciated by my weary body. Not long after, the food coma effect took over, and I was out like a light soon after.

 

26 Nov

 

Very quiet day today. Was supposed to go on a patrol, but it was cancelled, which meant I sat on my ass for a lot of the day. I was stressing out by the end of the day, because I had nothing to send.  I was wandering around the Firebase bugging everyone for something to shoot, when just before sunset the 105 Howitzers rolled in. These are big guns, towed behind Humvees on their own axles, and I ran over to get some pictures before the light faded. I though they would just drop them off and set up camp, but I had underestimated these artillery guys. They drove into position, and immediately the started setting up the guns to fire. I spoke to their First Sergeant, and he said their job is to set up under pressure and defend their infantry in the field. It seemed to be a race between the gun teams, and I got the whole sequence before the sun was down behind the mountains.

 

27 Nov

 

It’s snowing now. I thought I was cold before, but this is a whole new experience. I am wearing all my snivel gear (Cold weather clothes) and I am still freezing. This trip is going to hell in a handbag. But at least some of the soldiers have gotten their hands on near bear (alcohol free, dammit) so we are going to try some psy-ops (Psychological Operations) on ourselves tonight and trick our minds into believing we are drunk. I’ll let you all know how it turns out.

 

John D

 

   

 

 

 

 

“I don’t want all of you to roll down you window, stick your weapon out, shout “Westside”, and start fuckin’ blastin’. That’s not what I want.”

 

This was one of the many deadpan lines delivered during the briefing given by the Sergeant leading our convoy from Gardez to Firebase Wilderness the morning after I arrived at the Gardez FOB. I can’t write about most of it because it was about tactics and techniques used in TICs, (Troops in Contact, the new phrase that describes a firefight), and about the Rules of Engagement. I’m not allowed to reveal any information about these, but I’ll give you a few more lines from the Sergeant.

“Communicating is important. This signal, …., means I gotta stop and make a call. I might wanna stop and call my wife or some shit, and say “Hey, did you turn the lights off.” Alright.”

(if we are hit by an IED….) “I want you to start helping out. I don’t need everyone gathering around if we’ve got somebody injured, saying “damn, he’s fucked up.”

(Discussing what will happen to a casualty) We have got medics, Painkiller, and Dr. Feelgood. If you have problems breathing they’re going to call me, and I specialise in that shit. I WILL get your fucking airways open. You’re gonna breath whether you like it or not.

“Prioritisation. Most dangerous to least dangerous. That means if we take fire from this side, on the mountainside, and we have RPGs, automatic weapons, semi-automatic weapons, then prioritise. Take out the RPG first, the you go to the automatic weapons, semi-automatic weapons, then the frickin’ guy with the ninja stars, the guy with the baseball bat, the guy with the javelin, The woman with the high heel shoes, and then the badass who is running towards you. Prioritise.”

 

This guy was funny, and worked the crowd like a pro. Like a lot of guys out here, his humour was pretty dark. At the same time he delivered the Rules of Engagement 3 times to the soldiers, and emphasised the importance of following those rules. It did not sound like the trigger-happy Americans that I’ve heard about.

 

The place we were heading for is called Firebase Wilderness. It is somewhere on the road between Gardez and Khost, which means it’s on an arterial road from Pakistan into Afghanistan. This is an area where US troops have encountered 23 IEDs since June.

 

The convoy set off across another mountain pass, around 9,000ft, but unlike the road from Gardez which was newly paved and allowed fast driving, this road was a bloody dirt track. Initially we encountered brown-outs, where there is so much dust risen by the proceeding vehicle that you can’t see a thing, but as we climbed into the mountains the road was a real quagmire in places. There were jingle trucks, minivans, and all sorts of vehicles using this road that I would have considered impassable, but they all moved aside for the US troops. Snow started to appear along the side of the road, and the mountains overlooking us were white. We stopped near the top briefly, and the view was magnificent. I will say this again, it is such a pity this beautiful country is so ravaged with conflict, because I can’t think of a more beautiful place to explore if it was safe.

 

This was they first time I travelled in an American Humvee, and I have to say they are comfortable. They are wide, which means as well as giving good stability on these rough roads, there is room for all that super-secret technology that they pack inside. I still had room to just about wriggle my feet, and they best thing was that I was facing forward and could see out through the bullet proof windows. Much better than travelling in the back of an armoured car or Land Rover. The noise is surprising though, as everything rattles on these roads, and then you have a number of different radios squawking. I was travelling with a Lieutenant Colonel, and he took the time to give me a really good understanding of the area under his command, over all the noise.

