John D McHugh

Saturday 14^th April
As my flight out to my next location isn’t until tomorrow, today I joined a patrol out to a nearby base, Asmar. We headed out early, as once again I found myself riding in the rear of a Humvee. I had forgotten how cramped these vehicles are, but I was glad to actually be getting back “outside the wire,” as this is what I have come here to do. I was told that the threat level was fairly high, as the Americans had been ambushed along this road before. And so, with that cheery thought in mind, we were off.
As this whole area is basically a valley with a very fast flowing river running through it, we had a drop off one side of the road, and high ground on the other. As we drove we all twisted and turned, contorting our bodies so that we could look out the windows and scan the surroundings for any movement or indication that we were about to be attacked. This is no easy feat when wearing body armour, but the difficulty and discomfort far outweighs the alternative.
 

The Captain I was travelling was a straight talking no bullshit kinda guy. He answered al my questions directly, and I have to admit it felt good to be back in this war at this level. Getting the embed process behind me, with all the associated red-tape, and back onto the ground where the soldiers are too preoccupied with staying alive to play some silly and frustrating PR game, was exactly what I have been working towards. It is at this level that you really find out what is going on.
 

During the drive we passed the burnt out remains of a jingle truck. It had been carrying supplies up to the soldiers and so the insurgents had set up a fake checkpoint to stop the driver, and then burned his truck with all its contents, and also cut off both his ears. These are the type of consequences that Afghans who work with or for the coalition face.
 

The other thing that caught my attention during the journey was the amount of helicopters in the sky. They were constantly there, the work-horse troop and supply carrying Chinook, the graceful and neat Blackhawk, and of course the insect-like Apache Gunship with all its firepower. I’ve never seen so many helicopters in the sky in one day. It really highlighted the fact that this is pretty inaccessible territory, and so men, supplies, and everything else has to be transported by air. And if it won’t fit in the Chinook then it gets wrapped up in a rope sling and carried underneath.
 

When we got back to Naray I was told that the next part of my trip was now planned, and I would be flying out on a “bird” (helicopter) the next morning. I was heading to an OP (observation point) called War Height, in Nuristan province.
 

Sunday 15^th April
The noise of a busy HLZ (helicopter landing zone) is overwhelming, and waiting for my particular bird meant hanging out by the HLZ while all the other traffic came and went. At one point there were two Chinooks on the ground, while an Apache provided security and a Black waited his turn to come in and drop whatever his load was. I was trying to photograph all this activity but the downdraft of a Chinook landing throws up some serious dust and debris, and I spent more time with my head down and my eyes close, or cleaning off my lenses, than actually shooting. The landing, loading, refuelling, and take-off process is almost like a pit-stop in Formula One motor racing. Everybody has a task, and they go about it in the quickest possible time.
 

Finally I was waved forward, and of course pointed towards a Chinook at the other end of the HLZ from where I was standing. This meant hauling my rucksack and camera case down there as fast as possible and clambering aboard.
 

A couple of large transport crates were driven in by a small fork-lift after I got in, and then we were off. I had already bellowed to one of the crew where I was going, and so now I sat back and waited for the thumbs up from him when we were at my location.
 

This flight was something special. As I said, this whole “Area of Operation” (AO) is based on the Kunar river that flows through it, alongside which runs the road, with various settlements built alongside. The valley is very steep, and so, as we flew fast and close to the ground in an attempt to avoid automatic weapon’s fire or rocket attack, the steep rocky sides of the valley were uncomfortably close to the helicopter’s rotors. Well, uncomfortable for me anyway, but the pilots seemed to be used to it.
 

First stop was Kamdesh, now called Camp Keating, after a soldier who was killed nearby. This base is built beside the river, and in fact the HLZ is right in the riverbed. My friend Chad Hunt was here last year, so I had seen some pictures of the place already, but I still wasn’t prepared for a landing on such an unusual site. As soon as the crates were unloaded a whole platoon rushed onboard, and where a few minutes earlier I had room to move around and shoot some pictures, now I was wedged up against the gunner with not even the tiniest bit of wiggle room.
 

Once the bird was off the ground we went into what felt like a vertical climb, up past the tree-line. Out the window I could see snowy peaks and I got quite a shock. After my time in the snow in the KG pass in Paktia last year I didn’t expect to encounter it again until this autumn. Now it looked like I was neing dropped back into it already.
 

However, once we landed I was relieved to find that while OP War Height is surrounded by snow covered mountains, this peak was clear. I jumped out with my stuff, and immediately I was hit by the altitude. I was now above 7,000ft, and the thinness of the air made me short of breath. Wearing body armour, helmet, and hauling a 60lbs rucksack on my back and a heavier camera case in my hand, I managed about 30ft before having to stop. The climb from the HLZ to the actual OP proper is not far, but I was shattered by the time I got there.
 

