John D McHugh

Photographer

Sunday, April 22, 2007

It’s all about “Counter-insurgency!”

Tuesday 10th 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 12th 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 13th 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), 10th 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 10th 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 82nd Airborne (All-American) Division are already here. The question is, what war will they chose to fight?
 

posted by John D at 10:07  

Saturday, April 14, 2007

Back in the ‘Ghan

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 19th 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! 

posted by John D at 19:58  

Sunday, December 3, 2006

Out of the Wilderness

Hi everyone,

Well, it’s been quiet since I wrote last. The day after I returned from “Mountain Terror” (30 Nov) I slept late, my first lie-in since I got here. There wasn’t much happening at Wilderness so I had an  easy day, which was just as well as my knee was still very painful. The previous night I had made my way to the toilets and slipped in the dark. I sort of twisted my knee and I heard a loud crack. Ouch! So the next day I had the Doc look at it properly, and she reckons I either dislocated it and it is now back in place, or I possibly have hairline fracture. She said I should have an x-ray as soon as I get to a bigger base with an actual hospital, but she couldn’t do much except give me anti-inflammatory tablets, and cold-packs to wrap around the knee to reduce the swelling. It is a pain in the arse, as I am limping around like an old man, and feel very stupid and weak. I am sure the soldiers would just suck it up and not limp at all.

1 Dec

The first day of December, and I should be on my way home, but I am at the mercy of the weather and transport to get out of these mountains. Being December, my thoughts have really turned to Christmas, and I’m not the only one. The guys here talk about it, but of course it is in terms of what their families and friends will do at home, not what the soldiers will do here. I would imagine it will be much the same as their Thanksgiving, marked briefly on the day, between filling sandbags or some other work detail. It really makes me realise just how much these soldiers give up when they volunteer for a year’s deployment.

My other big news today came in the form of several “Herograms,” the old newspaper phrase for a telegram of congratulations. It turns out that I had the front page of the New York Time and the International Tribune with one of the photographs from “Mountain Terror.” I had emails from several AFP bureaus, which gave me a massive head and made me unbearable I’m sure. I am delighted though, as it means the work I am doing out here is getting noticed. The guys here are thrilled too, as they hope it helps people understand the difficulties they are facing in their operations out here. They also sent word to the unit that the soldier is in, so hopefully he can get a copy of it.

 

Yesterday (2 Dec) there was a big ceremony at Wilderness. It was the official raising of the Afghan flag at the base, which means it is now officially an Afghan base, but with an American presence. It was snowing like crazy all morning, which meant that the helicopter I had hoped to catch a ride out on was cancelled, and the various US and Afghan dignitaries would have to travel in by road convoy. Security was very tight as the local leaders arrived, with even fighter jets roaring overhead. The whole camp was tense, as this ceremony was fairly common knowledge, and would have been a tempting target to the Taliban. The terrible weather meant some road convoys had to turn back so the affair wasn’t quite the big deal it was meant to be, but it went ahead nonetheless. With the snow falling and no wind, the flag raising was barely visible.

I did manage to get a seat on a convoy driving out, so it was quick goodbyes to all the guys I had hung out with for the last two weeks, and in no time at all I was gone. It was strange to leave what had become home in such a short time, and the friends I had made there. The base was not much more than an excavation site when I arrived, and when I left it was a fully fledged, well defended base. It is a testament to the work that 3BSTB did that the place came together so quickly.

My ride out was with some of the soldiers from 1-32, the same guys I had been in the mountains with for “Mountain Terror.” They already knew about the NYT front page, and they wanted to see it, so I had to tell them when we got to their base I would show them a pdf file of the front page that had been sent to me. They were as excited about it as I was, which made me feel less of a gobshite.

