John D McHugh

Ok, ok, ok, I’m sorry. I know it’s been ages since I updated my blog, but as some of you may have heard, I went and got myself shot. Yes, that’s right, shot. In the chest. With a real bullet. A big one, 7.62! In through the ribs in my lower left chest, just under my heart, punctured my diaphragm, tore my colon, damaged my spleen, and exploded out my lower back, taking rather a large chunk of me with it. 

 

It happened on May 14, a date that is etched in my memory, and on my body too. 

 

The good news is I am still alive. The bad news is it hurt. A lot. And worse, while I am recovering the story is progressing apace in Afghanistan and I’m not there to cover it. It’s enough to make a grown man cry. 

 

My photos from the 5 weeks, and particularly the day of the ambush I was shot in, are getting quite a lot of publications, which I assume is why I am getting so many emails demanding to know where I am and what happened. I’ve had an 8 page spread in The Sunday Times magazine, and this week I have photos in Newsweek and a gallery on their website, http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/20429588/displaymode/1107/s/2/ . I also have a story in FHM (the UK edition) and they have put a lot of my pictures in a gallery, to be found at the dubious url www.fhm.com/iwasshot . 

 

I’ve given various radio interviews and even appeared on Ireland’s breakfast show Ireland AM. And last night I gave a talk at the Frontline Club in London to a room full of journalists and photographers, which I have to say was pretty scary. Assessment by one’s peers and all that. 

 

So, why haven’t I written a full account of the ambush, shooting, and subsequent recovery, and published it on this blog. Well, in fact, I did write it all, but I have been holding off putting it online. Some of the story I sold with the photos, and soon the rest will be appearing here. Very soon, I promise, but not yet. 

 

In the meantime, check out the links above, and let me know what you think of them. 

 

Stay safe everyone, 

John D 

Monday 30^th April

 

Green smoke billowed out across the HLZ as the Blackhawk flared out to land. Security was tight on the perimeter, but Colonel Nickelson’s Personal Security Detail (PSD) still behaved like they were his only protection in the whole of Afghanistan.

 

Nickelson is what is known as a “Full Bird Colonel,” meaning he is an actual Colonel, as opposed to Colonel Howard, who is in fact a Lieutenant Colonel. Nickelson is the big cheese, and is treated as such. He had arrived at Barg-e-Matal to attend a Shura, and with his presence he was underlining the seriousness of the US commitment to this town and area.

 

Once Colonel Howard met with Nickelson it was a quick march into town. I hung back from the crowd, with MSG B’s words in my ears. “Don’t get caught in an RPG cluster.” This is his description of people bunching up while in the open, providing a temping target to a proficient RPG gunner. He is a stickler for these kinds of details, and repeats them constantly. With all the personal security personnel plus various officers accompanying Col Nickelson it wasn’t hard to imagine one well placed shot causing massive casualties.

 

Once again the Shura was to be conducted outside, in a clearing beside the river, with trees providing shade. With all the snow melting, the river is extremely fast flowing at this time of year, and so a very pleasant breeze comes off it. Coupled with the shade of the overhanging trees, it is an ideal place to sit and relax. Unfortunately the area is over-looked by high features, mountains, on both sides of the river, and I couldn’t help thinking it would also make a tempting target to any insurgent that wanted to disrupt the US visit.

 

I sat on the perimeter with MSG B and some of his ANA. This spot in the shade had been our location for a few days now, and as well as watching the Shura we had a perfect view of the stone throwing games going on to the West. Young children would sneak up behind us, or peak out from gaps in fences nearby, and sometimes they would even pear over the roof above us. As soon as we caught their eye they would dart away though, so it became a kind of game to while away the time.

 

Then, not very long into the Shura, it started to break up. Col Nickelson was escorted out, and other senior figures put on their armour and helmets, preparing to leave. MSG B got on the radio to find out what was going on, but then Capt G walked over to us. News had just come through that Fazal Ahad, second in charge of the Security Shura for all of Nuristan Province, and who should have been present at this Shura, had been murdered close to Kamdesh base. His car had been stopped at an illegal checkpoint and he was detained while the other passengers were told they could stay and die, or run for their lives. They ran. Then Ahad was shot in the head. Once his murderers had fled, his body was taken to Kamdesh base, who had radioed the news to Barg-e-Matal.

 

The killing of Ahad was a major blow to Nuristan. Not only did it deprive the Shura of a capable man, but in a larger sense it showed that security in this province is far from certain. By killing such a senior figure the insurgents showed that they can operate freely, and that it is dangerous to oppose them. It is believed that Ahad was executed because of his public support of the Afghan Government. The Shura that I was at in Papriastan on the 25^th April was a pro-government rally, but as soon as the US and ANA soldiers I was with left the village, things changed. Some men stood up to speak, and they condemned the Afghan Government, condemned the ANA, and condemned all Afghans who worked with the Coalition. Ahad stood up to speak against them. It is believed that it was for this act that he was killed.

 

Now, in Barg-e-Matal, people were upset and angry. Ahad was from this town, and so the people were concerned with recovering his body and burying him before dawn, in accordance with Islamic tradition. Due to the heavy snow melt and rains, the river had burst the banks in many areas, and the road was washed out in many places. This is common, and the pick-up’s that many people drive in this area allow them to navigate over many of these washouts, but it makes for very difficult, slow, and often dangerous travel. The US commanders stepped in at this point, and offered to divert one of the Blackhawk helicopters in the area to Kamdesh, to collect the body and fly it to Barg-e-Matal. Cynics might say it was an offer meant to curry favour with the residents of Barg-e-Matal, but I believe it was a genuinely kind act. As one officer said, “It’s the least we can do for these people now.” After all, Ahad was killed for supporting Americans.

 

All US personnel departed Barg-e-Matal for the temporary base outside town, while the ETT and ANA element was left behind. The idea was to provide security for the town while Ahad’s remains were transported by the people to the Mosque. We moved across the river and up the hill, and waited on the edge of town. Soon enough we could see people walking back towards town, carrying a small platform, maybe a low table originally, covered with a white sheet. There was blood soaking through it. As the crowd approached MSG B was still getting instructions over the radio, and then we were caught up in the swarm of people. I have covered lots of political marches, protests, and riots, and I know the dynamics of a mob, and how to work within it. There is a certain feel to it, and you can usually sense when the mood changes. The mood here was bad, but we were already moving with them towards the Mosque. I felt stares of anger, and I thought that we shouldn’t stay too long in this situation. I managed to find MSG B in the crowd, and while he agreed, he had his orders. I could see that he was concerned for my safety, and so I stayed as close to him as I could in the throng. Once across the bridge the crowed gathered in the open space, and I decided not to venture in. We were just too vulnerable in the crowd, and I knew from experience that the sorrow and frustration could turn to anger and violence in a split second. So I climbed up some stairs and photographed the scene from above. I could see MSG B trying to consolidate his ANA, and I called to him to let him know I was safe. Just as he saw me the crowd moved again. He was swept along with them, and I knew he would be long gone by the time I climbed down. I cursed my stupidity for getting into a situation I couldn’t exit quickly, but it was too late by then. When I got back to the ground the crowd was moving fast down the route the body had been carried, with no sign of anyone I recognised. I knew I was in a potentially very dangerous situation now. If insurgents had infiltrated the gathering then it would not be hard to use the crowd to hide an attempt to attack or kidnap me. I considered my options I saw some kids run behind a house, and I realised that if the line of houses ran parallel to the street, I could cut back there, and hopefully get ahead of the crowd. Of course I could also run into trouble, as a back alley is a dangerous place in any part of the world, but at that stage my choices were limited. Staying in one place, looking lost and confused, was certainly not going to help my situation. With a deep breath I darted in behind the line of kids, and ran. Women and children scattered at the sight of an unexpected Westerner, for which I was grateful, as it meant my path was clear down this narrow alley. The alley veered off from the direction of the road, and just as I was starting to think I was getting myself deeper into trouble rather than out of it, the passageway opened out onto a swampy area. I could now see the head of the funeral procession, and I picked my way through the water and mud and then I saw MSG B. I think he was as relieved to see me as I was to see him. He was talking to a senior policeman from the town, who was telling him that it wasn’t safe to stay in town. He told us we should leave, and take the ANA with us. I agreed, as this situation was deteriorating fast. We were now deeper in town, within an area that would be very difficult to fight our way out of should things turn really ugly, and we were further from the bridge, and base, and therefore  further from where any Quick Reaction Force (QRF) would come from to provide assistance.