This time there was no-one to meet me, and I suspected this meant that nobody knew I was coming. This happens all the time, so I wasn’t to concerned, and I just asked around for the senior officer. I was told to dump my stuff in a tent and he’d find me when he had time. It is always awkward walking into a tent where people living, and announcing that you are their new companion, especially without anyone introducing you. Happily though, these guys were welcoming and helpful, and in no time at all they had found a spare foldout canvas bed and had rearranged their own cots to make a space for me.
 

The tent I was to stay in was canvas, with a dirt floor. There were a couple of rudimentary wooden benches and worktables, and most importantly a fly proof mesh as well as a wooden door. There were the usual boxes of water bottles and MREs, other military detritus pilled up.
 

It turned out that as well as delivering me, the bird had dropped off a much more important package. Two boxes of hamburgers and two boxes of hotdogs. And so the grill outside, consisting of a metal grate placed across piled up empty ammunition boxes, was soon fired up and the meat was sizzling away. This was a rare treat, as War Height’s occupants usually have to rely on MREs for their food.
 

There were exactly half as many buns as burgers, so it was double burgers with barbecue sauce all around, followed by a hot dog. The almost party atmosphere that prevailed meant that it was an easy introduction to guys manning the OP.
 

All the usual questions followed; who do you work for, where else have you been, how much did your cameras cost, etc., and so I spent close to an hour sitting in the sun during this friendly interview/interrogation. Of course I had forgotten that the sun is much stronger at this altitude and by the time I remembered it was too late. Both forearms and the backs of my hands were sunburned, and I’m sure my face was too, although I didn’t have a mirror to check.
 

I went looking for the Lieutenant and introduced myself. He told me that he hadn’t known I was coming but it wasn’t a problem, and he explained that over the next few days we would be going out on foot patrols, with various objectives (which I still can’t talk about). Going on foot patrols from War height meant walking downhill, steeply, and that in turn meant I would sooner or later have to climb back up. I realised it was going to be a tough few days.
 

It gets dark quickly in the mountains, and as soon as the sun drops so does the temperature. Walking back into the tent to get my fleece and woolly hat I realised that this tent would offer no warmth at all, and was very glad that I had decided to pack both sleeping bags. In the tent there was a card game being played by headlamp light, but I didn’t know the game so I couldn’t follow who was winning. There was a great deal of shouting, joking, and good-natured arguing going on though, and it was fun to watch, and when I eventually climbed into my bed they were still going at it strong.
 

Monday 16^th April
I awoke to a strange hissing noise, and when I struggled out of my cocoon of sleeping bags the inside of the tent was dark, with a strange orange glow. The source of both sound and light was a small paraffin stove, on which a pot of coffee was just starting to percolate. As soon as Sgt B realised I was awake he offered me some, which I gladly accepted. I dug out my covered mug and as he filled it I revelled in the joy of fresh coffee in such a severe environment. I later discovered that the generator was dead, the third mechanical death at the OP, and until another was delivered by helicopter we would be reliant on the stove for coffee, hot water, and cooking.
 

With breakfast over, and it now being 6am, I started to prepare for my first foot patrol. I emptied out my rucksack, threw in about 4 litres of water, and filled my 3ltr CamelBack as well. I always carry high energy bars, to replace a meal if plans change and I am without an MRE, so I tossed in a couple of those also. Knee-pads on, scarf wrapped around my neck to protect from sunburn, armour over my head, ruck on my back, belt with pouches and knife buckled around my waist, helmet in hand, lucky Guinness cap to sheild my eyes, I walked out to meet up with the rest of the patrol. Nobody else had a pack, just a few 1 or 1.5 ltr CamelBacks. Turns out we were not going on the 5 or 6 klick hump (hike) that I had been told about, but in fact were decending maybe 700ft to explore some caves. These could be arms caches, or even living quarters for insurgents.
 

I hastily dumped my pack and strapped on my CamelBack on its own. I was still carrying much more water then the others, but I had only arrived the day before, and I knew I was going to need a few days to acclimatise to the altitude, heat, and wearing body armour during a tough hike.
 

We set off, with enough space between us to try and minimise multiple casualties should we be ambushed. From the start the decent was tough, with the backs of my calves hurting very quickly. Our progress was slow, with many stops and starts to keep the spacing. Climbing over fallen branches and slipping down the drier, dustier slopes, I was soon gasping for air, while inside my armour my heart pounded to get the rare oxygen into my system.  
 