The ride back was much more comfortable than my last time in a Humvee, as there was plenty of room in the back. All my luggage was dumped into the boot (or trunk, as it is an American Humvee) so I could actually move a little bit. I had to remind myself that the convoy was no safer than any other trip, and just because I was on my way out, and therefore on my first leg of the journey home, I still was travelling on a very dangerous road. Then the guys told me that there had been a roadside bomb that exploded beside then as they drove up a few hours earlier, but thankfully it was ineffective against their convoy. However there was heightened security all the way back and the sleep I had hoped for never happened. When we got back I checked in with the Press Officers at FOB Salerno, who told me it could be days before I get out of here. Even though I am almost 3,000ft lower than I was at Wilderness, we are still affected by the weather. They found me a place to stay, and told me to make myself at home. I had travelled in with another soldier from Wilderness, and we agreed that the call of freshly cooked hot food was far more urgent than a shower, even though neither of us had showered in 15 days. I couldn’t smell him, nor he me, so we headed for the scoff house. Apparently other people had a finer sense of smell than us, because there were more than a few stares, but I didn’t care. I just wanted some real food as opposed to MREs, and I tucked in like a little pig.

I met the Sergeant (First Sergeant actually) who had help me up from my fall off the ledge a few days prior, and he offered to show me around. I apologised for smelling so bad, but he said it was good for the people on the base, most of whom never go outside the wire, to realise that my smell was one of the realities of being in a combat zone. He said he loved coming in from operations and offending the POGs (People Other than Grunts) with his filthy clothes and stink. Afterwards he showed me where the PX was, and joy of joys, there is also a Green Bean here. The Green Bean is a coffee shop chain that is on most US bases, and is a little piece of heaven with its great coffees and muffins. He brought me to the CP (Command Point) for their unit, and I met the soldier from the NYT front page photo. He was getting a real hard time from the other men, but some of them were honest enough to say they wished it had been them. This guy is a really good guy, and admired by the other soldiers, so it is great that he has got a bit of recognition. He wanted to se the picture himself, but he seemed more worried about whether he had been wearing all his issued uniform and kit correctly, as he might end up in trouble if he hadn’t. Everything was correct and present, and we managed to organise a printout for him.

After some chat I decided it was time for that shower, and I headed back to my tent. I stripped off the socks, underwear, and top and bottom thermals I had been wearing day and night for 15 days, and climbed into a hot shower. In no time at all I felt like a human being again, with clean hair, and no clothes sticking to me. Having been fed and washed, I was wiped out, and it wasn’t long before I was panned out in my tent, almost asleep before I zipped up my sleeping bags. It was such a nice feeling to be able to get properly undressed before getting into bed, and to know that I had a huge base spread out around me, and that if we did get attacked I was pretty safe. Avery different sleeping arrangement than I had had for the last couple of weeks at Wilderness.

3 Dec

Still no change in the weather, so I’m not likely to go anywhere for a few days yet. This is exactly what happened to me at Bagram, but there is no way to drive to Kabul from here, as it is way to dangerous, so I just have to try and be patient. I hooked up with the guys from 1-32 again today, and hung out at their CP. I’m hoping to get out with them if anything come up while I’m hanging around her, to try and at least do something productive rather than sit on my backside. I mentioned to the First Sergeant that I would like to do some battlefield first aid training, and he said no problem, and the next thing I knew I was in the medic’s tent. They pulled out the first-aid kit they carry, and one of the medics gave me a very in-depth course on the various typical combat injuries and how to assess and treat them, from small burn to sucking chest wound. Then he started talking me through how to give a patient an IV to replace lost blood, and before I knew it he had another medic on a table and he was demonstrating how to find a vein, insert a needle, and how to attach the IV. Then he said it was my turn, and I thought he was joking. He wasn’t! Then the First Sergeant behind me said that everyone of his soldiers had to learn to do this, and the battlefield was not the best place to try it for the first time. So, they made me stick a needle in the poor medic’s arm, although he assured me he didn’t mind, and that they did it to each other all the time. Well, I am not the greatest fan of needles, and I didn’t think I could do it, but then my instructor started saying ”Come on, the guy’s dying, get a move on” and stuff like that, and I just did it. I’d love to say I got it perfectly right first go, but I didn’t. I got the needle in ok, but then I hit a valve, which I didn’t even know existed in veins. Anyway, they made me do it again, and this time I got it right, and it was actually fairly easy. What made me laugh was as I looked like I was going to hesitate, my instructor said “Don’t worry about hurting him, he’s already wounded badly and in pain, so a little bit more won’t make any difference.” A tough bedside manner, but effective no doubt. After I had carried out the procedure correctly I was afraid they were going to make me practice depressurising a sucking chest-wound, which entails sticking a horribly large needle into the chest cavity through the chest and ribs, but thankfully they said that I could sit that one out. I’m pretty proud that I managed to get the whole IV thing done, but I hope I never have to try it while under fire. I t old my instructor this, and said I had total faith that their medics would never need my assistance, to which he replied, “You never know, the guy lying on the ground, screaming and bleeding, might just be your medic.”