 

MSG B had by now consolidated his people, and with the funeral procession moving on, it was getting easier to move. He radioed back to base to say we were heading back, and we moved off at a brisk pace. We both agreed that we had been very lucky to get out of the situation without trouble.

 

Back at the base, the wind was picking up, and storm clouds were overhead. Col Nickelson had flown out, and with him went a lot of the senior people, so there were fewer left at the base. Everyone else would leave in the morning, and so we had one more night to get through. With a storm imminent, soldiers were already abandoning the tarpaulin shelters and moving their gear into the building. Regardless of my concerns about being in the main target of any attack, I decided that staying dry was worth the risk. Floor space was at a premium in the small structure, but I managed to find a spot to lay my bedding.

 

Before I left London, I went to see my Doctor, to check that my various inoculations were still valid. I also asked about Malaria, but she assured me that it was not a concern in Eastern Afghanistan. Wrong! The US troops have suffered some cases already. A medic had told me he would get me some drugs, and as this was Monday, it was the day that Meflequine was taken. This is a once a week preventative, and “Meflequine Monday” is the term used as a reminder. I was warned that Meflequine has some side effects, the most common being very vivid dreams.

 

When I bedded down I told the guys either side of me that I had taken my first Meflequine earlier, and so if I started talking or shouting in my sleep to wake me. They laughed, and I was regaled with a plethora of tales of erotic dreams and horrible nightmares. It was too late at this stage, and I told them as much.

 

During the night I heard talking. People were discussing broken jaws, horrific injuries, and Medivac. I though it was just the effects of the drug, and tried to settle into a deeper sleep. A while later I heard a helicopter coming in low, and landing close by. Again I tried to ignore it, and fell back asleep.

 

Tuesday 1^st May

Waking, people were still talking about broken jaws and Medivacs. What I thought was a dream was in fact the evacuating of o soldier who had fallen during the night and broken his jaw. He had been manning a gun position on the roof of the building, and when he attempted to walk down the ladder, a step near the top gave way, and he fell. Landing on a rock, he broke his lower jaw in at least two places, as well as breaking his eye socket and possibly his wrist. The poor guy had only been a few weeks away from going home, and now he faced 12 months rehabilitation and reconstructive surgery. Nasty accidents happen when working in extreme circumstances, and climbing around in the dark, wearing heavy body armour and a weapon, can be enough to leave a person with horrific injuries.

 

Outside, everyone was busy dismantling and packing up all the equipment that had been brought in just days earlier. Water and food would be left for the locals, but everything that might be of use to the enemy was being taken out, or destroyed. Even the sandbags were slashed and emptied. As the place was abandoned it was a strange sight to see the ANA walking out to the HLZ, with19^th Century Enfield rifles from the recovered arms cache lashed onto their packs. It was like I had suddenly travelled back in time to a previous war in Afghanistan.

 

The helicopters were to make several trips to move everything, and I was assigned to the same chalk as infill. We would be the last to leave, and so the procedure was a reverse of when we landed. Once the last birds were on the ground, the perimeter was collapsed, and we ran onboard. As we left I saw kids and adults alike streaming out of the compound that had been used as the base, with boxes of water under their arms or on their heads.

 

Once we arrived back at Kamdesh we were informed that the showers had been blocked off from general use, to allow us time to get washed. The showers are in a tent, hot as hell, but I was glad to get the opportunity to get clean, and change my clothes. Others were also lining up for haircuts, with a Sergeant wielding a shaver and offering “high and tights” to all comers. Next up was hot food. Again, it was from the deep fat frying van, but hot fresh food, however processed, was a welcome relief from MREs.

 

Back in the transient accommodation, all the bunks were empty. While we were away there had been a couple of rocket attacks at Kamdesh, as well as on their bases in the area, and people had moved to what they considered safer locations. I was glad the transient space hadn’t been hit, because I had left my laptop, sat-phone, and other valuables there. It would have been a cruel irony if the kit I left behind for safety had in fact been destroyed in an attack. The attacks had focused everyone’s mind on the fact that although 10^th Mountain is getting ready to rip out and head back to the US, the local insurgents are gearing up for another round of fighting.

 

Later in the day MSG B returned from his planning meeting, and told me he had a busy schedule for the next 10 days or so. I had arranged to spend some time with his ETT/ANA element, and so I would be departing in the morning to a new location.

 

Wednesday 2^nd May

Kamu is a small base, really just an outpost, maybe 10 klicks down the river from Kamdesh. It used to be a hunting lodge belong to King Shah of Afghanistan, and so the guys refer to it as the Palace. This whole area teems with wildlife, and is great hunting ground. In the Sixties the Palace even hosted American hunters.

 

The road to Kamu from Kamdesh runs alongside the river, and is extremely dangerous. There have been many ambushes along the road, some of them fatal. 1 US soldier and 1 ANA were killed in an ambush on the 19^th February, as well as 2 ANA critically wounded. The road is in a deep valley, and the high ground is easily infiltrated by insurgents from local villages, and from valleys behind. And Pakistan is only a few miles to the East, with its never ending supply of fighters eager to take their swing at the infidel Americans. The terrain favours the ambushers, with plenty of draws to hide in, huge rocks to take cover behind, and foliage providing plenty of camouflage.

 

I should explain a little at this stage about the insurgents in Nuristan. Many people talk about the war in Afghanistan, but in reality there is more than one fight going on here. In the south the Coalition are fighting the Taliban. Remnants of the regime removed in 2001 for harbouring Al Qaeda, coupled with new recruits who have joined the resurgent movement. In Nuristan, the Taliban never got a foothold. They were repulsed by local fighters, fiercely independent, and extremely effective. And before the Taliban, the Russians too failed to subdue this province. There are a couple of burnt out Soviet Armoured Personnel Carriers (APCs) on the road outside Kamdesh base, and it is said that they mark the furthest north the “Rus” penetrated. But they couldn’t hold the area, and they finally abandoned it. Even Islam was held at bay here, and Nuristan province only converted to the worship of Allah 95 years ago. This is an area that doesn’t take kindly to new people or ideas.

 

In Nuristan, US forces are mainly fighting Hezb-I Islami Gulbuddin (HIG) and Al Qaeda. Hekmatyar’s Afghan HIG are known to sometimes ally themselves with the foreign Al Qaeda fighters, but they do not necessarily share the same goals. Alliances have always been loose arrangements in Afghanistan, and easily abandoned, and during the 2001 war against the Taliban many leaders simply defected to the US side when they saw a stronger force with which they could align themselves.

 

As well as the fighters intent on killing Americans, there are many blood fueds in this region, which the US soldiers can easily become embroiled in if they are not careful. Often one village will inform on another, claiming that they are sheltering fighters or storing weapons. In reality the informants are attempting to trick the soldiers into doing their dirty work for them, or at least weakening their enemy.

 

There are other complications too. Insurgents will often pay a local to carry out an attack on US troops, offering more money than some can resist. With the insurgents supplying an IED, RPG, or other weapon, the attacker need only carry out this one mission before resuming his simple life, but now with enough money for those 12 cows. In this poor environment, it is naïve to think that all will say no. And now the attacker, who is about to indulge in insurgency, is unknown to intelligence assets working in that area and so much less likely to be caught. An insurgent who is not an insurgent, if you will.

 

Or another variety. The amalgamation of fights. If one family has a blood feud with another, or one village with another, which is certainly not uncommon in Afghanistan, imagine the ease with which insurgents could encourage an attack. Village X hates village Y, for some reason lost in the annals of history. Village Y also provides workers to a US base or reconstruction project. Now insurgents approach village X, offering money and weapons to cause problems for village Y. Maybe plant an IED in the village, resulting in US and village Y casualties.  Or, stage an ambush from village Y, or at least make it seem that way, and hope that the Americans overreact and shoot up or bomb the village. Either way, village Y suffers, village X has their revenge, and the insurgents have reinforced the message that the Afghan Government, even with Coalition assistance, is incapable of providing security in the land.