At several stages I was using my hands to hold on to branches to stop myself sliding down the steep slope, and then we had to cross a rushing stream, almost a waterfall. And within 25ft we had to cross back again, slowly and gingerly creeping over the wet and slippery rocks. The rushing water up in these mountains, and in the ferocious Kunar river running through the valley, are due to the snow melt heralding the true arrival of spring. It also creates a very real danger. In fact, only a couple of days before I arrived, a soldier from 3/71 Cav fell into the river during an operation and was washed away. His body was found the next day. With body armour, weapon, etc that he was wearing and carrying, it would have been almost impossible to disentangle himself before drowning.
 

The caves, when located, looked more like a series of crevices than actual caves. 3 soldiers were designated explorers, and they shed as much gear as possible before mounting their head-torches on their helmets. Somebody made a reference to the “tunnel-rats” of Vietnam, who with a handgun and torch would be sent in to clear the underground complexes dug by the VC. I followed the 3^rd soldier into the first cave, but as the exterior had suggested it, tapered off into nothing but a fissure very quickly. The others turned up nothing interesting wither, and soon we were heading back up the incline.
 

US soldiers talk a lot about “sucking it up.” Sucking up discomfort, pain, and suffering. Well, I sucked up all those and more during our ascent. To say it was exhausting would be a grave understatement. And not just for me. The guys carrying the radio and the SAW (Squad automatic weapons – machineguns) also suffered. There were regular “short halts,” designed to give a person enough time to catch their breath and gulp down some water, but not long enough to allow muscles to start to tighten and stiffen.
 

When we did eventually reach the summit, and get back inside the wire, I was in a daze. I stumbled into my tent, dropped all my gear, stripped off my soaking top, and collapsed straight into a near coma-type sleep.
 

A couple of hours later I was back in the land of the living, and starving. Outside somebody was cooking up the remaining hotdogs and the smell was maddening. I went over to the MREs stash, and browsed through the “Rat-Fucked” box. Rat-fucking is the colourful term given by soldiers to the practice of opening an MRE and just taking one or two items, leaving the rest as scrap. These rat-fucked leftovers are generally kept in a box for emergencies, but I often find stuff that is more enticing to my palate than the Americans. I found a pack of refried Mexican beans, and a few minutes later I was shovelling them onto a hotdog and wolfing them down.
 

As I sat around talking to the guys I was introduced to Kelly and Killer, the Ops pet dogs. They had both been rescued as puppies, around six months earlier, and raised by the rotating troops at the OP. Kelly’s price was lost in history, but Killer was apparently bought for some bubblegum from local children. They are almost identical, Killer being slightly lighter, and they seem to be loved by all. They were very friendly to me from the start, but when an Afghan Security Guard (ASG) approached the dogs went crazy. In general the Afghans treat their animals harshly, some would say cruelly, and the dogs could obviously tell the difference between their benefactors and those that would regularly kick them. Of course the dogs were also an excellent alarm system, as they would go absolutely crazy if an outsider approached the barbed wire surrounding the OP.
 

Still tired, and with thoughts of the next day’s patrol, which promised to be longer and further, I fell into bed just after sundown.
 

Tuesday 17^th April
To paraphrase a popular saying “Different patrol, same pain.” Meeting the Lieutenant, or LT (pronounced El Tee) I was informed that we were off to Kamdesh village, which lies just 500ft or so below the OP. In fact, the plan was to carry out almost identical missions for three consecutive days. Leave OP, walk into a very unfriendly urban environment, carry out certain tasks to complete objectives, and then return.
 

A Kipling story I read about a young officer serving in Afghanistan in the late 1800s came to mind. The officer falls in love with an Afghan lday, and walks out with her one evening. After a while they start on their return, but as the officer begins to retrace their steps, the Afghan woman says no, they must go a different way. When the officer asks why, the woman replies that Afghanistan is a dangerous country, with many blood feuds, and it is wise to set a pattern that an enemy can study, and use to kill you. Later in the story this encounter is remembered by the officer, and he narrowly escapes death.
 

I pointed out to the LT that to my untrained mind these repetitive patrols didn’t seem like a good idea. He agreed, but the fact is in the Army if you are given orders from “higher” then you don’t argue, you just do it.
 

So off we went, leaving by the way we did the day before, and conducting a long, arduous, circuitous route to the village. The objectives took some time, which I used to drop my CamelBack and pouches, and rest. When we set off again, we walked through the upper part of the village, climbing up rocky steps beside a waterfall, and past a remarkably beautiful Mosque. The Mosque was built from exquisitely carved wooden beams, used as both support pillars and roof beams. Almost every piece of wood used, in the doors, windows, handrails, etc, were also carved, and to find it in the middle of a village made up of mud and stone dwellings was particularly surprising.
 