 

At one stage we reached a total blockade on the road, where a Jingle truck had become stuck, and traffic had piled up in both directions as a result. The problem here is that Afghans will become stuck like this often, and then everyone refuses to give way to someone else, thereby creating a standoff. The US soldiers managed to take control and got traffic backed up enough so that our convoy could get through, and hopefully that broke the stalemate that had developed on this high mountain road.

 

We arrived at Firebase Wilderness, and it is a construction site. It was in its 5^th day at that stage, but the 3rd Brigade Special Troops Battalion, 10th Mountain Division, that I am embedded with contains a large Engineers element, so the place was coming together fast. The base is a joint US / Afghan project, so there are ANA located here as well, and ANP man the checkpoints.

 

The Lieutenant Colonel I travelled down with wanted to climb to one of the Ops, so I decided to head up there as well. As usual, it didn’t look that far, but hiking up 150ft in full body armour and helmet at this altitude (7,000ft) is bloody exhausting. Once up there the ANA immediately jumped up from their Chai, which they seem to drink constantly, and assured the US soldiers that they were just taking a short break from their work. We then took some time to survey the view, which again is fantastic. 

 

Later in the day the Lieutenant Colonel was due to attend a Shura (meeting) with local elders in a nearby village. I tagged along, and ended up shaking hands with about 20 elders in the District Governor’s official office. It was a crumbling hut, with a half-hearted sandbag wall at the front, and a tatty flag flying outside. The room had a patterned material pinned halfway up the wall, and the same material covered his table. Very stylish. The meeting was tense as the US soldiers had arrested 3 Taliban suspects in the village recently, and the elders were demanding that their young men were returned to them. Then the elders went on to say that the area was secure and didn’t require a military presence. The Lieutenant Colonel disagreed, and pointed out that 4 ANA were killed only recently by an IED. I didn’t get the feeling that there was love in the room. In fact I would go so far as to say there was barely concealed hatred bubbling just under the surface.  

 

As we returned to the Firebase, the Lieutenant Colonel was saying that he does believe that they are making a difference in Afghanistan, although it is slow. But he points to the fact that the rough road we are travelling on will soon be paved, just as the pass I travelled on from Gardez has been. A new road allows more commerce in the area, and also provides security due to the improved response time of the military to any incidents. But he believes that the biggest difference will be made by the schools that are being built and funded. He says that if they can win over the youth then they can start to take away the support that an insurgency needs to function. 

 

It started to rain as we returned to base, and I was assigned a sleeping area in one of the nicer tents. It’s very cold up here, so I broke out my new sleeping bag, and slipped it inside my other one. Finally, I got a decent night’s sleep.

 

Yesterday I arose early (5:30am) to find the poor bugger assigned to cooking trying to light a fire. Unfortunately his high tech electric cooking station had malfunctioned, and so he was going to have to heat water for coffee, and soup, over an old fashioned fire. The problem was that all the wood was soaked from the nights rain, so trying to get it to light took over an hour. By the time he had a fire going people were looking for hot water, but he had only just put on the pot, so the unfortunate guy only got harangued for the lack of coffee, and no appreciation for getting the wet wood to burn.

 

Having not learned my lesson, I climbed up to another OP to talk to the guys up there. There are ANA manning the OP, but US soldiers were also staying up there. These guys had slept out in their bivvy bags overnight, and woke up to find that the rain that fell on them for the first half of the night had frozen solid during the second half.

 

Later in the day I got talking to an Air Force guy (hereafter known as AFG). He had been in the military for 22 years, and we talked about the various places he had been deployed, and the difficulties it puts on spouses and families. (This reminds me, I have seen posters at Bagram and Gardez warning troops that the most common reason for suicide on deployment is a Dear John letter, and soldiers are asked to seek counselling for themselves or their buddies should they receive such a letter) The talk turned to this war, and he told me about the difficulty he had with feeling guilty when on his leave, sitting on a beach with his wife drinking a beer while worrying about his men and women back in the field. When he returned he discovered that two of his guys were in hospital following an IED attack. He was wearing dark glasses, but I saw him wipe away tears when he though I wasn’t looking. He felt so responsible for ”these kids” he told me, and he worried about how hard it is on them. But he also told me about a sit down talk that another group had after an IED attack, in which initially all the soldiers were angry about being attacked and the wounding of colleagues. Soldiers said that they were not interested in being friendly anymore, and they wouldn’t even give gifts to the kids. But after a while they calmed down and the next day they were out again, giving pens and candy to the children that flock to them everywhere they go. AFG said he was proud of the way that they handled these traumatic situations.