 

Or maybe a man has won a financially rewarding contract from the Americans. Another man had bid, and now is determined to get rid of the successful contractor. In order to avoid suspicion and reprisal, he arranges for local fighters to kill the man, and in return he will spy for them when he takes over the US funded project. So now the first man is killed, it is recorded as an execution due to the man’s involvement with the US military. Which it certainly is, but not solely.

 

These may seem far fetched, but in fact all these examples are based on events that have been related to me. In this war, nothing is what it seems, and as someone said to me, “When you realise you are totally confused, you are just starting to understand how confusing it is.”

 

So, to get back to the trip, there have been many attacks on the road from Kamdesh to Kamu, for any number of reasons, and the terrain favours the attackers. On top of that, due to the inclement weather, causing regular road wash-outs, and extremely strong river currents, the road is currently not passable by Humvee, that heavily armoured, weapons bristling, beast of burden of the US military. Because of this, it would be necessary to move up the road in Rangers, the soft skinned, no-armour what-so-ever, pick-up that the ANA use. This thing burns up if you throw a Zippo at it, let alone an RPG.

 

MSG B explained that this is the reason the ANA “un-ass” as soon as they have a contact. Their chances of survival are directly related to just how fast the can get out of the vehicle once attacked. I believe this is one of the reasons for the accusations of cowardice and lack of discipline often levelled at the ANA. ANA slamming on the brakes and jumping out to fight may seem ill-disciplined, especially when the Coalition tendency is to “push out of the kill zone,” but once you realise that the Coalition vehicles are armoured and can stand up to quite a bit of gunfire, while the ANA’s Ranger will look like Swiss cheese after a few bursts of automatic weapons fire, it becomes apparent that they are in fact taking the only course of action open to them. Survival of the fastest!

 

The news that I would not only be travelling in a Ranger, but sitting in the right-hand passenger seat, the one closest to the cliff-side and therefore most likely to be hit by incoming fire, was unsettling to say the least. This situation, similar to being the first man off the helicopter at Barg-e-Matal, really brings home the very real danger inherent in just being here. I don’t mean to sound dramatic, and I’m not suggesting that I am a jabbering wreak, frightened by my own shadow, but the fact is that each time you get a mission like that, you have to consider that you might not make it to the other end. Speaking to MSG B’s partner ETT, SGT C, he brought up exactly that subject. He has been in several fire-fights on the road, and he said that every time he’s in a Ranger he sits with one hand on the door handle ready to spring out as afst as possible, in an attempt to live long enough to at least return fire at his attackers. And every single time he wonders if he will get to the other end.

 

Obviously I did, but the trip was nerve-wracking. The sides of the mountains are so close that I reckon a guy wouldn’t need an RPG launcher to hit us; he could just tie it to the end of a stick, lean out and just press the detonator up against the side of the vehicle as we rolled by. With all the foliage growing it is a nightmare to see if there is anyone moving on the mountainside, so it really is a horrible road to travel. Added to this is the fact that it is a dirt road, which gets baked in the sun during the day, and when vehicles drive over it all that dust gets thrown up into the air, creating a brown out. This adds to the tension. And of course on the other side there is the fast flowing, deep, cold river. The road is unbelievably narrow in places, with weak side-walls eroded away by the strong currents, and if a vehicle does tip over the side it is pretty much guaranteed that you will drown. I literally was between a rock and a wet place.

 

At one stage we did suddenly come to a halt, and in front of me I could see ANA soldiers leaping off the pick-up. I snapped that door handle and half jumped, half fell out of the cab. There was no shooting, but the ANA were quickly spreading out into defensive positions, so I followed their example. In fact the convoy had stopped to examine a previous ambush spot, and gather some intelligence, and before the adrenaline had left my bloodstream we we loading up and moving again.

 

Palpable relief swept over me when we arrived. Getting out and back on firm ground was fantastic, if only to combat the rollercoaster motion-sickness from driving over the huge rocks along the road. Really, a good road contractor needs to set up business in Afghanistan, they’ll make a fortune.

 

The Palace at Kamu is beautiful, with Rose bushes and fruit trees growing in the lush gardens. Tall trees provide welcome shade, and in the background there is the soothing white noise of the river. But the most enjoyable aspect of the place is the genuinely friendly relationship between the US troops and the ANA. The soldiers here have all learned enough Pashto to say Hello, How are you, and reply to this niceties. Some guys have learned quite a bit more. Conversely, the ANA here have learned more English than I’ve ever heard from any unit before. The ANA cook or buy local food, Goat, Cheese, Naan and Paratha bread of course, and make copious amounts Chai, which they share with their American military brethren. All day long there are calls of greeting between passing soldiers of both armies, with waves and handshakes as well. The warmth between the two groups, who have worked closely together over the past months, puts pay to the lie there is nothing but animosity between these forces. They have even built a make-shift “Horse Shoe” game, with iron bars fixed in sand-pits, with metal clips from Humvee towbars pressed into action as horseshoes. There are some heated games on this field of play.

 

During the time that MSG B and SGT C had been away, about 10 days, two new US personnel had arrived at Kamu. These guys were SECFOR (Security Force), soldiers drawn from the National Guard that are used for Force Protection. Sometimes that means gate or tower duty, or perimeter patrols, but out here it means driving and gunning for the ETTs.

 

MSG B sat them down outside and began an SA (Situational Awareness) briefing, which continued for over two hours. I wish I had recorded it, because it was without a doubt one of the best briefings I have heard. He went through the previous ambushes, where they had occurred, what the terrain was like, the preferred methods of initiation and follow up in an ambush, how the enemy moves, infill and exfill routes, local village affiliations and feuds, which villages sheltered insurgents, where local leaders lived and met, and a whole lot more. He asked a lot of questions, something he does a lot, and he discovered that neither of these guys has been in combat before. So he went through the reality of the fight out here, and told them that if they fought only according to the rules laid down in 7-8 (a US military manual) then they could die quickly, but if they incorporated his advice and learned everyday, then they would improve their chances. “This place is a tough place to learn in” he said, “and it doesn’t forgive mistakes.” On a lighter note, he went on to talk about the natural reaction to being shot at. “When you take fire, I don’t care who you are, the first human reaction is to get down, take cover, and curl up in a ball. It is instinctive, and it is impossible to overcome. The trick is to learn to overcome it as fast as you can, and then get into the fight. Anyone who tells you he was shot at and immediately returned fire is a liar” he said. “Even if we’re inside the Humvee, with all that armour protecting us, as soon as we hear fire the first thing we are going to do is hunch down, and look like we are trying to give ourselves a blow-job.” It reminded me of the “making a stupid face” dialogue in the movie “Snatch.” This is how he went on, sometimes funny, sometimes deadly serious. No, I’ll change that, he was serious the entire time, but he utilised different moods to keep their attention, to hammer home his points, and to make them understand the dangers without scaring them to death.

 

When MSG B entered the ETT building he discovered that while he was gone all the beds had been taken. Due to this raid we would be forced to bed down on the floor. Considering the filthy carpet I wasn’t impressed, and thought I might just sleep out on the lawn instead. However, later in the evening, standing outside in the dark chatting and looking at the starry sky, someone spotted movement on the ground. By the light of a torch we saw the most disgusting centipede I have ever had the misfortune to lay eyes. It looked prehistoric, with armoured scales on its back, and huge pincers growing out of its head area. It was also about half a foot long, and I believe, well capable of swallowing me whole. Now I was most definitely NOT sleeping outside.

 

Thursday 3^rd May

A down day, for rest and refit. In the evening there was a tremendous thunder and lightening storm. It was so loud that it sounds like there was artillery firing close-by. At least the inclement weather reduces the likelihood of attack.