posted by John D at 19:56  

Thursday, November 30, 2006

Hunting the Taliban in Winter

near-death.jpg

 

This is the cliff, and there is the ledge

posted by John D at 16:34  

Thursday, November 30, 2006

Operation Mountain Terror

27 Nov

 

As the light was fading and the skies filled with heavy grey clouds, a convoy from 4-25 Field Artillery, made up of elements borrowed from 1-32 Infantry, with a whole lot of ANA loaded in to pick-ups, pulled into Firebase Wilderness to collect me. It was a mission I had known about for a few days and had desperately been trying to get onto. It was officially a different unit than those I was attached to, but the guys in charge at Wilderness were great and organised the whole thing for me. Of course I wasn’t counting on it until I was actually sitting in a vehicle, as often something breaks down or some other type of Snafu (Situation Normal, All Fucked Up – an old WWII expression that I have heard out here a surprising number of times) would leave me sitting watching them roll by.

 

I’m still not allowed to talk about some of the mission but I will give you as much detail as I can. One of the main objectives was to travel over some very rough terrain, over a high mountain pass, and to arrive in a village with the element of surprise, and to conduct a search and destroy operation for arms caches. This village is extremely isolated and the last time the Americans were there was two years ago, and it was an air assault operation, meaning they went in by helicopter. We however, had to drive in, with the weather conditions getting worse by the hour. Due to intelligence received, the Americans believed that there were a number of caches in the area, and that these arms dumps were being used in the manufacture of IEDs, which are a huge threat in this AO (Area of Operation).

 

I was only going for a few days, but I knew it was going to be tough in the mountains, so I pack all the “snivel gear” I had, i.e. sleeping bags, warm clothes, and lots of sugary snacks to carry in my pouches and pockets. I left my laptop and Satellite phone at Wilderness, as I wouldn’t be allowed to transmit photos during an ongoing operation.

 

As soon as the rolled in I grabbed my kit and headed out to the loading area. Colonel Kaiser introduced me to the Sergeant that I would be riding with, and I was directed to a vehicle to load my bag. The Humvee was already stuffed to overflowing, so the bag was shoved in beside the seat where I was to sit. In the back of a Humvee, there are two seats, with a flat space in the middle for the top-gunner to stand on. This means that you have a pair of legs beside you, but he needs plenty of room in order to move around and be able to identify and challenge any threats, be they suicide car bombs, IEDs, gunmen on the hills attempting an ambush, and a whole host of other risks. The upshot is that you want him to be as unrestricted as possible, because he is essentially your early warning system to any danger. So I had to try and pull my bag almost into my lap, which is incredibly uncomfortable considering how squashed I already was. Bear in mind that I was wearing my body armour over a heavy fleece, plus my harness with two pouches on either side and my big camping/survival knife, a combat first-aid kit and a multi-tool strapped onto my front for easy access, my Camel-Back holding water, spare rations and smokes on my back, plus a helmet, protective ballistic glasses, and protective flash-burn gloves. Both pockets of my combats were packed with extra kit, I was wearing knee-pads as shin guards to avoid the bruises you get from bashing against the metal bar behind the drivers seat, and all in all I felt like an over-stuffed turkey. Oh, and of course I was carrying two big heavy cameras. It is almost impossible to squeeze into the back seat with all this kit, and you then have to try and put on a seat belt, while barely being able to turn. You also have to use the fucking “Combat lock” in a Humvee, which entails pulling hard and turning a bit awkward piece of metal, which is more difficult again if you are sitting on the left side behind the driver, which of course I was. This door was particularly fucked, so the driver would have to push on it from the outside in order to let me lock it. Great! At

least I could open  it, which was definitely going to be useful if we had a TIC (Troops in Contact - firefight) or rolled over. The idea of the small knife on my front was so that I could cut the seat belt if we rolled over, or the vehicle caught fire during a contact. Now I had to pull my bag over as close to me as possible, so my travelling conditions basically fucking sucked!!!

