Operation Mountain Terror
27 Nov
As the light was fading and the skies filled with heavy grey clouds, a convoy from 4-25 Field Artillery, made up of elements borrowed from 1-32 Infantry, with a whole lot of ANA loaded in to pick-ups, pulled into Firebase Wilderness to collect me. It was a mission I had known about for a few days and had desperately been trying to get onto. It was officially a different unit than those I was attached to, but the guys in charge at Wilderness were great and organised the whole thing for me. Of course I wasn’t counting on it until I was actually sitting in a vehicle, as often something breaks down or some other type of Snafu (Situation Normal, All Fucked Up – an old WWII expression that I have heard out here a surprising number of times) would leave me sitting watching them roll by.
I’m still not allowed to talk about some of the mission but I will give you as much detail as I can. One of the main objectives was to travel over some very rough terrain, over a high mountain pass, and to arrive in a village with the element of surprise, and to conduct a search and destroy operation for arms caches. This village is extremely isolated and the last time the Americans were there was two years ago, and it was an air assault operation, meaning they went in by helicopter. We however, had to drive in, with the weather conditions getting worse by the hour. Due to intelligence received, the Americans believed that there were a number of caches in the area, and that these arms dumps were being used in the manufacture of IEDs, which are a huge threat in this AO (Area of Operation).
I was only going for a few days, but I knew it was going to be tough in the mountains, so I pack all the “snivel gear” I had, i.e. sleeping bags, warm clothes, and lots of sugary snacks to carry in my pouches and pockets. I left my laptop and Satellite phone at Wilderness, as I wouldn’t be allowed to transmit photos during an ongoing operation.
As soon as the rolled in I grabbed my kit and headed out to the loading area. Colonel Kaiser introduced me to the Sergeant that I would be riding with, and I was directed to a vehicle to load my bag. The Humvee was already stuffed to overflowing, so the bag was shoved in beside the seat where I was to sit. In the back of a Humvee, there are two seats, with a flat space in the middle for the top-gunner to stand on. This means that you have a pair of legs beside you, but he needs plenty of room in order to move around and be able to identify and challenge any threats, be they suicide car bombs, IEDs, gunmen on the hills attempting an ambush, and a whole host of other risks. The upshot is that you want him to be as unrestricted as possible, because he is essentially your early warning system to any danger. So I had to try and pull my bag almost into my lap, which is incredibly uncomfortable considering how squashed I already was. Bear in mind that I was wearing my body armour over a heavy fleece, plus my harness with two pouches on either side and my big camping/survival knife, a combat first-aid kit and a multi-tool strapped onto my front for easy access, my Camel-Back holding water, spare rations and smokes on my back, plus a helmet, protective ballistic glasses, and protective flash-burn gloves. Both pockets of my combats were packed with extra kit, I was wearing knee-pads as shin guards to avoid the bruises you get from bashing against the metal bar behind the drivers seat, and all in all I felt like an over-stuffed turkey. Oh, and of course I was carrying two big heavy cameras. It is almost impossible to squeeze into the back seat with all this kit, and you then have to try and put on a seat belt, while barely being able to turn. You also have to use the fucking “Combat lock” in a Humvee, which entails pulling hard and turning a bit awkward piece of metal, which is more difficult again if you are sitting on the left side behind the driver, which of course I was. This door was particularly fucked, so the driver would have to push on it from the outside in order to let me lock it. Great! At
least I could open it, which was definitely going to be useful if we had a TIC (Troops in Contact - firefight) or rolled over. The idea of the small knife on my front was so that I could cut the seat belt if we rolled over, or the vehicle caught fire during a contact. Now I had to pull my bag over as close to me as possible, so my travelling conditions basically fucking sucked!!!