 

Friday 4^th May

There is no kitchen facility at Kamu, being a small outpost, so it is MRE’s for breakfast, lunch, and supper. But in order to bring some feel of normal life to the experience, coffee is a must. Unfortunately there is no gas left in the ETT stove, so after I cleaned and refilled the percolator, I made my way over to the ANA cooking area. A stone built fireplace, black with use and swarming with flies, had a burning log in situ, so all I needed to do was place the pot right in the fire. While I waited for the process to complete, I watched an ANA soldier washing pots under a tap. It struck me that these cooking conditions were extremely poor, but that is what the ANA must suffer. Lack of money and equipment means that the soldier’s motto “Improvise, adapt, and overcome” is a way of life out here.

 

Speaking of money, I discovered that a regular ANA soldier earns around $120 per month. That is not a lot when you consider that an average goat costs approximately $140. These guys are fighting, and living, in extremely arduous conditions, with equipment that no Western army would accept as adequate, and they are doing it for a pittance. On the other hand, an interpreter (terp) earns up around $900 per month. The frustrating thing to see, and I can only imagine how it must infuriate the ANA, is the huge disparity in the quality of terps in the field. There are some guys who are quite brilliant, translating not only the words but the tone and mood of the conversation. Sadly, there are others that are worthless. Some of these guys don’t want to go outside the wire, using any number of feeble excuses, and even inside the wire their translation skills are questionable. Listening to a several sentence statement translated with only a few words underlines the reliance of troops on terps, and their vulnerability at the hands of a bad one.

 

It also highlights another more important point. While most soldiers at Kamu have picked up enough Pashtu to communicate greetings, etc, I have not met a single soldier who is conversant, let alone fluent in the language. 6 years into this war I can’t believe that there is not more emphasis being put on learning to communicate. I’m not suggesting that no-one has learned it. I’m sure that those who have shown any aptitude have been snapped up by Intel or HUMINT (Human Intelligence) people, if not the spook world, but surely it must be obvious that relying on terps is a serious restriction to Situational Awareness (SA), and to building up relationships with locals.

 

After breakfast, we prepared to convoy back to Kamdesh, in Rangers. Godammit!!! The trip was a tense as before, and we were only on the ground for a short while before returning. I grabbed all my gear out of Kamdesh this time, as it was unclear when I would have an opportunity again. It is dangerous to split up equipment in this environment, as movements and plans change so often. When MSG B arrived at Kamu it was supposed to be for a 10 day mission, but it was 81 days before he got back to his original location. In preparation for his 10 mission, he brought one change of clothes, including socks and under wear. For 81 days! So I am trying to keep all my stuff together in future. 

 

During the return trip there were a few stops to search compounds. Because this is a Main Supply Route (MSR) it is imperative that the insurgents are not allowed free movement, and that the rule of the Afghan Government extends even here. During the searches many occupants were questioned, and the fear of insurgent activity was extremely high. It was on this stretch of road, maybe 11 kilometres, that Fazal Ahad was executed. Even if people had information relating to the insurgents, it would take a brave man to speak to the Americans. Fear of reprisal is a part of the insurgent’s toolkit, and it is very effective. Of course there are many brave people who don’t support the insurgents or their acts, and who do provide information, but in ways I can’t talk about. Suffice to say that despite the acts of terror perpetrated on these people, they are not cowed.

Tuesday 24^th April

 

Due to the rocket attack last night we had a stand to before dawn this morning, in case the insurgents attacked again. Happily all was quiet, and we got to see a spectacular sunrise over the snow capped mountains.

 

Then it was time to head down into Kamdesh village again, to carry out a recce for the next day’s Security Shura. This was to be a gathering of all the local elders, at which they would discuss the problems in the area. So a combined ANA/ETT and US patrol pushed down the now familiar route to the village. But once we arrived in the village nobody knew anything about it. After some questions it transpired that the meeting had been relocated to a lower lying village, Papriastan. To the untrained eye it looked like part of Kamdesh, but apparently there were three separate villages side by side. These distinctions are very important to the tribal mindset of the Afghans.

 

The fact that the US forces were paying for the food and supplies for the shura seemed to be irrelevant to the elders. Of course it could be argued that the US people should have liaised closer with the organisers. However, the fact now remained that with less then 24 hours to this important Security Shura, there was almost no knowledge of the environment in which it would be held. This was a major problem for the ANA and US soldiers that were required to provide security for the meeting. So the next few hours were spent by the troops familiarising themselves with the area, looking for vulnerable points, and planning infill and exfill routes (ways in and out).

 

Climbing back up to the OP was the usual exhausting experience. I felt better for the first part, and thought I was starting to acclimatise to the altitude, armour weight, temperature combination. However, that last bit of the climb, where you take one step at a time while using your hands for extra purchase, took every bit of strength out of me.

 

Not long after we returned, when people were finally getting their breath back, a goat arrived for the ANA. This was great news, as we were all sick and tired of the MREs. The thought of fresh food was a real thrill, and everyone gathered around to watch the ANA slaughter the goat. There was some confusion then, as one of the soldiers noticed that the goat looked pregnant. These guys will not eat a pregnant animal, nor any animal that kills another animal. However it turned out that the goat had recently given birth, and so they were appeased and continued.

 

I saw this process last year but it is still fascinating, if a little hard on Western sensibilities. The goat is held down, and its throat cut. However, they keep cutting as the animal bleeds out, and don’t stop until the head is off. As soon as that is done, they start to skin the goat. This time I saw something new though. One guy made a small incision on a leg, and then started blowing into it. By forcing air in under the skin, he was breaking down the seal between flesh and pelt, and when he began the actual skinning it came off surprisingly easily.

 

There was only one pot to cook in, and so the rice had to be removed before the goat could be put on the fire. In my final packing check, I had decided to remove my metal bowl that I have carried before. Usually there will be cardboard plates around, so I was carrying the weight for no purpose. Now I needed a plate, and had none. Then one of the soldiers showed me their trick (These guys are very good at improvising). An MRE comes in a heavy plastic bag, which, when cut in half, provides a perfect bowl, thick enough to protect you from the hot food inside.

 

The rice was spicy, and good enough to be a meal on its own. Despite my hunger I managed to put some away for later, when the goat would be ready. Not long after I was etched by one of the ANA. As I walked out a US soldier asked me if I was actually going to eat that stuff, and I said yes. Then he asked me if I knew which parts of the goat they were cooking, and I said I didn’t want to. As long as it tasted good I didn’t care what it was, but it would be easier to eat not even knowing. The ANA’s First Sergeant was doing the cooking, and he immediately offered me some meat, which was sizzling away in some kind of sauce. It was delicious, perfectly cooked, and I didn’t take much time to eat it. Once it was all down I asked what it was, and he told me the best parts of the Goat, the heart and the liver. Some of the US soldiers made retching noises, but I didn’t care, it was as tasty as anything I have ever eaten. 

 

A couple of other people ate some as well, but the majority stayed away from the food. The US troops are told not to eat local food, as their bodies aren’t used to it and it will make them sick. Talk about a Catch 22. How exactly are they supposed to get their bodies used to the food without trying it. It is a real shame, because aside from missing out on the culinary experience of eating something new, they also miss out on the bonding effect of eating with their ANA allies. And most of those that do try the food, or more often the Chai, immediately take a “Cipro,” a strong antibiotic, to combat any ill effects. Regular use of Cipro, or the other popular one Doxy, means that many soldier’s bodies become reliant on the drugs to fight off illness, and so when they return to the US after their deployment many get hit by every minor ailment once they stop taking the drug.

 

Wednesday 25^th April

Well, I have a new “worst day of my recent life!” My previous one was from about 2 years ago, when a huge fuel depot exploded just north of London. I had been out the night before, drinking heavily, and had only been asleep half an hour when I got the call from my then employer, AFP, to go and cover the story. Despite my pleas for mercy I was sent, and I spent the day suffering one of the worst hangovers, while trying to evade Police cordons by walking miles through ploughed fields to get access to the still burning depot. It was a day of agony, but pales into insignificance compared to today.

 

Afghanistan is rough terrain, and Nuristan province particularly so. This is the furthest north the US troops have pushed in the East, and the truth is that the road to here is still owned by the insurgents. Ambushes, from RPGs and machinegun and small arms fire, are regular, and so most travel and re-supply is done by helicopter. These guys get shot at too, but they can manoeuvre quickly and return devastating firepower.