 

There was some standing around while the commanders of the convoy talked to the commanders at Wilderness, so I kept out of the vehicle for as long as possible. I introduced myself to some of the soldiers I would be travelling with, but I didn’t get a very warm welcome. Not rude, but not welcoming either. (Later in the day I found out why – they had been told they were picking up a hot chick, and so they had all been expecting some Barbie Doll reporter, and instead they got smelly, hairy-arsed old me – I would have been pissed off too!)

 

Some of the guys from A and O Platoon came down to see me off, which was cool. They told me to “stay safe”, the ubiquitous send off out here, and not to get shot. I told them that was exactly my plan, and promised to see them in a few days. It was a strange feeling saying goodbye to friends I have known for so short a time, and yet to have such genuine feeling in a farewell. The problem here is that, although no-one will admit it, there is a fear every time someone goes out the gate and beyond the relative safety of the wire that you just might not see them again, alive. Since I’ve been here there have been several Americans killed, and the point is that there is no such thing as a “routine patrol.” 

 

So, we started off on our trek, with a guide from 2nd Platoon for part of the way. Turned out I was in the lead vehicle for the convoy, which meant that once our guides left us, I would be in the vehicle most likely to get hit by any IED or ambush in place for us. I’ve heard so many horror stories about IEDs now, that you catch yourself constantly scanning the side of the roads, and considering what will happen if you get hit. I even found myself keeping my arms by my side rather than holding the bar over the drivers seat, because if an IED hit the drivers door and my arm was close, I might lose it, whereas if I was in a smaller space in the back I might survive. This of course is ridiculous, and I know that, rationally, but still I did it.

 

It started to get dark as we turned off the main road and headed into the mountains, and when our guide told us we were now on our own, it was pitch black. We were driving with “white light,” headlights, which meant we were light up like a Christmas tree, and easily spotted by anyone waiting for us. As we climbed higher into the mountains, the road dropped off to our left or right, and sometimes both simultaneously. Driving on these roads is a test of anyone’s bravery and nerves at the best of times, but when you are waiting for an attack as well it is just horrible. But the soldiers have no choice, so they just get on with it. It is also a slow process, as each tight turn or narrow pass is a possible disaster, so there is lots of dismounting and guiding the vehicles through the more challenging spots.

 

Soon enough the snow that had been promised all day by the sky arrived. It turned in to a blizzard quickly, and that was when we met not one, not two, not three, but four Jingle trucks on the narrow single lane track. These Jingle trucks are all over the country, usually stacked way beyond any safe capacity with firewood or some other commodity, painted like a fairground ride and with hundreds of jingling chains, bells, or other bits of metal rattling on it. It is a modern miracle that these trucks can move at all, let alone make it up into a pass like the one we were on.

 

We now faced the equivalent of a Mexican standoff, where nobody wants to give way. As I explained before, it becomes a matter of pride with the Afghans, and they will sit and argue for hours about who should move rather than get on with it and take a logical solution. However, the military has big guns, so that helps to move the situation along somewhat. Still, with the snowing and wind howling around us, it took over two hours to get these four trucks moved back to passing points so that the convoy could continue on our way. The soldiers were the epitome of patience though, and explained to me that they have done this so many times that they don’t get frustrated anymore, and just talk through each mini-shura that is required to resolve the situation.

 

As soon as we got started moving again, I noticed that the road was now sparkling like diamonds in the headlights. Great, we now had ice on these already treacherous roads. We struggled on, and soon enough we reached the summit, 8,020 feet, and more Jingle trucks. This time we had a bit of luck, as there were two roads, briefly. Because the slope is so extreme in places, whoever built these roads created alternative ascent and descent sections. This means that if you are climbing with a heavy load you can take the longer winding but shallower route, and on the descent you can take a stepper quicker option. So, we stacked up the Jingle trucks in the climbing section, and then continued down the track.