 

Then we got onto the subject of what benefits could be derived from these experiences, and the main one was an appreciation for life and a clarity on the importance of family and loved ones. He talked about how he looked forward to getting home and spending time with his wife. He also talked about writing the dreaded “death letter,” which he had only just written the previous Sunday night. This is an experience I am only to familiar with, as I did the same thing Saturday night before my drive to Gardez on Sunday morning. He said that a friend had advised him to do it, but that nothing had prepared him for the emotions it would bring out. He said it took him hours, and he was drained when he finally finished. But he said putting it all down helped him to clarify why he volunteered for this tour, and still believed he was doing good by working in Afghanistan, and that it was worth the sacrifice. However we both agreed that we hoped those fucking letters would never be opened! 

 

 

 John D

 

 

Yesterday evening I was still sitting at Bagram, still waiting for a flight, when I found out that it could still take several days to get me out into the field. After some discussion with the US Public Affairs Officer (PAO), and a lot of soul searching, I decided to get a driver to take me to FOB Gardez, the location of my embed with the Americans. I say soul searching because I have made a promise to my girlfriend, and my family, that I will not take unnecessary or stupid risks when I am away on dangerous assignments. I spent a lot of time considering the potential dangers, and weighing up the value of what I would achieve versus those dangers. It is not very pleasant going through all the possible outcomes of such an undertaking, but I forced myself to think it through. The worst part of this decision is the knowledge that if something happens to me, it is my girlfriend and my family and friends who will suffer because of a decision I made. However, I knew that the security on this road had been stepped up, that keeping these main roads open was a high priority for the Afghan government, and I spoke to some other people who had been in the area recently. The military categorised the road as “pretty safe,” and after gathering all this information I came to the conclusion that I would be very unlucky to run into trouble. This conclusion wasn’t terribly comforting, but I am here to do a job, and I have always known that it is not risk free. The best I can do is minimise the danger.

 

Gardez is in Paktia, and only about 50 miles from the Pakistan border. It is an area that has seen plenty of Taliban activity this year. I spoke to AFP’s office in Kabul about my idea, and they said they could get one of our drivers to take me, or organise a cab. We decided a cab was safer, as it was less likely to be stopped by any impromptu Taliban check-points, or by bandits. The road to Gardez from Kabul is through a high mountain pass, and Taliban or bandits were a very real possibility. However, we decided to set out early to ensure the trip was completed in daylight, so our driver picked me up not long after first light from Bagram, and we sped into Kabul. After some discussion with him I decided to scrap the taxi idea, even though it was a driver that the office could recommend, and stick with our driver the whole way. This decision was based mostly on the fact that I know and trust him, and he speaks English, and if we ran into trouble I would at least know what was going on, and wouldn’t have to worry about him just selling me out. (The last time I was here he took me to Chicken Street to find a gift for my girlfriend, and the owner of the first jewellery shop we went to spoke to him in Dari, and proposed ripping of the stupid Westerner and sharing the profit. He declined, and told me what was going on. We went to a different shop.) This added to my guilt though, as he has told me all about his wife and five kids, and now I would be responsible if anything happened to him on the journey.

 

At Kabul I dumped off some kit that I’ve been carrying but not really using. I had a pair of dessert boots that I wore down south in Kandahar, but once the rain started I was only using my Gore-Tex winter boots, so didn’t need the extra weight. I also dumped t-shirts, as it is long sleeves from now on (Gardez is in the mountains, about 8,000 feet high), and I dropped of some books I’d read. My toilet bag went too, and I am now only carrying toothbrush, toothpaste, and shampoo, and to be honest that is a bit hopeful as well. I expect to be relying on baby-wipes for my hygiene requirements from now on. 

 

I picked up an extra sleeping bag at the PX at Bagram last night, which was expensive, but should help me get a decent night’s sleep once I slip it inside my other one. It will probably look ridiculous but I’m way past caring. Comfort is paramount.