 

Last night we were told that when we walked down to today’s rally we would be bringing our bags, and then afterwards we would walk down to Kamdesh base, approx 3,000 ft below.

 

I never expected to have to carry all my gear any further than to a HLZ or road convoy, and I was shocked by the news. My rucksack is at least 60lbs, or over 4 stone, and I also have a carry-on case with camera equipment, laptop, sat-phone, etc, which probably weighs another 40lbs. The Embedded Tactical Trainer (ETT) said I could hire a local to carry my camera case, but this still meant carrying the ruck, while wearing all my armour and kit, down the mountainside.

 

The US and ANA soldiers were to provide security in the village for the shura, so we were to set out early. After I had packed my ruck, and hooked my Camelback onto the front, I was barely able to lift it. Once I had donned my armour I sat down on my cot to heave the bag onto my back. Leaning forward, and straining my legs, I eventually managed to stand. With my helmet on, and two cameras hanging around my neck, I staggered out of the tent. One of the mortar team saw my load and said my day was “going to suck.” Too bloody right it was!

 

The walk to the village lying below the OP was exhausting. Slipping and sliding down the slope was bad enough before, but now it was a nightmare. I was constantly leaning forward to try and balance the weight on my back, which made keeping my footing harder. It took maybe 20 minutes to reach the village, and by that time sweat was running off me and stinging my eyes, I was fighting for breath, and my legs felt like they were going to snap underneath me.

 

In the village we all dropped our gear together and a guard was set over it, while the ANA pushed out to the edge of the village to set up their perimeter. I was with Master Sergeant B, the ETT, and we walked out to the edge of the village with the ANA First Sergeant to look around.

 

Master Sergeant (MSG) B is a remarkable guy, and I will be referring to him a lot over the next few weeks, so I should give some details. He is 50 years old, and has been in the army for 23 years, 17 on active duty. This guy is a font of knowledge, and is also a natural teacher. He has been embedded with his ANA company for almost 11 months, and there is a very close bond between them. In fact, the ANA company is by far the most professional Afghan unit I have come across, and I have no doubt that a large amount of the credit is due to MSG B.

 

Walking back into the village to continue to coordinate the security situation, MSG and the ANA First Sergeant talked and joked a lot. There was obviously a very close bond between these guys, but at the same time MSG B made sure to include me in the conversation. The First Sergeant speaks pretty good English, and so we could talk about their recent experiences. These guys have been in a hell of a lot of fights lately, with one American and one ANA killed in a gun-battle just a couple of klicks away.

 

In the meantime the village shop, a tiny, dirty dust-ridden, and dark room, had opened, and MSG B went in to but some sweets and biscuits for the many kids swarming around. Because of the shura, which the teachers would be attending, there was no school. This meant there were kids everywhere. This was a good sign, as if the locals had any knowledge of a planned attack there would be no kids around.

 

There was some commotion over by the door to the school where the shura was taking place, which was due to the elder’s anger over being searched before being allowed to enter. The ANA handled it in a firm fashion, and eventually all agreed to be checked for weapons before being admitted.

 

I had decided to avoid going into the meeting, as I knew it would consist of interminable speeches, and I would be bored to tears. Not to mention the lack of anything interesting to photograph. Instead, I was invited with MSG B and the ANA First Sergeant up onto an overlooking roof. Here they could continue to observe the surroundings for any signs of trouble, while at the same time we could drink Chai and eat sweets provided by our host.

 

It was during this time, sitting and imbibing large quantities of the Afghan green tea, that I started to get to know MSG B. I am absolutely and totally impressed with the passion and commitment that this reservist 50 year old soldier brings to the ETT program. He is intelligent, well read, with a great appreciation of the cultural differences between the US and the ANA. He says his job as an NCO (Non Commissioned Officer) is first and foremost to look after and protect his men, and he has taken this to great lengths with his ANA company. WE talked about insurgency, counter-insurgency, and the difficulties inherent in fighting in Afghanistan. We got onto what reasons the insurgents had to fight, how they fought, and how in Afghanistan Tribal culture sometimes there was more than one reason for a single action. I won’t be able to go into all we spoke about here, but I will talk more about MSG B in the future.

 

Emerging from the Shura after a few hours, the ANA were wearing brand new beautiful white Pakools, the traditional hat in the North of Afghanistan. They had been given as gifts by the elders in appreciation for the security presence provided by the soldiers, and they looked like the cat that got the cream wearing them.

 

 

Then we set off down a trail, fit only for mountain goats, and it was then that my day really fell apart. The soldiers also had heavy packs. One of the soldiers had told me to concentrate on every ache, picture it in your mind, and then turn it over, examine every aspect of it, and then it gets easier. By concentrating solely on the make-up of the pain you actually distract the mind from the pain itself. It helped, but was hard to keep up. Especially when the trail itself was so difficult. At times we were stepping down from one rock to another, with maybe 12 or 18 inches drop, and so all your weight would fall jarringly on one leg, and at other times the track would narrow to a single boot’s width, so that you actually had to put one foot down, and then lift the other foot from directly behind, and bring your leg around and down in front. One minute we would be walking on rocks, then it would change to loose rocks and sand, and then we would have to cross a fast running stream. All the time we were close to the edge, and although the view was spectacular, I was very aware of the danger. Keeping my footing on the ever changing terrain would have been difficult on the best of days, but with my pack it was a horrendous. We stopped regularly, but just for long enough to get our breath back, and then we were off again. My legs were burning, and shaking, and I just hobbled along like an automaton between breaks, trying to keep my concentration focused but knowing I was getting physically exhausted. The thing is, I didn’t have any choice but to go on. I couldn’t just decide to stop, and everyone else was carrying their own load, so there was no way out but to continue. Also, I will admit, I didn’t want to look weak. I was determined that I would make it without asking for help, or looking useless. Stubbornness took over, and somehow I made it down to the bottom. At this stage I was almost in a daxe, unable to talk at all, and ready to collapse. In fact as soon as I got on even ground I DID fall, and had to be helped up by an ANA soldier.

 

There were two ANA “Ranger” pick-ups” there to collect gear, and as soon as the ANA started to throw in their kit I threw in mine. MSG B could see how beat I was, and he told me to get into the Ranger and grab a ride the rest of the way. But then the US soldiers, who had been behind us, started to emerge from the trail onto the road, and I was gutted to see that they intended to walk the rest of the way. Now, after all my efforts, I looked like the useless feeble journalist that just can’t cut it. To add insult to injury the ANA soldier driving the Ranger honked his horn to get the US soldiers out of his way, and so every single one of them looked around and saw me riding in while they walked. Worst of all, it was only a few hundred feet, and I’m sure I could have made it, but it was too late. The whole walk down had only taken two hours, but it was hell. And if I had known how tough it was going to be there is no way I would have believed I could do it. And if we had been ambushed??? Well, I am sure the soldiers would have been able to fight, but I doubt I would have had the energy to even get my bag off and take cover.

 

Thursday 26^th April

 

Part of my plan for covering the conflict in Afghanistan this year revolves around being freelance. Most journalists, writers, photographers, etc, have editors to keep happy. This includes giving them some idea of where you are, what you are doing, and what they can expect from the trip. It also means that they have to constantly be producing content. I, on the other hand, am not constrained like this. I don’t need to tell anyone where I am, or what I am working on. In fact I don’t need to know very much at all myself. This is a huge advantage when it comes to getting onto missions. I have explained this to the Public Affairs Officers (PAOs) at Bagram, and to all the various commanders I have met so far. This means that they can include me on a mission without having to tell me anything about it. Yes, it requires trust on my part that they will get me onto something interesting, but is exactly the interesting missions that they are going to be hesitant to tell me much about in advance. This way, they can just tell me to pack my gear and be ready on a particular date, and no more. An additional benefit is that if there is an operation coming up, but it is necessary to sit for a few days at the kick-off point, I can accept a few down days easier than someone trying to explain a lack of productivity to an editor.