 

Eventually we arrived at the bottom, and pulled into the town that we were to “overwatch” for the night, and then search the next day. This town is a known supporter of Haqqani, and in fact we spotted a house flying his flag as we drove in. No doubt it would be gone in the morning. We drove on until we reached the planned location for our “Patrol Base,” which is where the vehicles are parked in a defensive position and the troops bed down inside the perimeter. This is much the same as I had experienced in April/May with the Canadian Recce guys I was embedded with, so I expected a quick meal, and then bed, in the dark and cold. What I wasn’t prepared for was the ANA’s attitude to this situation. Before the US vehicles were in a defensive perimeter the ANA had started 3 or 4 fires, and were preparing meals and beds by the blazing flames. So much for subtlety.

 

As any element of surprise was now gone, the Americans also started their own fires, and soon the place resembled a big camp-put, except that there were soldiers still standing in turrets manning .50 calibre machine guns as force protection. I huddled close to a fire as the snow continued to fall, and I have to admit although I was well aware of the dangers surrounding us and the vulnerability of our position, I enjoyed the wildness of it all. So it seemed did many of the men, and they described a lot of their recent missions as adventures. Around the fires darker stories were also told, many of comrades injured or killed in operation in Afghanistan, or in Iraq, where many of these guys have served. The general consensus was that now that winter had arrived properly, most of the Taliban that they were seeking had already left this area and would not be back until spring, as has historically happened in this fight.

 

Many soldiers spoke of their fear as we drove over the pass, and they were relieved and amazed to have arrived safely. They spoke about the prayers they said, and of the lucky talismans that all soldiers seem to carry. I was told about their kids, many of them newborn while their fathers were in Afghanistan, and of beautiful wives and girlfriends waiting at home.

 

Most of the soldiers planned to sleep in their vehicles, some out of desire for warmth over comfort, others glad of the protection that the armour offered. I am too old to sleep scrunched up in a bloody Humvee, so I decided to take my chances out on the ground. This was what all my planning was for, and I had what I believed was all the necessary equipment to sleep out in the snow storm. If not, I would soon find out. I pulled out my Gore-Tex, breathable bivvy bag, which is basically a water-proof outer sleeping bag. Into that went both my sleeping bags. I found a spot behind my assigned Humvee, close to our fire, and cleared the bigger rocks to make a sleeping space. I laid out my sleeping mat, and then my bivvy bag with sleeping bags inside. Trying to get into it was going to be difficult without getting a whole lot of snow in there as well, so I pulled my poncho out of my pocket and used it as a shelter while I pulled of my boots and climbed inside. Or I should say wriggled inside, as there was not much space, because I was fully clothed. I was wearing top and bottom thermal underwear (which I have been wearing for about 2 weeks now – phew), then combat trousers, thermal socks, a long sleeved top, a fleece, and an outer Snug-Pak super warm, wool lined shell, plus a neck warmer and woolly hat. The bivvy bag is designed to pull over the top of your head to protect you if it rains or snows, so that was pulled up, and then I placed the poncho over all of that and my boots. In about 10 seconds flat I was fucking baking!

I tried to settle down to sleep, but I couldn’t help snatching more than a few peeks out at the orange glow filled camp-site, and thinking I am so lucky to be able to have these experiences, however dangerous they are. The scene was beautiful, and with all the snow and firelight, I couldn’t help thinking of Christmas at home with my girlfriend, and friends and family. I am so looking forward to it, and I felt sorry that these guys couldn’t look forward to that, and a little guilty too, but it was those comforting thoughts of home that helped me off to sleep.