There was some standing around while the commanders of the convoy talked to the commanders at Wilderness, so I kept out of the vehicle for as long as possible. I introduced myself to some of the soldiers I would be travelling with, but I didn’t get a very warm welcome. Not rude, but not welcoming either. (Later in the day I found out why – they had been told they were picking up a hot chick, and so they had all been expecting some Barbie Doll reporter, and instead they got smelly, hairy-arsed old me – I would have been pissed off too!)
Some of the guys from A and O Platoon came down to see me off, which was cool. They told me to “stay safe”, the ubiquitous send off out here, and not to get shot. I told them that was exactly my plan, and promised to see them in a few days. It was a strange feeling saying goodbye to friends I have known for so short a time, and yet to have such genuine feeling in a farewell. The problem here is that, although no-one will admit it, there is a fear every time someone goes out the gate and beyond the relative safety of the wire that you just might not see them again, alive. Since I’ve been here there have been several Americans killed, and the point is that there is no such thing as a “routine patrol.”
So, we started off on our trek, with a guide from 2nd Platoon for part of the way. Turned out I was in the lead vehicle for the convoy, which meant that once our guides left us, I would be in the vehicle most likely to get hit by any IED or ambush in place for us. I’ve heard so many horror stories about IEDs now, that you catch yourself constantly scanning the side of the roads, and considering what will happen if you get hit. I even found myself keeping my arms by my side rather than holding the bar over the drivers seat, because if an IED hit the drivers door and my arm was close, I might lose it, whereas if I was in a smaller space in the back I might survive. This of course is ridiculous, and I know that, rationally, but still I did it.
It started to get dark as we turned off the main road and headed into the mountains, and when our guide told us we were now on our own, it was pitch black. We were driving with “white light,” headlights, which meant we were light up like a Christmas tree, and easily spotted by anyone waiting for us. As we climbed higher into the mountains, the road dropped off to our left or right, and sometimes both simultaneously. Driving on these roads is a test of anyone’s bravery and nerves at the best of times, but when you are waiting for an attack as well it is just horrible. But the soldiers have no choice, so they just get on with it. It is also a slow process, as each tight turn or narrow pass is a possible disaster, so there is lots of dismounting and guiding the vehicles through the more challenging spots.
Soon enough the snow that had been promised all day by the sky arrived. It turned in to a blizzard quickly, and that was when we met not one, not two, not three, but four Jingle trucks on the narrow single lane track. These Jingle trucks are all over the country, usually stacked way beyond any safe capacity with firewood or some other commodity, painted like a fairground ride and with hundreds of jingling chains, bells, or other bits of metal rattling on it. It is a modern miracle that these trucks can move at all, let alone make it up into a pass like the one we were on.
We now faced the equivalent of a Mexican standoff, where nobody wants to give way. As I explained before, it becomes a matter of pride with the Afghans, and they will sit and argue for hours about who should move rather than get on with it and take a logical solution. However, the military has big guns, so that helps to move the situation along somewhat. Still, with the snowing and wind howling around us, it took over two hours to get these four trucks moved back to passing points so that the convoy could continue on our way. The soldiers were the epitome of patience though, and explained to me that they have done this so many times that they don’t get frustrated anymore, and just talk through each mini-shura that is required to resolve the situation.
As soon as we got started moving again, I noticed that the road was now sparkling like diamonds in the headlights. Great, we now had ice on these already treacherous roads. We struggled on, and soon enough we reached the summit, 8,020 feet, and more Jingle trucks. This time we had a bit of luck, as there were two roads, briefly. Because the slope is so extreme in places, whoever built these roads created alternative ascent and descent sections. This means that if you are climbing with a heavy load you can take the longer winding but shallower route, and on the descent you can take a stepper quicker option. So, we stacked up the Jingle trucks in the climbing section, and then continued down the track.