 

Driving out of Kabul was the usual chaos, with trucks and lorries parked all along the sides of the dilapidated roads. Everyone drives fast here, and they drive all over the road, with cars coming into the oncoming traffic’s lane to try and get around slow moving jingle trucks. Add to this the many mule drawn carts, and a few hand carts piled high with firewood pulled by struggling old men, and friends meeting and stopping in the road to embrace, and you start to get an idea of the mess. Stalls line the streets, selling fizzy drinks, freshly baked Afghan bread, assorted vegetables, and skinned whole and quartered carcasses. The Food Standard’s Agency people would have a purple fit. These stalls are tended by men with weathered faces, who probably are not nearly as old as they look. Many of the men on the streets are now wearing heavy woollen shawls, some around their shoulders and some pulled up over their heads, to protect them from the cold. The weather has really turned cold, and apparently there is already snow falling further north, around Mazir-i-Sharif. In the streets of Kabul mud from the recent rain splashes up onto the racing vehicles, while fresh dry sand / dust hangs in the air. There are also billboards all along the streets and at the roundabouts, with pictures of smiling Afghans with white teeth and wearing nice clean clothes using mobile phones, while underneath filthy men clothed in nothing more than rags sell phone cards.

 

As we exited Kabul I asked if we had enough petrol, as the last thing we needed was to run out of juice somewhere in the badlands. We didn’t, so a refuelling stop was needed. Unfortunately, for fear of robbery, both the driver and I had left our wallets in Kabul. I had dollars concealed on me, but Afghanis would have been better to pay with. Producing dollars means you are guaranteed to get ripped off, and we did.

 

Once out of the city we hauled ass across the surprisingly good road, the best I have been on in Afghanistan thus far. The driver wanted to dump his passenger and get back to Kabul before darkness fell. I had brought my iPod speakers, and enjoyed the bizarre experience of driving through a dangerous part of one of the most lawless countries in the world listening to my new favourite band, Bell X 1, while donning my cunning disguise. I had picked up a Pakol (traditional Afghan hat, made famous by Northern Alliance leader  Ahmed Shah Massoud) and Afghan scarf, and with my burgeoning beard I hoped to minimise the amount of attention I drew. Of course I am as white as any Irishman, so my masquerade would have survived only the most cursory of glances. My driver also donned his own cover, a scarf wrapped to look like a turban, a look favoured by professional drivers in Afghanistan.

 

My driver was conscripted into the army during the Communist regime, and was stationed in the area we were now passing through. He pointed out the old frontline, positions he manned for months on end facing the Mudjahadeen. Then we passed the place where his unit finally surrendered. He was released because he knew one of the Mudjahadeen, and he set off immediately, spending 3 days and 2 nights walking home to his family in Kabul.

 

Next we drove through Logar Bazaar, which was another typical Afghan trading spot. People selling clothes and food, while literally sitting alongside the road, and one man selling shoes out of a large wooden crate. Everywhere you looked there were burkhas, of many colours, although I only ever see blue worn.

 

We passed several checkpoints, with lots of smiles so far from the ANA and ANP, but then we are entered the wild area. My driver joked that if we are stopped by the Taliban he will pretend he doesn’t know who I am, but the joke just made me feel sick. We climb further into the mountains, past 2,200 metres, and the air is now getting very cold. There is a mist on the mountains ahead, and they are all capped with snow. Then higher, and there is snow all around us, not heavy, but enough to cover the rocks and sand, making it look beautiful. We pass small groups of ANA dotted alongside the road, and everytime we do I am relieved. My driver points out places on the road which would be good for an ambush, which isn’t really helpful, but at least he has his mind on the job. He is an excellent driver, and has taken an advanced driving course through AFP, and I have every confidence in him. I have to!

 

The roads are now typical mountain roads, winding back and forth as we climb. We crest the pass at about 3,000 metres, and the views are spectacular. It really is a stunning part of the world, and it is such a shame that so few people feel safe enough to see it.

 

We descend at speed, and before I know it we are entering Gardez. I am relieved to arrive safely, and so is my driver. He tells me that he can now drive back safely without the “Westerner” who would attract trouble. I am exhausted from the rollercoaster of emotions, and it isn’t even midday.

Well, I’m still at Bagram, much to my dismay. The rain poured down yesterday like a biblical flood, and by last night we were walking in deep puddles to get to the DFAC to eat. I spent the day hanging out with the Soldier of Fortune (SOF) guy, and with a New York photographer, Chad Hunt. He was over here recently and produced some beautiful work (www.chadhuntphotography.com) which has made me all the more frustrated to be still sitting here. And all the more determined to get out to the troops in the dirt.