 

28 Nov

 

I woke up a few times in the night to the sounds of howling (a form of coyote I am told) and then at around 6am I awoke properly, shivering. Apparently sleeping bags can only hold your body heat for so long, and I had reached my limit. I poked my head out, and now it really was a “Winter Wonderland” Christmas scene. I was buried in snow, as was everything around me, including vehicles, and the wood we had been burning. Some fires had been kept burning, but ours had gone out. There was now no point in trying to sleep again, so I got up, dug out my boots, and prepared for my day. I have learned from my friends in Recce that the first thing you do in this situation is pack up your bed, as we could be attacked and have to move at any moment, so I shook everything out and packed up my bag. Then it was time for breakfast, so I fished out some tasty “Pop-Tarts” from my pack, and headed over to one of the bigger fires. This turned out to belong to the ETT (Embedded Training Teams) guys, and they were welcoming and friendly. These guys are tasked with training the ANA from the inside, and it is not an enviable job. Also, they are National Guard, which means that they have left real jobs behind to do this, and they are all volunteers. They were boiling water for coffee and hot chocolate, and invited me to join them. I had a mug hanging off my bag, so after I grabbed it I sat down with them for breakfast. They were an interesting mix, as the experience from the outside world brings skills that might not be expected in the military. They are also older than a lot of the soldiers, and there was a maturity in their discussion of Afghanistan around the fire that was heartening. One of the guys had been shot twice in a TIC, in the ear, and straight through the thigh, and the guys teased him about it. Apparently getting shot in the head means you should keep down, and the bullet in the leg missed the bone and a guaranteed ticket home, so they said he moved too slow to get a proper injury. These guys were close, and you could tell they were used to being outside the wire a lot, as they had cots to sleep on beside the fire, large stones making up their fire circle to retain the heat, and a flat stone to heat water in mugs and rations on. Also, they had beef hotdogs, and they offered some to me. It was great to have some real food, and the coffee/hot chocolate mix was a great start to the day.

 

As the morning broke properly, villagers started to come down to our patrol base. As always, it was the kids first, and they began their chorus of requests, for pens, radios, blankets, and anything else that might be on offer. As the older men arrived, it was clear they intended to have a Shura, and so an ANA campfire on the edge of the camp was selected. The elders arrived and seated themselves around the fire, and the discussions began, amidst the snow flurries. The ANA commander took the lead, and the talks concentrated on weapons caches. They wanted to give the villagers a chance to bring out any old or hoarded weapons rather than conduct a house to house search, and the villagers seemed to be keen to cooperate. Soon they were on their way, and not long after that the explosives and old ammunitions started to be brought in.

 

In the meantime other ANA soldiers had food on their minds, and so they had purchased two goats from the locals. Without much ado they were slaughtered, and according to Halal requirements this was done by cutting their throats. I hadn’t seen this done before, and I asked if I would offend anyone by photographing it. The ANA, like all Afghans it seems, love having their photo taken, so it was no problem. A shovel was produced to dig a hole in the ground for the blood, the goat was hauled into position, and numerous knives were offered by the gathered US soldiers to perform the actual slaughter. One of them even had an “Operation Iraqi Freedom” inscribed K-Bar knife, which was used for some of the process. The whole thing was surprisingly quick, with less blood then one would imagine, and as soon as the head was off, the skinning began. Within half an hour there were two separate goats bubbling away in huge cooking pots. I did get to try some, and it was delicious.

 

Then I heard “McHugh” being called across the camp, and my squad were getting ready to move out. We were heading to some coordinates outside the village, high up again, to search for some caves. I loaded up, and off we went. The snow was falling heavily again, and driving through the wadi and along the dirt tracks was torturously slow. In due course we got to a point where we could drive no further, and so it was decided to send out a dismounted patrol while the rest stayed with the vehicles. Stupid here was determined to go on the patrol, and unfortunately they let me. How many times do I have to climb up a big rock in body armour before I learn my lesson?

 

Anyway, off we went, puffing and panting to try and get some oxygen out of the thin, high altitude, air. Forget looking out for booby traps, IEDs, or an ambush, I was just concentrating on getting one foot in front of the other. The snow had made the rocky footing even more treacherous than it would have normally been, and visibility was pretty bad. Still, we pressed on, and soon we were moving in silence, spread out to try and avoid multiple injuries should we get into a contact.

 

The photos I took during this time were so atmospheric, some of the best I have gotten out here. Check out www.gettyimages.com, click news, and then search mchugh to see them. These units are all part of 10th Mountain Division, and they started of in the snowy mountains in Colorado, and then went on to some of their most intense fighting in the Italian Alps during WWII. This is also why all the big operations this year have had names like “Mountain Fury”, “Mountain Thrust” and “Mountain Lion.”