Eventually we arrived at the bottom, and pulled into the town that we were to “overwatch” for the night, and then search the next day. This town is a known supporter of Haqqani, and in fact we spotted a house flying his flag as we drove in. No doubt it would be gone in the morning. We drove on until we reached the planned location for our “Patrol Base,” which is where the vehicles are parked in a defensive position and the troops bed down inside the perimeter. This is much the same as I had experienced in April/May with the Canadian Recce guys I was embedded with, so I expected a quick meal, and then bed, in the dark and cold. What I wasn’t prepared for was the ANA’s attitude to this situation. Before the US vehicles were in a defensive perimeter the ANA had started 3 or 4 fires, and were preparing meals and beds by the blazing flames. So much for subtlety.
As any element of surprise was now gone, the Americans also started their own fires, and soon the place resembled a big camp-put, except that there were soldiers still standing in turrets manning .50 calibre machine guns as force protection. I huddled close to a fire as the snow continued to fall, and I have to admit although I was well aware of the dangers surrounding us and the vulnerability of our position, I enjoyed the wildness of it all. So it seemed did many of the men, and they described a lot of their recent missions as adventures. Around the fires darker stories were also told, many of comrades injured or killed in operation in Afghanistan, or in Iraq, where many of these guys have served. The general consensus was that now that winter had arrived properly, most of the Taliban that they were seeking had already left this area and would not be back until spring, as has historically happened in this fight.
Many soldiers spoke of their fear as we drove over the pass, and they were relieved and amazed to have arrived safely. They spoke about the prayers they said, and of the lucky talismans that all soldiers seem to carry. I was told about their kids, many of them newborn while their fathers were in Afghanistan, and of beautiful wives and girlfriends waiting at home.
Most of the soldiers planned to sleep in their vehicles, some out of desire for warmth over comfort, others glad of the protection that the armour offered. I am too old to sleep scrunched up in a bloody Humvee, so I decided to take my chances out on the ground. This was what all my planning was for, and I had what I believed was all the necessary equipment to sleep out in the snow storm. If not, I would soon find out. I pulled out my Gore-Tex, breathable bivvy bag, which is basically a water-proof outer sleeping bag. Into that went both my sleeping bags. I found a spot behind my assigned Humvee, close to our fire, and cleared the bigger rocks to make a sleeping space. I laid out my sleeping mat, and then my bivvy bag with sleeping bags inside. Trying to get into it was going to be difficult without getting a whole lot of snow in there as well, so I pulled my poncho out of my pocket and used it as a shelter while I pulled of my boots and climbed inside. Or I should say wriggled inside, as there was not much space, because I was fully clothed. I was wearing top and bottom thermal underwear (which I have been wearing for about 2 weeks now – phew), then combat trousers, thermal socks, a long sleeved top, a fleece, and an outer Snug-Pak super warm, wool lined shell, plus a neck warmer and woolly hat. The bivvy bag is designed to pull over the top of your head to protect you if it rains or snows, so that was pulled up, and then I placed the poncho over all of that and my boots. In about 10 seconds flat I was fucking baking!
I tried to settle down to sleep, but I couldn’t help snatching more than a few peeks out at the orange glow filled camp-site, and thinking I am so lucky to be able to have these experiences, however dangerous they are. The scene was beautiful, and with all the snow and firelight, I couldn’t help thinking of Christmas at home with my girlfriend, and friends and family. I am so looking forward to it, and I felt sorry that these guys couldn’t look forward to that, and a little guilty too, but it was those comforting thoughts of home that helped me off to sleep.