 

In the dirt. This is a phrase that describes the frontline conditions the soldiers are operating and living in. It is where lots of journalists I meet want to get to, but where lots of the soldiers I meet say they never see journalists. A lot of the troops here have a pretty low opinion of the media, and are angry that so many stories are negative. They say they are doing a hell of a lot of good in this country, but no one ever reports it. And they get annoyed when people talk about re-construction, as they say there is no re, just construction. They talk about the new roads they are carving out, the wells and irrigation they provide, the schools they are building and supplying, and the hospitals and medical care they offer to Afghans.

 

My SOF friend (from now on to be known as SOF) has seen first hand the efforts that American doctors will go to help Afghans. He was at a Combat Surgical Hospital (CSH) when a little girl was brought in on a Medivac. She had stepped on a mine in the mountains and the villagers carried her to the nearest American outpost, who called in a helicopter to rush her to the CSH for treatment. Amazingly the doctors, who SOF had spent several days with already, allowed him to photograph the whole event. He has the most amazing, and shocking, picture of the little girl lying on the operating table being prepped for surgery, with one leg blown off at the knee but with a length of shinbone still protruding, and her other leg also damaged but still there. A nurse is standing over the girl, looking almost like an angel, and although distressing it is in a strange way a beautiful photograph. Then they operated, and at one stage they ran out of blood to give the girl. Without getting fazed, one of the nurses walked out and told the new military padre that had arrived recently, and who had his blood type emblazoned on the front of his body armour like all of the soldiers do, that they needed his blood to save a little girl. SOF says that the soldier never hesitated, and in fact everyday afterwards would come in and sit beside the little girl’s bed to watch over her. Now I know that most people would think this was a propaganda story if they heard it from a military source, but SOF saw it with his own eyes, and I’ve seen the photographs. These are the stories that the soldiers say they want people to know about.

 

Today was more hanging around, hoping that it would be the day I got out to find these stories for myself, but no, it wasn’t to be. Although at least it didn’t rain today. In fact the morning was a cold crisp winter’s morning, and beyond the confines of the base you could see the towering snow-covered mountains of the Hindu Kush. They looked magnificent, but I’m not looking forward to flying through their passes in a helicopter with open doors. I will be an ice block before we land.

 

Then I planned to go to the big bazaar that happens every Friday, but what do you know, that was cancelled too. I did manage to get permission to photograph around the PX, but most soldiers didn’t want to be photographed so I struggled to get anything that really captures the buzz that surrounds this focal point of the camp. So now I am still hanging around, waiting to hear about the next possible flight. The next time I write, hopefully, I will be in the dirt.

 

John D

 

 

Hi all,

 

The last few days have been pretty quiet, so there’s not much to report. After the remembrance service on the 11^th I spent the rest of the day waiting for a convoy back to KAF. It started raining again, and this time it was heavier. Looks like winter has decided to make itself known at last. I feel really sorry for the guys at the Strongpoint I was at, as they will no doubt be swimming in mud by now.

 

By late afternoon I was told it was arriving at 11:30pm so I decided to get some sleep. Then I was woken at 10, told the convoy had arrived, so I jumped up and grabbed my stuff, hauled it all the way down to the convoy pick-up point, only to discover that these were some heavy vehicles to be unloaded. This takes forever, so I sat down and started to wait. In the end we left at 1:30am. We now had a casualty in our vehicle, a guy who had been hit on the head with something during the unloading, and the medic travelled with us in the back of the vehicle as well. The medic was concerned that the guy had concussion, which meant he wasn’t allowed sleep before he got to hospital. So tired as we all were, we tried to keep the conversation going, with the medic throwing in unexpected questions and turning the talk in new directions, to make sure the injured soldier was coherent enough to follow it.

 