Wednesday 18^th April
Patrol again today, pretty much the same as yesterday. Then in the evening, a huge storm brewed up over the mountains, and we had a fantastic lightning display. In the tent, with the wind howling around outside and blowing up a sandstorm inside, we laughed and waited for the whole thing to be blown away. In the end, sleep won, and later in the night I briefly woke to find the storm over and the tent still standing over my head.
 

Thursday 19^th April
Same patrol. Still sucking. Hope I start to get used to this soon.
 

Friday 20^th April
Another foot patrol. At least it was an entirely different mission, on a different route. Plus it was shorter, which I enjoyed. Still exhausted though.
 

Saturday 21^st April
Finally, a rest day. I was looking forward to a down day, hoping to take it really easy and recover my strength. The previous few days were really tough, and I believed my body needed to repair itself.
 

Lying in the tent, reading and trying to keep cool, I noticed quite a commotion outside. Squinting as I walked out into the harsh sunlight, I saw a sea of smiling faces and the replacement generator. This was a big deal, as it meant that laptops could now be powered. The modern US soldier is fully integrated with his laptop, plus external hard-drives, as this is his source of entertainment, education, and communication. Guys can watch movies, play games, even against each others across wireless networks, listen to mp3s, edit their own video and photographs into Movie Maker memories, reread emails received from wives, girlfriends, parents, friends, etc, and write replies, and any number of other 21^st Century practices. At the bigger bases and FOBs there are internet connections, where they can send and receive emails, and buy DVDs and games. So the generator was looked on lovingly indeed this day. What I hadn’t counted on was the fact that everyone would immediately disappear into his own little world, with headphones plugged into that world, shutting everyone else out.
 

As everyone in my tent had deserted me in favour of their silicone driven friends, I wandered outside to see who would entertain me. I found some guys sitting shooting the breeze, and joined them. Like al the guys at the OP, they were talking about going home, again. Originally, the 10^th Mountain Division were supposed to leave in February, after their full 12 month tour. At the last minute it was announced that there would be an extension of 4 months added to the deployment. This was a pretty big shock to the soldiers. I asked about the effect that this had on morale when I met Colonel Howard and he told me that while the men were initially disappointed, he believed that rather than spend an extra 4 months complaining and just wishing they were at home, they were using the time constructively, determined to use the time to make a difference in Afghanistan. In fact, he said he wanted me to come back to him with my thoughts on whether he was right or not. Now, I have no doubt that Col. Howard genuinely believes this, but I think the truth is somewhere in between. Quite purposely I have not asked a single soldier about the extension, not even mentioned it, but almost every guy I talk to brings it up in the first few minutes of conversation. A lot of soldiers are absolutely disgusted at the way the extension was handled, and how they were told last minute. They say that they have done their time, and to be told so late in the day was particularly hard on them and their families. Nobody disputes that they signed up for this, but they say that moving the goalposts during the game just isn’t fair, and they feel it reflects how little regard is given to them. While I have met 2 soldiers who talked about getting over the shock and then getting on with their mission, I have met many more, mostly family men, who have said they are just hunkering down and getting through the last few months with as little personal risk as possible. What made the situation worse was the announcement, shortly after the compulsory extension, that regular deployments have been increased from 12 to 15 months. With 10^th Mountain scheduled to return to Afghanistan next year, some guys are saying they actually live here, but will have a short deployment to the Unites States before returning home to Afghanistan.
 

But, one of the guys I was talking with had the worst story of all that I have heard. He was actually back at home in the US for a few hours, before being told to return to base for travel back to his unit in Afghanistan, to complete his deployment. He actually got home, saw his wife, and then had to leave again. I can’t imagine what that must have been like mentally, both for him and his wife. And worse, he told me of guys who landed in the US, sat on the tarmac while the plane was refuelled, and then they flew back to Afghanistan.
 

So there we were, me listening, them unloading, when up limps Killer, bleeding. On closer inspection we saw that his paw was almost completely severed from the leg. The medic was called and asked if he could dress the wound, but this was wishful thinking. Poor killer lay whimpering while people tried to figure out what to do. Then the talk turned to how it happened. The wound was deep and clean. The conclusion was reached that someone had done it deliberately, with either an axe or a machete. There was simply no way it could be an accident, so the question was who would do something like this? The ASG guys were always kicking at the dog, and only a couple of days before I had seen them throwing stones at both Killer and Kelly. However, the locals were no big fans of the pair of dogs either. There was a lot of anger directed at the possible suspects, but I think a lot of it was to overcome the upset felt over the injured dog. There was talk of amputating the paw, but the medic had nothing but a bolt-cutters to try the procedure, and it was eventually decided that there was not a realistic chance of carrying it our properly, or of keeping infection out of the wound afterwards. The sad truth, which all knew in their hearts, was that the kindest thing that could be done was to put Killer down. A lot of guys said that they just couldn’t do it, but in the end an older soldier said he would do it. We carried Killer’s remains just outside the wire and buried him. It was a sad event, and there was a black mood about the place for the rest of the day.
 