28 Nov
I woke up a few times in the night to the sounds of howling (a form of coyote I am told) and then at around 6am I awoke properly, shivering. Apparently sleeping bags can only hold your body heat for so long, and I had reached my limit. I poked my head out, and now it really was a “Winter Wonderland” Christmas scene. I was buried in snow, as was everything around me, including vehicles, and the wood we had been burning. Some fires had been kept burning, but ours had gone out. There was now no point in trying to sleep again, so I got up, dug out my boots, and prepared for my day. I have learned from my friends in Recce that the first thing you do in this situation is pack up your bed, as we could be attacked and have to move at any moment, so I shook everything out and packed up my bag. Then it was time for breakfast, so I fished out some tasty “Pop-Tarts” from my pack, and headed over to one of the bigger fires. This turned out to belong to the ETT (Embedded Training Teams) guys, and they were welcoming and friendly. These guys are tasked with training the ANA from the inside, and it is not an enviable job. Also, they are National Guard, which means that they have left real jobs behind to do this, and they are all volunteers. They were boiling water for coffee and hot chocolate, and invited me to join them. I had a mug hanging off my bag, so after I grabbed it I sat down with them for breakfast. They were an interesting mix, as the experience from the outside world brings skills that might not be expected in the military. They are also older than a lot of the soldiers, and there was a maturity in their discussion of Afghanistan around the fire that was heartening. One of the guys had been shot twice in a TIC, in the ear, and straight through the thigh, and the guys teased him about it. Apparently getting shot in the head means you should keep down, and the bullet in the leg missed the bone and a guaranteed ticket home, so they said he moved too slow to get a proper injury. These guys were close, and you could tell they were used to being outside the wire a lot, as they had cots to sleep on beside the fire, large stones making up their fire circle to retain the heat, and a flat stone to heat water in mugs and rations on. Also, they had beef hotdogs, and they offered some to me. It was great to have some real food, and the coffee/hot chocolate mix was a great start to the day.
As the morning broke properly, villagers started to come down to our patrol base. As always, it was the kids first, and they began their chorus of requests, for pens, radios, blankets, and anything else that might be on offer. As the older men arrived, it was clear they intended to have a Shura, and so an ANA campfire on the edge of the camp was selected. The elders arrived and seated themselves around the fire, and the discussions began, amidst the snow flurries. The ANA commander took the lead, and the talks concentrated on weapons caches. They wanted to give the villagers a chance to bring out any old or hoarded weapons rather than conduct a house to house search, and the villagers seemed to be keen to cooperate. Soon they were on their way, and not long after that the explosives and old ammunitions started to be brought in.
In the meantime other ANA soldiers had food on their minds, and so they had purchased two goats from the locals. Without much ado they were slaughtered, and according to Halal requirements this was done by cutting their throats. I hadn’t seen this done before, and I asked if I would offend anyone by photographing it. The ANA, like all Afghans it seems, love having their photo taken, so it was no problem. A shovel was produced to dig a hole in the ground for the blood, the goat was hauled into position, and numerous knives were offered by the gathered US soldiers to perform the actual slaughter. One of them even had an “Operation Iraqi Freedom” inscribed K-Bar knife, which was used for some of the process. The whole thing was surprisingly quick, with less blood then one would imagine, and as soon as the head was off, the skinning began. Within half an hour there were two separate goats bubbling away in huge cooking pots. I did get to try some, and it was delicious.
Then I heard “McHugh” being called across the camp, and my squad were getting ready to move out. We were heading to some coordinates outside the village, high up again, to search for some caves. I loaded up, and off we went. The snow was falling heavily again, and driving through the wadi and along the dirt tracks was torturously slow. In due course we got to a point where we could drive no further, and so it was decided to send out a dismounted patrol while the rest stayed with the vehicles. Stupid here was determined to go on the patrol, and unfortunately they let me. How many times do I have to climb up a big rock in body armour before I learn my lesson?
Anyway, off we went, puffing and panting to try and get some oxygen out of the thin, high altitude, air. Forget looking out for booby traps, IEDs, or an ambush, I was just concentrating on getting one foot in front of the other. The snow had made the rocky footing even more treacherous than it would have normally been, and visibility was pretty bad. Still, we pressed on, and soon we were moving in silence, spread out to try and avoid multiple injuries should we get into a contact.
The photos I took during this time were so atmospheric, some of the best I have gotten out here. Check out www.gettyimages.com, click news, and then search mchugh to see them. These units are all part of 10th Mountain Division, and they started of in the snowy mountains in Colorado, and then went on to some of their most intense fighting in the Italian Alps during WWII. This is also why all the big operations this year have had names like “Mountain Fury”, “Mountain Thrust” and “Mountain Lion.”