We dropped these two off at the hospital as soon as we arrived back at KAF, and I got out at the same spot to walk back to the media tent, as the other unloading area was even further away. Now it’s a real pain in the ass trying to haul all my stuff around, as I have my big back pack with all my living kit, plus a hand bag with both sat-phones, lap-top, and cables, etc, plus I am wearing heavy body armour and helmet, and a belt / shoulder harness combo with several pouches holding first-aid kit, video-camera, spare lenses, and other bits and pieces I need out on patrol. I also wear a Camel-Back, which holds 3 litres of water and has a few stripped down ration-packs in there, because you never know when you’re going to get stuck somewhere without food or water. I don’t know how much all of this weighs, but it is too much, that’s for sure. By the time I got to the media tent I just wanted to lay down and sleep right there. And when I walked in I discovered that while I was away a new TV team had arrived and taken over my desk, shoving my stuff off to a small pile in the corner. Boy, was I grumpy at this stage. So, I then drop half my kit there, and start out for my sleeping quarters with my Bergen slung on my back. Arriving at the canvas media accommodation tent, I opened the door to find the whole place flooded. There was about a cm of water on the floor, but by the looks of things there had been a lot more. I got into my cubicle to discover that the spare clothes and extra kit I had left behind was soaking wet. Apparently these tents, which have a concrete slab as a foundation, weren’t correctly erected by the engineers, and loads of them had flooded in the sudden downpour earlier in the day. The tents are supposed to be pulled taut at the sides to ensure the rain flows off, but some brightspark had decided a few sandbags thrown around the outside would do. WRONG!!! In the end I was so tired I just hooked my bag over a support bar to keep it off the floor, and climbed in my sleeping bag on my cot. By now it was after 4am. I would sort the rest out in the morning.

 

Waking in the morning I felt a lot better, having had at least 5 straight hours sleep, the most continuous sleep I had had in well over a week. Today was going to be an easy day, as all I had to do was organise my UNHAS ticket to fly back to Kabul, and wrap up some loose ends. I needed to do some handwashing of socks and jocks, and burn some CDs for the RAF Regiment, and confirm my next embed with the Americans. I also had to have a shower, which should have been priority, but as I had woken at 9am I only had 30 minutes of breakfast time left at the DFAC (Dining Facility) so I had to haul ass. Walking in to the wash area, where you have to wash, disinfect, rinse, and dry your hands before entering the eating area, I was confronted with a table laid out with a helmet, boots, and knife fork and spoon. I was the DFAC’s tribute to Remembrance Day, and reminded me that the service I had witnessed was only one of many that had been carried out on the 11^th, as different groups marked the day in different ways.

 

Later in the day, I was dropping of the CDs to the RAF Regt. at their ops room, and on the way I ran into a Canadian I had met on the trip down to Masum Gar. We stopped to chat, and he told me him and the boys had been discussing me, and had come to the conclusion that I was fucking insane. They were shocked when they found out I don’t get any extra money for being out here, whether danger money or hardship allowance. The Canadians are making a lot of extra money on their tours, and they just couldn’t believe that I wasn’t. Coupled with that their disbelief when I told then that I not only volunteer, but actually have to push AFP very hard indeed to get approval to organise these trips, seemed to have confirmed to them that I was crazy.

 

The thing is, if I had my way, I would be out here for 6 or 7 months, as I find this whole story so interesting. The way the Canadians attitude is changing to the war has really struck me, and as I was here right at the start I would love to follow this story, and see where it finally ends up. Will they stay the course, and defeat the Taliban and see Afghanistan emerge as a fully functioning democracy? Or will it become a slow war of attrition, with young men caught in the grind of battle for years to come? Will history repeat itself here, and the coalition go the same way as the Soviets? It is hard to see what will happen, but one thing is sure, the fighting will be as intense if not more so next year, and come hell or high water I am going to be her to cover it.

 

15^th Nov

 

I am now at Bagram Air Field, the main U.S. base in Afghanistan. Having failed to get anywhere close to the Brits in Helmand this time, I have organised to embed with an American unit. I haven’t been embedded with the Americans before, so I am looking forward to seeing how they do things. I have heard lots of criticism of the way they operate, but I will now get a chance to witness their operations firsthand and decide for myself. I arrived yesterday to go through all the tedious but mandatory paperwork, and now I am waiting to be flown to my location, which of course I can’t disclose until I get there.

 

It’s also the first time I’ve been on this base, which is impressive. The Americans do a year tour, as opposed to the 6 months of the Canadians or the Brits, so I guess they put a little more effort into making the place comfortable. My living space is a room in a wooden shack, again with a cot, and I’m sharing with this crazy American freelance reporter / photographer, who writes for amongst others, Soldier of Fortune. He’s been out here for 11 months, and seems to know every little base and FOB in this country. He is a real character, and regaled me for hours last night with stories of his adventures. He travels with a bad bearing the logo of an NGO to ease his passage in airports (its his cover) and approaches the whole experience as a military mission. But he has been to some of the more interesting spots in this country, and is happy to share any and all information with me, which is rare in journalism. Usually people want to quiz you for all the info they can and give away none of theirs.