Monday 23^rd April
“What the fuck was that?” shouted someone, as the canvas tent I was in shook with the force of the explosion outside. I dived to the dirt floor, just as a second rocket impacted.
There was lots of shouting, orders called out simultaneously to get our armour on, and get down, amongst others.
Then a much louder blast. I scrambled to get my body armour over my head whilst lying flat on the dirt floor of our tent, pulled on my helmet, and grabbed my cameras.
Another explosion, louder again. I ran in a low crouch out of the tent, all the time expecting bullets to start ripping through the tent.
Outside was pandemonium in the low dusk light. US soldiers, Afghan Nation Army, and Afghan Security Guards (ASG) were running to take cover behind the low stone buildings. I ducked down behind a building behind some soldiers, who were all facing north. I had finally managed to close my body armour and started to shoot pictures.
“We’ve got eyes on” (we have identified where the rockets were fired from, in civilian  language) bellowed one soldier, and started calling out coordinates. “Get some fire down on them. Get on those crew served weapons” (heavy machine guns). 
At the same time everyone is calling out to see if anyone is hurt.
Suddenly machinegun-fire filled the air, and as the tracer rounds marked the launch position, other soldiers started to join in. I ran to the sand-bagged position on the roof of the building where the 240 heavy machinegun was and tried to make sure I had good cover while being in a position to get the pictures I needed. I don’t even remember setting the exposure on my camera, I was just shooting on auto-pilot.
Then more shouting, as ANA and an ETT (a soldier from the Embedded Tactical Training program – these guys are embedded with an ANA company, and provide mentoring and support, as well as giving the ANA access to air support, artillery, and medivac) ran to get outside the wire and up the hill to try and locate the insurgents.
I looked around to try and see what else was happening, when the Mark-19, a grenade launcher that shoots repeatedly, like a machine weapon, roared into life over my head. As the adrenaline pumped through me I jumped from the roof I was on to the Mark-19 emplacement, and got a few pictures.
Behind me I heard instructions being shouted to the mortar team. These were the guys I had been living with for the last week, and I wanted to get pictures of them in action. They were moving the 120mm tube around and priming their ammunition at the same time. The 120 is the biggest mortar the US uses, and it is LOUD. I lay down and tried to brace myself, as I knew from experience that the blast of the explosion would make me jump, and ruin my picture. At this stage the light was almost gone, and I was shooting on very low shutter speeds, but I managed to get a few shots without to much shake.
“Cease fire” was called out after the 7^th mortar round was fired. We hadn’t received any more incoming, and in fact at this stage we discovered that the 3^rd and 4^th blasts were actually outgoing RPGs, fired by the ANA. Everyone was impressed at how quickly they had returned fire. Even better, no one had been hurt in the attack.
Cigarettes were lit up all over the place, and shortly afterwards the order came to drop armour, but to keep it close, and to stay in cover. As the soldiers started to relax and chat, the relief was palpable. One soldier said it was time to get the hell out of this country, and to go home. In fact, if their tour hadn’t been compulsory extended by 4 months they would already be home. So now, these guys leave in a few weeks, but I’m here until Christmas. Let’s hope that’s the closest call I have this year!
 

Tuesday 10^th April

 Having spent the last few weeks planning and buying my equipment and supplies, I spent last night packing it all away, throwing out anything I could to lighten the load. After all, I have to carry all of this wherever I go. Getting this stuff has been a nightmare. You don’t just walk out to the local shops and buy Kevlar body armour, helmet, or sat-phone. But now it’s done, and I just have to get it all into the three bags I’m taking. Leaving it until the last night was probably a good idea, as leaving my girlfriend Helen has been the hardest thing about this whole plan. It has been particularly hard because of the knowledge that decisions I make affect her life too, and in such a huge way. She’s been fantastic, totally supportive, but it has still been horribly sad getting through these last few days. So while I worried about wasting our last night together, I’m glad I was busy.
 

My first shock of the trip came quickly, before I had even left the country. I decided to avoid British Airways due to their new extra bag rule, and instead I bought my ticket with Emirites. Checking in, the lady weighed my bags, winced a little, made a face, and then in the chirpiest voice told me that my excess luggage charge was £450. I nearly cried! Welcome to the land of the self-employed. That’s a lot of photographs I need to sell right there.
 

I arrived in Kabul the next day, and walked off the plane to a beating 25 degrees Celsius, which rose to 28 within a few hours. Then it was on to the chaos that is Kabul International Airport. This was the third time I had to go through this, but it was no easier.
 