 

We went a couple of kilometres, and the going just got worse. We were now using our hands to steady us, and everyone agreed we should have snow-spikes on our boots for this terrain. Finally we reached a point where we had to walk along a ledge on a cliff, with at least 150ft drop to the rocky 

bottom, and I started to think this was getting ridiculously dangerous. We had moved maybe 50 ft along this ledge, when the lead Sergeant came to the same conclusion and said we should turn back. He warned everyone to be careful, as the ledge would be icy on our return. I was second in the lead on the way over, which meant I was second from last to return with a Sergeant in front, and the lead Sergeant behind me. I had slung my cameras behind me long ago, to stop them swinging around and throwing me off balance, and as I inched along the ledge, I was using both hands to try and hold onto the rock face. It was really slippery, and I shouted out that I hadn’t signed up for this shit. The Sergeant in front of me started shouting back, “Where else in the world would you have the opportunity to……………………….” And then I fucking slipped.

 

It was like slow motion. I could feel myself go, and I just couldn’t stop it. So many thoughts flashed through my head that it would take hours to write them out. One of the biggest was the thought that whatever about getting shot, blown up, or even captured by the Taliban, I was not prepared to fucking die falling off a cliff. I tried to grab onto a branch nearby, but my hands were too cold to grip it properly. As I started to slide down I could here the Sergeant behind me shout as I scrabbled at rocks, but the whole bloody thing was shale, loose rocks that kept pulling out of the cliff. I really though I was going to die, and then my right knee-cap crashed down on a sticking out rock, and while the pain exploded in my brain it gave me just enough time to grab a rock with my right hand and a root with my left, and thankfully both held. I stopped descending, and then the other Sergeant shouted to me to hold on. I didn’t dare move, and was just trying to catch my breath as my heart almost beat its way out of my chest, and as I tried to find some footing, I felt a hand grab the handle on the top of my Camel-Back. The Sergeant started to pull, and I shouted to “fucking hold on” as I was afraid he would dislodge me. Slowly we worked together to get me back up on the ledge, and I can tell you, I was shaking like a leaf. Very, very slowly, I crept back along the rest of the way, while the Sergeant behind me tried to find a safer route. Once back on solid ground, I had to sit down. Everyone asked me if I was alright, and with the usual stupid male bravado I assured them I was fine, but I was trembling as I light a cigarette. The Sergeant leading the Patrol made it back, and he said he was glad I made it, as it would have been a real pain in the ass the have to try and recover my body from down there. The black humour made me laugh, but inside I was horrified at how close I had come to dying.

 

We moved slowly back down the mountain, with everyone now being very careful. There were a few more jokes, and a lot more smokes, but we made it down safely. The Humvees were still waiting for us, and we climbed in to make our way back to the patrol base. Getting into the vehicle made me realise just how painful my knee was, and being bunched up in the back didn’t help. Within a few minutes the Humvee was stuck, having slipped going down a slope, and everyone except the driver had to dismount, in case of a roll-over. I could barely move my knee, and looked like an old man hobbling around. Thankfully, the Humvee had an excellent driver, who also didn’t want it to roll, and he freed it up and navigated it down the harsh conditions. We loaded up again, and by the time we were back at the base my knee was stiffening up nicely. I took some of the painkillers I carry in my first-aid kit, and one of the medics had a look at it. It was bruised, cut, and swollen, but he didn’t think it was dislocated or broken. I used some snow and a plastic bag to make an ice press, and I found a seat with my friends from ETT to rest on.

 

Later I begged a cot (folding canvas bed) to sleep on, and laid out all my bedding ready for another cold night. I was still in a lot of pain, so I retired early. I was annoyed to be missing all the great stories that are inevitably told around campfires, but I wanted the sweet pain-free bliss of sleep. My preparations were the same as before, but I was aware that tonight was even colder.

 

I slept in fits and starts during the night which, as anyone who knows me will agree, is most unusual. It was freezing, and each time I peeked out it was snowing heavily.