 

Last night we walked up to the PX area (shopping area) and I had a look at all the kit available to the soldiers on this base. As you would expect at an American base, there is a huge range of goods on offer, both in the main PX and from outlets selling local goods like Afghan rugs, jewellery, etc. We hung out there and drank coffee and smoked and watched all the troops interact, listen to rap and rock music, flirt with any available civilian contractors, and generally hang out like young people do all over the world. While we sat there we talked about Afghanistan, and the whole situation. My new friend is pretty despondent about the whole situation here, and his biggest gripe was that Afghanistan is still “The Forgotten War.” He was telling me that one of the things that really annoys the US soldiers here is that so many people said, on hearing of their deployment, “Thank God you’re not going to Iraq.” Like this is better??? He says that so many of these soldiers fell no-one is really interested in this war, and that makes then feel like they are fighting for a cause that nobody cares about.

 

So now I am just waiting for the weather to clear. At the moment it is raining again, and looks like it could for some time. As I will be travelling on a helicopter to my next location I am entirely at the mercy of the weather, as however bad it is here, it will be a lot worse flying through the mountain passes.

5:30am, Morning of the 10 Nov, and I wake with a full bladder that wants attention, and I mean NOW!!! Problem is, it’s still dark, and I’m afraid if I start moving around inside the camp I’ll get shot. So I have to wait 20 mins until there is the tiniest bit of light, and then I sling both cameras over my solders so that my outline should be recognisable to the guys standing guard with their night vision goggles.

 

People started to move around soon afterwards, and everyone was wearing fleeces and hats. It was cold, and there was a real feeling that the weather had turned. This was a big concern, as a lot of these guys didn’t have their winter gear with them. Up till now they had been carrying as little as possible (Every ounce counts) and because they had been in the field for almost 4 weeks they hadn’t had a chance to pick up their extra kit.

 

After breakfast I headed out with a clearing patrol. Their task was to improve the view from the camp, in order to maximise their “fields of fire.” This means that they want to be able to see their attackers from as far as possible, in order to bring down every possible type of destructive firepower on them, including Close Air Support (CAS), artillery, mortars, 25mm cannon fire from the LAVs, and heavy machineguns, as well as the soldiers rifles. The difficulty with the Pashmul area is that it is full of grape-fields, which have deep irrigation channels deep enough for a man to walk upright. There are various other problems with the terrain, and so the soldiers are woking to reduce their risk constantly. Today they destroyed a few mud wall, which I couldn’t believe took as much effort as it did. The walls are built with mud mixed with straw, and when they set they are incredibly strong. There were sledgehammers and pickaxes in action, as well as human brute force, but it was a long process. And of course the longer it takes the more time these guys are exposed to possible ambush, so it is a very tense undertaking. They then cut down a few trees, and burnt a crop of corn that was providing possible cover to their enemy. Again I felt that I was in a different era, as I grew up on pictures from the Vietnam war or soldiers burning crops and destroying structures. I spoke to one of the guys about it, and he said he often feels bad about destroying other peoples work, but they have no choice. This is war.

 

We walked back in to the base, past the point where two of their friens were killed only recently by an IED, with pieces of tyre and metal still strewn around the road. I can’t imagine how difficult it must be to witness such destruction and death, and then to have to carry on working in the same place.

 

When we got back we discovered that more sandbags had arrived, and already soldiers were hard at work digging, shovelling, hauling the bags, while others built them up like bricks, and beating them into place with pickaxe handles. It is crude, but very effective.

 

I was worn out from my patrol, so I found a spot to sit against one of those sandbag walls and tucked into another MRE. During my meal I was chatting to a soldier about the chess set I photographed the previous day, and mentioned that I would love a game. He said he would too, and wished he hadn’t lost his chess set. So I suggested making one, as we had lots of time. I got to work on the board, cutting an MRE box and getting my black marker out. He started cutting up squares from white and dark cardboard, and after about half an hour we had a rudimentary chess set. I was feeling pretty pleased with myself, considering the idea was mine and we actually got it together despite the scepticism of some of the others, but the smugness was soon wiped away as he proceeded to beat me not once, not twice, but three times in a row. Still, my laptop battery was dead and I had pretty much photographed everyone in the Strongpoint, so I and nothing better to do. And it was fun playing the game of kings and warriors on such a crappy board in such a crappy environment, sitting on upturned boxes and swatting flies of the pieces so we could read the letters.