After I extricated myself from that I made my way out to the car park, and happily my driver was there waiting for me. After a few false turns we found my guesthouse, The Gandamack Lodge, which is owned by A Brit, Peter Jouvenal, one of the original Frontline Television Company. The made their name in Afghanistan back during the Soviet war here, and he has never left. Apparently the bug bit him too!
 

I then spent the rest of the day wandering around Kabul with my driver, and during our exploration I found the British Cemetery. The cemetery is believed to hold over 150 bodies of British soldiers who died in the First Anglo-Afghan War (1839-1840), the occupation of Kabul (1840-1842), and the Second Anglo-Afghan War (1879-1881). When British soldiers once again arrived in Kabul, in 2001, this time as part of NATO’s International Security Assistance Force (ISAF), they found only 10 headstones remaining, and even they were in a state of decay, and so they were gathered all together and set into the southern wall to form a new monument.
 

I finished up my last night in reasonable civilization by having a few beers in the bar at The Gandamack. There were a mix of NGO people, journalists, and a few Private Military Company (PMC) guys.
 

Thursday 12^th April
My journey out to Bagram Air Field (BAF) was the usual bone-jarring, high-speed affair. It is unbelievable that in a country that is having so much international aid poured into it can have such bad roads leading in and out of the capital.
 

Arriving at BAF I had to go through the new security features put in place, following the suicide car bomb attack at the front gate earlier in the year. Once through the gates I was collected by the PAO (Public Affairs Officers) and we went through the whole formal embedding procedure. This involved having my photograph taken in front of US and Afghanistan flags, and signing a lot of paperwork, basically agreeing not to sue the Army if I get blown up, shot, be involved in a helicopter crash, etc. After that, I was run through where I was going first, and then shown to my temporary quarters. Looks just like it did when I left in December. In fact there was a huge feeling of deja-vu as I walked up to the PX (Post Exchange, the shopping area for the military) and over to the D-Fac (dinning facility).
 

While I was looking around I found the office of two Irish guys I met out here last year. These guys work for a franchise on base, which sells soldiers Harley Davidson motorcycles, and various cars. The idea is that the soldiers get to buy at reduced rates while overseas, and their purchase is built specifically for them. Then it is ready to collect when they get home. It is surprisingly popular, and the guys are kept busy. It was great to know I ave a place to go to talk to people from home, and non-miltary, to give me a break from time to time.
 

Late into the night I was repacking my gear, as I intended leaving one bag with stuff I shouldn’t need until later in the year. I had a big headache trying to decide whether to bring both sleeping bags with me, as it is very warm here during the day, but as I am going up into the mountains I reckoned it would still be cold at night. In the end I brought both, and jumped on my bag to close it.
 

Friday 13^th April
Now I really feel that I am back in the military world. Up at 5am to get myself and my gear to the helicopter landing zone (HLZ) to catch my flight out to FOB Naray, up in Kunar province, on the Pakistan border. As usual it ws a case of get there early, hang around for ages, and then have a last minute rush to get al my bags into a van that would run us all out to the “bird” that would deliver me to my first step into the frontline. I was flying on a Chinook, and we were going on a “ring-run” which means we were going to touch down at several bases and outposts to move people around, deliver supplies, collect mail, and generally keep the people at these remote places connected to the overall army.
 

It was a long flight, maybe an hour and a half, with all the stops, before I arrived at my drop off. Flying over Afghanistan like this is amazing, as you get such a great appreciation of the wide-ranging terrain. We flew over wide plains, green with the first flush of spring, and then minutes we were looking down on snow covered mountains. Poppy fields blooming lent huge swathes of pink to the colour scheme, and of course there were lots of dusty brown hills as well.
 

During the flight I came to appreciate one of the first real benefits of being freelance. While I worked at AFP I was issued with body-armour that was way too big for me, which meant it was extremely uncomfortable to wear. And particularly painful when sitting. As it is inevitable that during an embed you spend long hours sitting in helicopters, Humvees, and other vehicles, this was always a major problem. In Humvees particularly I worried about my safety, as if we had a roll-over, or were hit by an IED (Improvised Explosive Devise) I just didn’t have the mobility to get out in a hurry. And the other fact that I hated was that it was Press-issue blue, with originally a white helmet. Of course, this made me look like a Smurf, and opened me up to much sniggering and smart comments from the soldiers. On a more serious note, it also made me stick out like a sore thumb, which I don’t believe is such a great idea in a conflict where journalists are routinely targeted. I don’t want to wear an army-issue camouflage type either, so I decided to go for an inconspicuous tan, which lots of non-military contractors wear. This has the added benefit of making me more acceptable to soldiers going on foot patrols, as I don’t draw as much attention. There is after all a reason why the military use camouflage. So, my new armour was worth every penny I paid, as I could sit comfortably and even twist and turn to photograph while in my seat. A huge improvement indeed.
 