We went a couple of kilometres, and the going just got worse. We were now using our hands to steady us, and everyone agreed we should have snow-spikes on our boots for this terrain. Finally we reached a point where we had to walk along a ledge on a cliff, with at least 150ft drop to the rocky
bottom, and I started to think this was getting ridiculously dangerous. We had moved maybe 50 ft along this ledge, when the lead Sergeant came to the same conclusion and said we should turn back. He warned everyone to be careful, as the ledge would be icy on our return. I was second in the lead on the way over, which meant I was second from last to return with a Sergeant in front, and the lead Sergeant behind me. I had slung my cameras behind me long ago, to stop them swinging around and throwing me off balance, and as I inched along the ledge, I was using both hands to try and hold onto the rock face. It was really slippery, and I shouted out that I hadn’t signed up for this shit. The Sergeant in front of me started shouting back, “Where else in the world would you have the opportunity to……………………….” And then I fucking slipped.
It was like slow motion. I could feel myself go, and I just couldn’t stop it. So many thoughts flashed through my head that it would take hours to write them out. One of the biggest was the thought that whatever about getting shot, blown up, or even captured by the Taliban, I was not prepared to fucking die falling off a cliff. I tried to grab onto a branch nearby, but my hands were too cold to grip it properly. As I started to slide down I could here the Sergeant behind me shout as I scrabbled at rocks, but the whole bloody thing was shale, loose rocks that kept pulling out of the cliff. I really though I was going to die, and then my right knee-cap crashed down on a sticking out rock, and while the pain exploded in my brain it gave me just enough time to grab a rock with my right hand and a root with my left, and thankfully both held. I stopped descending, and then the other Sergeant shouted to me to hold on. I didn’t dare move, and was just trying to catch my breath as my heart almost beat its way out of my chest, and as I tried to find some footing, I felt a hand grab the handle on the top of my Camel-Back. The Sergeant started to pull, and I shouted to “fucking hold on” as I was afraid he would dislodge me. Slowly we worked together to get me back up on the ledge, and I can tell you, I was shaking like a leaf. Very, very slowly, I crept back along the rest of the way, while the Sergeant behind me tried to find a safer route. Once back on solid ground, I had to sit down. Everyone asked me if I was alright, and with the usual stupid male bravado I assured them I was fine, but I was trembling as I light a cigarette. The Sergeant leading the Patrol made it back, and he said he was glad I made it, as it would have been a real pain in the ass the have to try and recover my body from down there. The black humour made me laugh, but inside I was horrified at how close I had come to dying.
We moved slowly back down the mountain, with everyone now being very careful. There were a few more jokes, and a lot more smokes, but we made it down safely. The Humvees were still waiting for us, and we climbed in to make our way back to the patrol base. Getting into the vehicle made me realise just how painful my knee was, and being bunched up in the back didn’t help. Within a few minutes the Humvee was stuck, having slipped going down a slope, and everyone except the driver had to dismount, in case of a roll-over. I could barely move my knee, and looked like an old man hobbling around. Thankfully, the Humvee had an excellent driver, who also didn’t want it to roll, and he freed it up and navigated it down the harsh conditions. We loaded up again, and by the time we were back at the base my knee was stiffening up nicely. I took some of the painkillers I carry in my first-aid kit, and one of the medics had a look at it. It was bruised, cut, and swollen, but he didn’t think it was dislocated or broken. I used some snow and a plastic bag to make an ice press, and I found a seat with my friends from ETT to rest on.
Later I begged a cot (folding canvas bed) to sleep on, and laid out all my bedding ready for another cold night. I was still in a lot of pain, so I retired early. I was annoyed to be missing all the great stories that are inevitably told around campfires, but I wanted the sweet pain-free bliss of sleep. My preparations were the same as before, but I was aware that tonight was even colder.