 

Then I was told I was going back to Masum Gar that night, as my convoy out to KAF was leaving there early the next day. I packed up my stuff while trying to remove all the sand that was determined to get into my bag. Everything I owned was now camouflaged perfectly with the desert thanks to the dust that was ingrained. Even the Canadians vehicles, which are actually painted green, are so caked in the fine powdery sand that they blend right into the surroundings.

 

I arrived back into Masum Gar, and found my cot still unoccupied in the dog handlers tent, and as soon as I dropped my bags I lay down and slept. I told you, its all about the cat-naps these days. I then found out that my convoy was leaving the next evening, so I would have all of the 11^th at Masum Gar. This suited me fine, as I wanted to photograph the service that was being held for Remembrance Day.

 

Another night was spent shivering and waking, and then I was up to the now familiar sight of pre-dawn light. In fact the sun was hidden behind a cloud bank and the morning remained cold. I wrote a piece about the service for AFP, which I don’t think they used as it was a bit too emotive for a news service, which I will insert here.

 

By John D McHugh, embedded with Canadian Forces at Forward Operating Base Masum Gar, in Panjwayi.
 

Under skies that threatened rain for the first time in their six month tour, Canadian soldiers gathered at Forward Operating Base Masum Gar in Panjwayi, Kandahar Province, to mark Remembrance Day with a simple but moving service. Canadian Forces wearing the traditional Remembrance Poppy listened as the names of their comrades who have died in Afghanistan, many close to this base in Panjwayi, were read out in front of a hastily constructed wooden cross. The simple cross, made of lashed together timbers, was held up in the powdery sand by rocks stacked around its base.
 

The Canadians were joined by soldiers serving in the British and US forces, as well as members of the Afghan National Army. Surrounded by armoured vehicles and fortified positions, in the heart of the volatile district of Pashmul, the soldiers that were not on duty gathered in a casual manner to listen to the ceremony.
 

Dressed in full body armour and helmets, and carrying their weapons, it was impossible to forget that after these few minutes of solemnity those soldiers present would be back at their posts on the frontline, carrying out their duties as those that have fallen did.
 

A wreath, bearing the single word Canada, was laid beside the makeshift cross on the hill by Captain Jordan Schwab, Acting Company Commander of A Company, 2^nd Princess Patricia’s Canadian Light Infantry, and the soldiers removed their helmets and bowed their heads to remember their friends. The vibrant red poppies and green base of the wreath stood out against the brown  sands, as the poppies that many soldiers wore on flak jackets stood out against the desert camouflage of the military uniforms.
 

Sergeant Major John Hooyer then spoke to the soldiers, telling them that this was a day to think of their friends, and to be strong. He told the gathered servicemen and women that they must stand together, to fight the good fight, and that that was how they would get through their tour.
 

He then recited those sombre words, which will be repeated at so many rituals in so many lands on this day;
 

“They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old.
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them”.
 

Then the troops made their way to the cross, individually or in groups, to place a poppy in the wreath, or in some cases in the very sand on which the memorial stood. Some paused, some kneeled and removed their helmets, while one simply clapped his hand on the supporting rocks. Their thoughts and prayers were their own, as not a single one spoke aloud. Close to the end was Sgt. Maj. Hooyer, who spent some time before the monument.
 

Following the ceremony a short religious service was held, led by Canadian Forces Padre Zibby Jonczyk, who is attached to the battle-group. Afterwards, one of the soldiers thanked the padre for the service, saying it was much appreciated. The soldier said that the brief rain shower that fell during their prayers made it feel like they were back in Canada. Padre Jonczyk replied, “Well you know, in some countries, when it rains, people say that God is crying.”
 

Now, this piece was written simply because I was so moved by the whole situation, and I felt that it should be known about. What is impossible to convey properly is the raw emotion that was so apparent. This was no huge stage-managed event like I have photographed in London, marking the war-dead of years ago, of those who would be old men now. This was a group of soldiers remembering their friends that had died recently, and close by, and it was horribly sad. My heart went out to the Sgt. Maj., whose prime role is the care of his men. In the Canadian Army, Senior NCO’s wear a Red Sash as part of their dress uniform, which is a symbol of the bond between them and their men. Traditionally the sash was white before entering battle, and would become stained with blood as the Sgt. Maj. Carried his wounded or dead of the field of battle over his shoulder. Incidentally, there are 88 knots on the end of the sash, which the CSM would tie off as as he accounted for each of his men. An old custom to represent an old bond, and to see the Sgt. Maj. kneeling before the cross at Masum Gar, one which, in spirit, lives on.