 

A few days ago I had this conversation with the Kamdesh commander and he said he had something coming up that I might find interesting. He wouldn’t tell me a thing about it, except that I wouldn’t be at Kamdesh for long. So today I was told to report for “static load training” in the afternoon. The training is basically how to get on and off a helicopter as fast as possible. From this I found out that whatever the mission was, it would start with an air assult, i.e. a helicopter landing in a possibly hostile landing zone (LZ). The idea of loading up quickly is so that as little time as possible is wasted from the bird touching down at the start location to take off. Then it is a fast flight with Apache gunships accompanying in case of rocket attack, and then into the LZ. Hand signals are given 3, 2, and 1 minute out, so that everyone can shoulder their pack and get ready to “un-ass,” that is, get out. The concept here is that if it is a hot LZ and the helicopter takes fire landing or on the ground, then the soldiers running out and taking up their pre-planned positions can return fire, while the bird that has just dropped them can get the hell out of there.

 

Following the run through, we were split into chalks and sticks. A chalk is the team that will travel on an individual helicopter, subdivided into those sitting on the left or right side, a stick. I was Chalk 1, right stick. Then came the shock. I was to be last man in, first man out. FIRST MAN OUT!!! When we hit the ground, we would already have our rucks on our backs, and run out the rear ramp and into the unknown. Maybe there would rocket propelled grenades, heavy machine gun and small arms fire, with a sniper or two thrown in for good luck. Or possibly just some PKMs (Russian machine guns) and a few AK-47s (Russian assault rifles) shooting at us. Or maybe there would be the sweet sound of silence, with a couple of goat-herders staring at us wide-eyed and slack-jawed. The point is, we wouldn’t know until we were landing, and by then I was already assigned FIRST MAN of the right stick to get on the ground. So if there was withering gunfire pouring into the ramp at the rear of the bird I was screwed.

 

On the plus side, and I have got to hand it to the Americans on this point, it also meant I would get great photographs, which is exactly why they had put me there. They told me this, and said I could change my position now, if I was scared. Well, there was no way I was changing. This was a great opportunity, and if we were under fire I would still have to get off the bird eventually, so better to get it over and done with quickly.

 

Later MSG B came and asked me if I wanted to join him for his briefing to the ANA. We walked up to a far corner of the Kamdesh base, and there he had built a 10ft by 6 ft sand-table model of the area of operation. The model had stones piled up on both sides representing the mountains that enclose the valley, blue wiring representing the river flowing through the valley, smaller stones laid out to show where the road was, and various boxes laid out as buildings and compounds. The HLZ was marked by a piece of cardboard, and a piece of holly sticking out of the ground marked the tree that would be the rally point should the whole situation go bad.

 

The town laid out before us in such detail was Barg-e-Matal. The town is north of Kamdesh, and would be the furthest north that any conventional US troops had gone. In fact I discovered that there had been a previous visit, about a month prior, but just for a couple of days. This mission was bigger, with plans to stay for 5 days, and to set up base outside the town as opposed to in the centre of town, as they had done on their previous trip. Positioning the base outside the town was, I suspect, a blatant attempt to try and lure the insurgents into a fight. While they would be loathe tohit the US troops in the town for fear of hurting innocents and losing the support of the people, attacking a compound outside the town would not pose the same problems.

 

During the briefing MSG B warned the ANA to prepare themselves for the different way of life up at Barg-e-Matal. The town is just 6 kilometres from the Pakistan border, with a valley running from the town straight across the “border,” and the people there feel more a part of Pakistan than Afghanistan. In fact Pakistani Rupees rather than Afghanis are the preferred currency. The buildings would look different too, and the town would be lit up like a Christmas tree after dark, which is very unusual in this part of Afghanistan.

 

After dark there was an alert. Someone had seen movement outside the wire where there shouldn’t be any. Following the rocket at OP War Height the previous night, the first rocket attack in this AO this year, people were more vigilant, and more inclined to react. As one guy said to me while we stood in the dark during the alert, “We’re too close to going home for this shit to start now.” A few minutes later illume (Illumination rounds that float down on parachutes) was fired from the mortar, and everyone stared through the weird yellow glare at landscape that seemed to move as the flare descended and the shadows shifted. 

 

Friday 27^th April

Packing for the 5 day mission commenced at 5:30am, and due to my recent experience of carrying a heavy pack, this time I was going light. Sleeping bags and bivvy bag were a must, as was thermals for the cold at night. Sleeping mat, fleece, and woollen hat also went straight in. This stuff is collectively known as “snivel gear,” and while some guys would shun carrying such comforts, I am quite happy to proclaim my love for it. As they say, any fool can be uncomfortable.

 

At breakfast, sausage meat, eggs, and waffles served from a mobile deep-fat cooking kitchen, everyone was excited. You could hear it in their tone of voice, and you could see it in their eyes. At the same time there were hopes voiced that this would finally be the last mission.

 

Kit was laid out everywhere at the designated start-point for my “chalk,” and I added mine to the line. It was laid out in the seating order of the helicopter, and there was a lot. Everything that would be needed had to be carried. There were guys hauling parts of mortars or heavy machineguns, as well as their own packs. I was glad that I had stripped out as much as I had. I was even leaving behind my sat-phone and laptop as there would be no power where we were going, and also, if the mission turned into a fire-fight and I had to drop my ruck in the melee, I didn’t want to lose my communications gear. I was going to be the only journalist present anyway, so it didn’t matter if there was a delay getting the story out.

 

Then a few last minute orders were given, and we donned body armour and our loads. Word came in that the bird was 10 minutes out, so we started for the HLZ, but then before we were out the gate there was a change of timing and we were told to stop. So immediately off came the gear, and we sat, this time in the hot morning sun. Somebody ran off to the little “Hadji” shop for sodas. Hadji – Official definition, someone who has made a trip to the Haj, one of the five pillars of Islam – Unofficial definition, anything associated with life in Afghanistan, or in fact Iraq, i.e. the hadji kids, he was talking hadji, a hadji DVD (bootlegged), wearing hadjiflage (also known as man-jams, the traditional shalwar khamis), etc. It doesn’t seem to be used in a derogatory fashion, but simply to define something that is local.

 

Soon enough we were told to load up again, and as we filed out the gate and across the bridge to the HLZ built in the middle of the river, there were lots of people who were not going on the mission waiting there to wish us luck. We lined up, stick by stick, and the chalk leader roared that he wanted everyone on the bird in less than 90 seconds, or there would be hell to pay. The bird was announced by the distinctive whoop-whoop-whoop of the Chinook rotors long before we could see it. People pulled down goggles or slipped on sunglasses and turned their backs as the CH-47 came in to land. Dust, hardened mud, pebbles, and all manner of detritus was thrown up into the air. Of course as everyone else turned their backs and covered their mouths and noses, I was bracing myself against the downdraft and trying to photograph the bird landing. With all the crap flying around in the air it was hard to see, but then, as I had hoped, there was a break in the middle of the cloud and I could see the Chinook descending in the middle of the brown-out (the term given to the experience of being surround by a cloud of dust, with visibility reduced to zero).

 

Before the wheels were settled on the ground two lines of heavily laden men in ACUs (Army Combat Uniforms I think – the new digital camouflage issued to US troops both here and Iraq) raced the final yards to the bird. As the ramp at the rear was lowered soldiers clambered onboard, dropping their ruck in front of them once they reached their allotted canvas-nylon bucket seats, and sat facing each other. I was last in, and before I had even stepped up onto the ramp the tail-gunner was operating the controls to raise it. Making my way past his heavy machinegun that sits in the middle of the ramp, I dumped my ruck, expecting the bird to lift off at any second, and to be berated for delaying the “Static Load” that we had trained for.

 

Of course, this being the military, the old motto “Hurry up and Wait” raised its head again. After all the planning, and rehearsals, and then the super-fast load itself, the bird sat for what seemed like an eternity, but was probably not more then 10 minutes, before we finally got airborne. The Sergeants running our sticks were furious, but there was nothing to be done now.

 

During the flight there were some very serious faces on board. Wearing helmets and earplugs, there is not much conversation on a Chinook, and especially one that is to drop into an unknown LZ. I could see some guys running through last minute checks on equipment hanging from the webbing on their body armour, while others held their down-pointing weapons firmly and stared straight ahead.