I slept in fits and starts during the night which, as anyone who knows me will agree, is most unusual. It was freezing, and each time I peeked out it was snowing heavily.
29 Nov
I noticed during the night that my sleeping bags were wet, but just tried to ignore it and sleep, and in the morning I found out why. Once I opened the top drawstrings of my sleeping and bivvy bags, I discovered that the outside of my bivvy was covered in a layer of frozen snow and ice. Apparently my breathable Gore-Tex is not breathable when frozen. I noticed later that some of the other soldiers were already aware of this, and so some had set their cots beside fires, while others had rigged their ponchos up above as shelters, thereby keeping the snow off and staying dry. The wet sleeping bags were down to my perspiration during the night.
Breakfast was with the guys from ETT, and again they shared their coffee, hot chocolate, and beef hotdogs. They also shared stories, and I didn’t feel so bad about missing out on last night. One particular story told by one of the stories is great, and I hope he won’t mind if I retell it.
He was dating a Turkish girl that had moved to the States with her family years ago, when he was in high school. Her dad was some sort of highup priest / religious figure, and was very protective of her. Her mother knew she was seeing this guy, but her dad most certainly did not. So one day the guy turns up at the house to meet her, not knowing that Dad is at home. Dad answers the door, guy splutters some “We’re just friends” story, and Dad invites him to join them for a day of rounding up lambs. Guy says yes, unaware that rounding up also includes slaughtering them, just like the Afghans do. So, guy and Dad hang up first lamb by his hind legs, Dad takes large knife, and stares guy straight in the eye while he slowly slits the lamb’s throat. Guy split up with girl shortly afterwards.
After breakfast we prepared to move out, back across the mountain pass. My vehicle was lead, again, and the plan was we would recce the route and make sure it was safe for everyone else. Climbing the mountain was tricky, as it was still early and the snow on the road hadn’t yet been touched by the sun, so was nowhere near to melting. We slipped and slid our way to the top, and at the top we meet a crowd of Afghans walking towards us. Their Jingle truck had slid almost off the track, and they were finished trying to go anywhere until the snow melted. We however, did not have that luxury, and so we had to go on. Minutes later we slid about 20 feet down an icy slope, and so it was decided to put on snow chains. When this was told to those behind us in the convoy, the message came back that chains were not needed, which was strange seeing as those making this assessment had not yet reached the dangerous. The Sergeant commanding our vehicle, the same lead Sergeant as the cliff patrol, said that it was his call, and so we WERE going to use chains. As he said this, the ANA pick-up behind us slid down the slope and nearly hit us, followed by a Humvee that came around the corner and also slid down towards us. It was a scary couple of minutes, and I was sure I was going to see a vehicle go over the side. With the chains on, our Humvee was guided all the way down by the Sergeant, while I walked alongside, just in case. I’ve had enough of near death experiences for a while.
This raises the issue of death in theatre as opposed to death in combat. There have been several deaths recently from roll-overs in Afghanistan, but I’m not sure that everyone understands how these “accidents” occur. The fact is that in combat operations these soldiers are asked to carry out actions that no sane person would even consider in day to day life, and they have no choice but to carry them out. This puts them in great danger, like our slip slide incident down a track with at least a 500ft drop off, and it does lead to injuries, and deaths. It is very sad, but should be recognised as a death while carry out their duty, and not written off as unfortunate accidents.
The convoy dropped me off at the gate at Wilderness, and I hobbled in. The A and O guys came down to greet me, and laughed their asses off when they heard my story. It’s the usual black humour that you experience out here, and I was glad someone could laugh about it. The rest of the day was spent trying to dry out my bedding, seeing the medic to get painkillers, retelling my story to all who asked, and going to a nice cot inside an almost warm tent, and getting some early sleep. I dreamed of falling off a cliff over and over again, but I was too tired to move enough to even fall out of my cot.
John D