Unloading from a helicopter is even more rushed than getting on, as the engines don’t stop, and the challenge of locating your bags amongst all the others strapped down in the middle of the floor and hauling them out and through the downwash of the still whirling rotors is crazy. And all the while the people who are waiting to get on are watching you, which of course means that you are likely to do something stupid, like fall over, when jumping off the rear ramp, which doesn’t quite touch the ground.
 

My contact, Lt L was there to meet me, and run me though the rules, again. Basically these rules address what I can and can’t photograph, and in fact write about here. They mostly refer to OpSec (Operational Security, which means information which might compromise the security of coalition operations, such as numbers of troop deployment, electronic warfare, etc) and the rigid rule of not photographing, or even interacting with, Special Forces. All journalists know these rules, as they are covered thoroughly during the initial embedding process at BAF, but it is amazing how many journalists break them, either intentionally or through lack of understanding of the situation.
 

I was shown to where I would be sleeping, another transient tent, and then given a short tour of the small base. The tour consisted of showing me where the front gate was (don’t go outside this alone) and the toilets, showers, laundry, and D-Fac. Unfortunately I had arrived on a Friday, and so there was no hot food today. So I would be onto MREs (Meals Ready to Eat) quicker than I anticipated. 
 

There then followed a series of meetings, which culminated in my sit down chat with Colonel Howard, the Squadron Commanding Officer of 3rd Brigade, 71st Cavalry (hereafter 3/71 Cav), 10^th Mountain Division. Much of the talk during these meetings was of “counter-insurgency,” a subject I have been studying for the last few years. There is a lot of discussion going on within the military about counter-insurgency and asymmetric or “fourth generation warfare.” Just to define, we look at the introduction of gunpowder as the marker of modern warfare. The first generation consisted of huge numbers of soldiers with rifles moving in formation, and shooting each other at close range. The objective, and therefore the definition of victory, was simply to destroy the enemy. Think Waterloo. The second generation saw the same concept industrialised, giving us World War I, with machine-guns, artillery, etc. However, the objective remained the same; total annihilation of the enemy’s forces. World War II saw the development of manoeuvre warfare, typified by the German Blitzkrieg. Here the objective was to outmanoeuvre and cut off large numbers of the enemy, thereby rendering them useless and gaining victory.
 

Forth generation warfare, asymmetric warfare, or insurgency, came of age in Vietnam, although it was used by Mao in China and even earlier in Ireland by Michael Collins and those fighting the War of Independence against the British. The concept here is simple, one force is totally outgunned by another, and so, instead of fighting on an open and conventional battlefield where the outcome is a foregone conclusion, the smaller insurgent force fights in the shadows, carrying out small ambushes on the larger force before melting back into the population. Also common is the murdering of “collaborators” by the insurgents, and a media battle where the insurgents constantly reaffirm the fact that their cause is “right and just.” It is extremely difficult for the larger, conventionally composed and prepared force, to fight this war as the benefits of air superiority, more and better armed troops, and all the other military hardware, is negated by the fact that they cannot find or identify the enemy easily.
 

The objective of this type of war is not to destroy the enemy, or even to outmanoeuvre him, but to destroy his will to continue to fight. This means making the war protracted, expensive, and most importantly, destroying public and political support at home. Vietnam saw all of these objectives achieved, and stunned the world with the defeat of a super-power by what was seen as a peasant’s army.
 

Then, exactly the same thing happened in Afghanistan when the Mujahideen defeated the Soviet Army. Of course these wars are far more complicated that that, not least the fact that in both instances the insurgent force had the secret  support of a larger, more military advanced country, who provided training, weapons, and finances; China supporting the Viet Cong and the United States giving more than a helping hand to the Mujahideen.
 

Many experts believe that the problems experienced by the US in Vietnam were compounded by the media, as they were the ones destroying the public’s will at home. However, there is an opposing, albeit smaller, view, that it was in fact the military’s failure to understand and embrace the media that lead to the insurgent’s victory. The infamous “Five O’ Clock follies” in Vietnam, where the media would be told total and provable lies, destroyed the trust that is needed for a healthy relationship between the two.
 

At Naray, I heard a lot of talk about the need for the Coalition to identify, understand, and react to the fact that they are involved in a classic counter-insurgency. The counter-insurgency concept rests on the fact that in order to defeat an unseen adversary, it is first necessary to cut him off from his support network, that is, the general population. This is what is known as “Winning Hearts and Minds.” Convince the population that their lives will be improved by supporting the conventional force, and at the same time focus their thoughts on the negative acts of the insurgents, such as civilian casualties from their ambushes, IEDs, etc. Once the insurgents lose their support base, or so the theory goes, then they will lose the capability to fight.
 