 

I was conscious of taking photographs, but really my mind was on what the hell was going to happen once we touched down. I was more concerned with failing to get off fast enough than with getting shot at. The guy that was to follow me off had promised to help me get out, with a swift kick, if I wasn’t fast enough.

 

Before I knew it we were descending, and I was shouldering my pack. There were none of the 3,2, or 1 minute hand signals from the rear-gunner, and I simply waited for the ramp to start moving down.

 

I ran out the door, listening for gunshots and watching for RPG trails, and after about 15 metres I dived to the ground, just as I had been told to do. Two Sergeants knelt behind me, weapons pointing left and right, and the other soldiers poured put of the bird. I was shooting the whole time, trying to frame the drama while not getting in anyone’s line of fire.

 

Again, it took maybe a minute and a half to get everyone out, and then the bird should have lifted off. A helicopter on the ground is at it’s most vulnerable, as it can’t manoeuvre away from incoming fire, so these guys should have been in a hurry to get airborne. They were still on the ground behind us when the other Chinook that had flown up with us disgorged it’s cargo of men and weapons off to our east. Then the second bird pulled away, and finally ours did the same. Again the Sergeants running things were furious. One of them said “New 82^nd (Airborne Regiment) pilots. The problem is, they haven’t been shot at enough yet. But they’ll learn.”

 

As the two Chinooks and their accompanying Apache gunship turned south and faded into the distance, I realised that our lifeline to the rest of the world was departing with them, and until they returned we were cut off, surrounded, and alone.

 

Following our landing the rest of the day passed in a blur. The helicopters flew back in several times, delivering more men, food, water, and every conceivable necessity. The stone walled compound that was to be serve as the temporary base was secured, sand bags were filled, and heavy machine emplacements were put on the rooftop.

 

There was no attack, and in fact the locals from the village seemed very friendly. They were kept a safe distance back, due to fears of suicide bombers or opportunistic attacks from insurgents concealing themselves amongst the villagers, but even with this restriction there was lots of smiling and waving.

 

Once everything had been moved the short distance into the compound the security perimeter around the HLZ was collapsed and everyone was consolidated in the compound. Latrines were dug, mortars set up, and sleeping arrangements made. There was a stone building set within the walls, but there were so many soldiers that many would have to sleep outside. Like many others, I calculated that if we were rocketed the building would be the main target, so I decided to sleep in the lee of one of the outer walls, away from the building. Little decisions like these help me to maintain the illusion that I have some control over my own safety in these circumstances.   

 

Saturday 28^th April

Rising early I was greeted by Bob. This is the term given by the soldiers to the Big Orange Ball that makes it impossible to sleep late when outside. Somebody had arranged with the locals for breakfast to be delivered, and so I tucked into sweet Paratha bread and milky Chai.

 

The plan for the day was a visit into the town for a shura (meeting) with the local leaders, including the Police Chief and the sub-governor. MSG B and his ANA Company were to be pushed out first to secure the area, and would be followed later by the main US thrust. Using the ANA in this fashion is a common occurrence, and one that raises the issue of how the ANA are perceived and utilised.

 

It is common among Coalition troops in Afghanistan to (privately) deride the ANA. Stupidity, lack of discipline, and even cowardice are accusations that are regularly levelled at them. Yes, there are some poor ANA soldiers, but there are in every army, and it is unfair and ridiculous to judge an organisation by its weakest individual. Lack of education is often confused with stupidity, but only by those who are not too bright themselves. It is true that a lot of these Afghan soldiers may not have a great education, but they are not stupid. As the saying goes, education is what you get from reading the manual, and experience is what you get from not reading it. These guys have fought plenty, and it is foolish to dismiss this experience. Discipline is a varied concept, and while the ANA may not have perfect uniforms or salute in the required fashion, they are disciplined to fight. And as for cowardice, again this often shows a lack of understanding on the part of those making the accusations. Tactics that work for conventional Coalition troops are not necessarily the same as those applicable to the lightly armed ANA. This is a subject I will come back to later.

 

There was definitely tension between the leadership on 3/71 Cav and the ETT/ANA contingent. MSG B felt his ANA Company was often used as bait, with a disregard for their safety that would be unacceptable if they were US troops. The fact that the Embedded Tactical trainers are not under the command of the local US Commander but in fact answerable to the Afghan Ministry of Defence means that sometimes they may have different priorities. And as an NCO, MSG B’s loyalty and responsibility goes to the men he is there to mentor. Couple with this his exactingly high standards and his low threshold for some of the more political machinations inherent in the Army, and it is a recipe for trouble.

 

Just the previous evening there had been an argument between MSG B and a senior figure with 3/71 Cav over the ANA’s duties. I can’t go into detail due to security concerns, but the root of the problem was disagreement over the chain of command. This senior figure gave instructions, which MSG B and the ANA disagreed with, and was told in no uncertain terms that it wasn’t going to happen.

 

As I have said, I am particularly impressed with MSG B, both the man and the soldier, and I plan to spend the next few weeks with him and his ANA Company. So when they headed into town, I went with them. Spreading out into a “road march” formation, keeping a distance of 5 to 10 metres between each man ans staggering the line to either side of the road, or “ZIG-ZAG” as the ANA call it, we walked into town. This formation is designed to reduce the “RPG Cluster” risk, that of multiple casualties from an RPG attack, which is the preferred method to initiate a “TIC” (troops in contact” in this area.

 

Barg-e-Matal is very beautiful, “dera high ista da” in Pashto, and is reminiscent of an Alpine ski resort, if a little shabbier. The river splits the town in two, with the East side rising up maybe 100 ft while the west is at river level, susceptible I suspect to flooding when the river rises. The buildins are built of untreated timber and mud, but finished with detailed carving, common in Nuristan. Crossing the rickety wooden bridge to the west we were greeted by all we met, and one old man gave me a very formal ”Good day to you” in English. The town has a renowned school and education is valued highly here.

 

At the District Centre we were welcomed by the District Sub-Governor, who I will call “The Leprechaun.” He was a short, heavy-set man, with a fiery red beard, blue eyes, and sun-burned but still clearly Caucasian skin and features, very different to the dark skin and brown eyes prevalent in this part of the world. There is often talk of the still extant bloodline from the time of Alexander the Great’s foray into Afghanistan, but I have another theory. Britain’s Indian Empire, the Raj, often called the Jewel in the Crown of the British Empire, was the source of much fighting in this area. In the 1800’s, when Pakistan did not exist and the Punjab was still it’s own principality, British interests extended to Afghanistan. The Great Game flourished, there was much intrigue, with British and Russian envoys and spies fomenting trouble at every turn. And there were wars. And in the 1800’s it is estimated that possibly 40% of the British Army was in fact Irishmen. Ireland was still under the yoke of British rule then, and many Irishmen sought the adventure, not to mention the pay, of soldiering in foreign lands. The deployments of those days were measured in years, not months, and many men married, or at least fathered children. Looking into the face of “The Leprechaun” I have not a single doubt that I was seeing the progeny of one such union.

 

Once the Americans arrived the ANA were pushed out for security, and a Shura was held. I stayed on the perimeter, as these meetings are long and dull, and watched the village life instead. While the women brought their infants with them as they worked in the fields, the older children took advantage of their free day, as their male teachers attended the Shura. Of course we say only boys, as the girls hid behind buildings and ran away if approached. In the distance youths played a game not dissimilar to horse-shoes, but with stones. They used rocks slightly larger than the palms of their hands, and hurled them at markers separated by maybe 100 ft, landing them sometimes within 6 inches of their target. Then they would run to collect them, and throw them back to the first marker again. Their accuracy was unerring, so much so that judges would squat within 2-3 feet of the target, with their backs to the competitors, confident that they would not have their skulls split open by a haphazard shot. Set in the lush surroundings, in the lee of a mountain, the game had an Olympian feel.

 

In due course the Shura broke up, and the Americans set off for the base. The ETT/ANA element was to bring up the rear, so I waited with them. On our way back, we stopped at a building on the east bank, on the edge of town, and I was told that there was a quick meeting planned with a representative of the National Directorate of Security (NDS), Afghanistan’s equivalent of the CIA. This meeting turned into quite a story.

 

The NDS in this area had, for some time, been collecting weapons and ammunition. This is common all over Afghanistan. However, in Barg-e-Matal the cache had grown to quite a considerable size, and it’s existence in such a remote and vulnerable area had been causing concern for some time. During the earlier visit 3/71 had tried to negotiate the removal of this cache, but the local NDS said no. Other US personnel had also visited to try and regain the cache, but to no avail. The situation was sensitive because unlike other arms caches that could be retrieved by force, US forces couldn’t start smashing in the doors of the NDS.

 

This time however, the ANA/ETT team had instructions from the Afghan Ministry of Defence to retrieve the weapons, one way or another. Intelligence had been uncovered that insurgents operating in the area were watching the arms dump, with plans to raid the compound and take the lot. It was a perfect re-supply, and already in their area of operation (AO). And so the ANA First SGT and MSG B went on a charm offensive with the NDS representative, and while he was initially resistant he finally came to see that the weapons were leaving his care, and the only question was whether he would be compensated for the time and expense of collecting, storing and guarding the cache, or if he preferred, having to buy a new door. He decided to take the money. However, he still needed permission from his boss, and also had to find his partner who had the keys to the stash. He said he would come to the base as soon as he had both.

 

True to his word, he shortly afterwards arrived at the base. He was ready to proceed, but there was a condition. He would only transfer possession of the cache to Afghan troops. No Americans were to be present, except of course for the ANA’s Embedded Tactical Trainer. AN Irish photographer was no stumbling block to the deal, and so I found myself walking back into town again.

 

Outside the building the ANA set up security, while First SGT, MSG B, and I were led upstairs. A locked door was pointed out, and a key produced. I’ve seen arms caches before, and so I wasn’t particularly excited about the event. Hopefully I could make a picture of some RPGs piled up, if there were enough, but I wasn’t holding my breath. Once the door opened however, I found that I was in fact holding my breath. There was a hell of a lot of ammo in this room, and that was just what I could see. Most of the room was in darkness, so who knew what else was in there. Then the NDS guy came out, and turned to another door. Confused, I watched him open it, to reveal a room brimming with RPG rounds, mortar rounds, a bunch of old Enfield rifles, and unbelievably, an 82mm recoilless rocket launcher. This was a SERIOUS cache. Being aware that I was quite literally standing on a powder keg, I’d like to say that I was extra careful around all the potentially unstable explosives. In reality, I was so shocked by what I was seeing that far from being careful, I actually stepped on an RPG inside the door. Two of the ANA grabbed me and said “No, NO!” Yeah I know, pretty stupid.

 

I could see that MSG B was also taken aback by the sheer amount of it all. He told me that while people knew about the cache, nobody had realised how big it had grown. This was a big success. Except that it wasn’t yet. Suddenly it became clear that if the insurgents had any idea of the size of the stockpile that was about to be removed, they might just object. Radio calls started flowing from the town to the base, and the security perimeter was repositioned. A couple of local Hilux pick-ups were hired, and the cataloguing and loading of the arms began. 137 RPGs, 83 rounds for the 82mm recoilless rocket launcher, plus the launcher itself, were removed, as well as a whole lot of other stuff. There was no doubt that this was a significant seizure, and more importantly, if the intelligence was correct, it was denying the insurgents a huge amount of firepower. And of course any and all of the rounds could have been used in improvised explosive devices (IEDS). It was good to know that these were now to be used by the ANA rather than against the coalition.

 

 

 

Sunday 29^th April

Woken by Bob again, and fed by the locals. Then off to town with the ETT/ANA for security. The Squadron Commanding Officer (SCO) Colonel Howard flew in while we were setting up in the town, and soon after he arrived with his entourage for more meetings with the local elders. Included in this entourage was another “Senior Figure”. This senior figure is particularly disliked by ETT/ANA as he is alleged to have criticized a US Army medic for wasting time on treating ANA soldiers that were hurt in an accident. “Don’t waste time on them, they are only ANA” is the quote attributed to him. I have no way of verifying this, but the fact that ETT/ANA as well as many of the soldiers under the senior figure believe this, is enough to create a very bad feeling between the two camps. However the soldiers at Sergeant level and below, those that have actually fought alongside this ANA Company, often apologise for the attitude of their seniors, and repeatedly state their trust and faith in the ANA.

 

Sitting on the edge of the Shura I could observe many things that I possibly would have missed inside it. One thing in particular struck me, and I hope someone in the US Military reads this and acts on it. The Army needs to issue a hell of a lot more binoculars. Many times I saw soldiers raising their rifles to their shoulder, as though to fire. I happen to know that what they are actually doing is using their optical sights to scan an area, but to the locals it must be intimidating to have a weapon pointed in their direction. This is one of those little acts that can give insult where none was intended, and the resentment built can add little to the winning of “Hearts and Minds.” Looking down the barrel of a gun is not conducive to building relationships with the locals.

 

Then I made a mistake. A big one. Colonel Howard and his team were invited into the District Centre for a meal and somehow I agreed to attend. I obviously wasn’t paying attention when we went in, as my plan was to shoot some pictures of them sitting down together, and then get out. As I have said before, I can’t stand these meetings, as they are long and dull, with little variety for photographs. But somehow I was counted as a guest, and given a seat and food laid out for me. At that stage I couldn’t leave without offending my host, the District Sub-Governor, and so I had to smile and nod, and sit it out. During the meal and afterwards, while we waited for the obligatory Chai, Colonel Howard and the Leprechaun conversed, through an interpreter, about many different subjects. I learned that in Nuristan, you can buy a 16 year old virgin bride for 12 cows, but I don’t know how much a cow costs. I learned that the contracts for road improvements and development are all awarded through these meetings, and so it behoves the elders to show a kindly countenance to the US military leaders. But I also saw another thing. The Leprechaun did not respect the Colonel. Oh, he played the game alright, and laughed at jokes at times, and seemed serious and interested at others, but he could not totally conceal his disdain. At one stage he talked about his days as a Mujahideen, when he was young enough to fight. And then he made a telling comment. He said that Colonel wouldn’t understand his story, because he did not fight himself, but sent others out to do the fighting instead. This was an awkward moment, and I am sure that Colonel Howard knew he was being insulted, but he chose diplomacy over confrontation. It concerns me that he did this, because I think it was a test. Like many cultures that exist in harsh climates, political as well as environmental, the Afghans respect strength. Their history is littered with examples of this, and the same is true today. I think it is something that the Coalition fails to understand sometimes. The Uzbek commander General Dostum, a US ally during the initial war on the Taliban in October 2001 but now decried by many as a war-criminal, has said that if the Coalition will put their resources under his command he will rid Afghanistan of Taliban for good. His methods would no doubt shock Western sensibilities, but many Afghans I have met would like to see it done. They respect his determination to do whatever it takes to purge the country of the Talib scourge. This is alien to Westerners, and I include myself, but this is not the West. There is a different culture here, and it must be understood if the Coalition is to succeed. This means that while smiling and shaking hands is important, being prepared to scowl, and fight if necessary, is just as essential.

 

As we got back to the base the weather was changing for the worse. Dark clouds were filling the sky, and it looked like we were in for quite a storm. The previous few nights sleeping under the stars had been cold, but at least it had been dry. Now people were making preparations for the looming rain. Tarpaulins had been draped from walls, some pinned with stones, some tied with 550 cord (a very strong twine that soldiers seem to use for just about everything), and some were anchored by mortar poles, and others tied to heavy ammo boxes. I was late, and there wasn’t much room left anywhere, but some of the mortar found me a Tarp, and helped me erect my “hooch” squeezed in next to theirs. The fact that they had already completed their own preparations, and could have just sat and watched me try to sort things out on my own, just didn’t come into the equation. Out here people help each other, in a multitude of different ways, each day. Not for reward, or for fear of punishment either. These guys simply saw something that needed to be done, and they did it. Once the downpour came I was glad of their help, and slipped into my sleeping bag quite dry.