And so in Kunar province, I was told, new roads were being built, health clinics funded, and a radio station was providing local media with an outlet to inform the extremely isolated local inhabitants. The major problem with this approach is that it is very slow, and so the insurgents can continue their fight for some time. Plus, the insurgents have some counter tactics of their own.
 

A tactic common to the “War of the Flea” is to try and draw a massive over reaction from the coalition, from say an ambush in a built up area, which will lead to innocent civilian casualties. The counter-strike will be highlighted by phone-calls, or even video and photos, to the media, which in this age of the 24 hour news cycle, will generally run it before the military has even confirmed that the incident happened.
 

Part of the problem is that of there are fatalities then the Army insists on 24 hours to inform families, which of course is very important, but it gives the insurgents the initiative. It also means that when an official statement is made, the onus is on the military to convince the public that the information they have already accepted is wrong, or at the very least slanted. Human nature is to believe the first thing we hear, and so overturning that belief is much harder than the original statement. This is an area in which the Coalition must find a balance in order to be effective.
 

I don’t mean to sound negative. I think it is great that the military recognise the type of fight they are in, as last year I didn’t hear the phrase “counter-insurgency” once. However, the stance of a unit is decided by its commander, and in this case it is obvious that Colonel Howard is the driving force behind the “counter-insurgency” approach. Unfortunately this does not mean it is a belief accepted by all, and judging by the bellicose statements from other commanders in Afghanistan, there are many that still believe all that is needed is to get out there and “bring the fight to the enemy.” Again, nobody is suggesting that counter-insurgency means not to fight, but picking the time and place for those battles can be as much the deciding factors in victory as number of troops and the final body count.
 

And of course it is important to remember that 10^th Mountain have been here since February 2006, and so have had plenty of time to learn lessons. Even with their unexpected 4 month extension on their 12 month deployment, they will soon be leaving, and their replacement, the 82^nd Airborne (All-American) Division are already here. The question is, what war will they chose to fight?
 

I’m back! And, I’m back in Afghanistan!! That’s right people, I’m coming to you from a smelly tent at a tiny FOB (Forward Operating Base) in Kunar province in Afghanistan!!! 

 

Just to help you all catch up, I’ll run through the background quickly. During my two trips to Afghanistan last year, I was bitten bag by the bug for this country. It is a beautiful country, but more importantly, it’s current problems are, I believe, history in the making. And you all know my obsession with history. 

 

So, in the three months I spent here in 2006 I studied not only the fight against the Taliban, but the fighting against the Russians before, and the wars against the British Empire during the Great Game of the 19^th century. 

 

I realised that to cover this war properly I would have to be here for more than a few weeks, and after various negotiations, some fast talking, and general shenanigans, I was offered a long-term embed with US forces operating within the NATO coalition. Unfortunately the agency I was working for, AFP, weren’t able to support me in this plan, so I resigned. So, now I am a freelance photographer. With that comes the freedom to decide where I go, how long I stay there, what sort of pictures I produce, and all that good stuff. However, it also means I have to pay for cameras, insurance, flights, sat-phone, etc, so I am gambling a lot on this being a successful project. 

 

I planned to get here in time for the much lauded “Spring Offensive,” but to stay through the whole year, and really get under the skin of the experience of soldiers on the ground. The situation here is extremely complicated, and dropping in for a few weeks just doesn’t really give a journalist much of a chance of understanding it, let alone reporting it in any depth. MY plan is to move around a lot, with different types of unit, and hopefully pull together enough of their very varied experiences to show people what their lives are like in the middle of this conflict. 

 

I know I’m going to come in for some criticism because I will be accused of telling a one-sided story, but that is wrong. I am trying to tell an entire story, that of any and all of the soldiers who get sent half-way around the world to an unpopular war that most people don’t understand, and a lot of people don’t care about. How they live, fight, and generally just get through their 15 months here. 

 

Anyway, that’s the plan, and that is how I find myself here. I am going to do my best to keep you all up to date with my travels, and along the way I’ll attempt to give you an idea of what these soldier’s experiences are really like, by going through some of it with them. I am going to spend as much time as possible “outside the wire,” in the FOBs, Firebases, and outposts all over the volatile areas of the country. 

 

Communication is going to be sporadic, but I will attempt to update at least once a week. My sat-phone is horrifically expensive, so I will be emailing on a minimal basis, but please feel free to mail me, as I want to keep up with the rest of the world as much as possible. 

 

So, if you believe then say a prayer for me, and if not, then wish me luck. It’s going to be an interesting year!