 

29 Nov

 

I noticed during the night that my sleeping bags were wet, but just tried to ignore it and sleep, and in the morning I found out why. Once I opened the top drawstrings of my sleeping and bivvy bags, I discovered that the outside of my bivvy was covered in a layer of frozen snow and ice. Apparently my breathable Gore-Tex is not breathable when frozen. I noticed later that some of the other soldiers were already aware of this, and so some had set their cots beside fires, while others had rigged their ponchos up above as shelters, thereby keeping the snow off and staying dry. The wet sleeping bags were down to my perspiration during the night.

 

Breakfast was with the guys from ETT, and again they shared their coffee, hot chocolate, and beef hotdogs. They also shared stories, and I didn’t feel so bad about missing out on last night. One particular story told by one of the stories is great, and I hope he won’t mind if I retell it.

 

He was dating a Turkish girl that had moved to the States with her family years ago, when he was in high school. Her dad was some sort of highup priest / religious figure, and was very protective of her. Her mother knew she was seeing this guy, but her dad most certainly did not. So one day the guy turns up at the house to meet her, not knowing that Dad is at home. Dad answers the door, guy splutters some “We’re just friends” story, and Dad invites him to join them for a day of rounding up lambs. Guy says yes, unaware that rounding up also includes slaughtering them, just like the Afghans do. So, guy and Dad hang up first lamb by his hind legs, Dad takes large knife, and stares guy straight in the eye while he slowly slits the lamb’s throat. Guy split up with girl shortly afterwards.

 

After breakfast we prepared to move out, back across the mountain pass. My vehicle was lead, again, and the plan was we would recce the route and make sure it was safe for everyone else. Climbing the mountain was tricky, as it was still early and the snow on the road hadn’t yet been touched by the sun, so was nowhere near to melting. We slipped and slid our way to the top, and at the top we meet a crowd of Afghans walking towards us. Their Jingle truck had slid almost off the track, and they were finished trying to go anywhere until the snow melted. We however, did not have that luxury, and so we had to go on. Minutes later we slid about 20 feet down an icy slope, and so it was decided to put on snow chains. When this was told to those behind us in the convoy, the message came back that chains were not needed, which was strange seeing as those making this assessment had not yet reached the dangerous. The Sergeant commanding our vehicle, the same lead Sergeant as the cliff patrol, said that it was his call, and so we WERE going to use chains. As he said this, the ANA pick-up behind us slid down the slope and nearly hit us, followed by a Humvee that came around the corner and also slid down towards us. It was a scary couple of minutes, and I was sure I was going to see a vehicle go over the side. With the chains on, our Humvee was guided all the way down by the Sergeant, while I walked alongside, just in case. I’ve had enough of near death experiences for a while.

 

This raises the issue of death in theatre as opposed to death in combat. There have been several deaths recently from roll-overs in Afghanistan, but I’m not sure that everyone understands how these “accidents” occur. The fact is that in combat operations these soldiers are asked to carry out actions that no sane person would even consider in day to day life, and they have no choice but to carry them out. This puts them in great danger, like our slip slide incident down a track with at least a 500ft drop off, and it does lead to injuries, and deaths. It is very sad, but should be recognised as a death while carry out their duty, and not written off as unfortunate accidents.

 

The convoy dropped me off at the gate at Wilderness, and I hobbled in. The A and O guys came down to greet me, and laughed their asses off when they heard my story. It’s the usual black humour that you experience out here, and I was glad someone could laugh about it. The rest of the day was spent trying to dry out my bedding, seeing the medic to get painkillers, retelling my story to all who asked, and going to a nice cot inside an almost warm tent, and getting some early sleep. I dreamed of falling off a cliff over and over again, but I was too tired to move enough to even fall out of my cot.

 

John D

 

posted by John D at 16:22  

Monday, November 27, 2006

I’m sooooo cold

HA Drop

 

24 Nov

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

25 Nov

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

26 Nov

 

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

 

27 Nov

 

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

 

John D

 

   

 

 

 

posted by John D at 12:00  

Sunday, November 26, 2006

Thanksgiving

22 Nov

 

Strength and Skill is the Battalion’s motto, and a phrase you often hear here. It is used to open the online daily briefinging that the commanders use, and in many other ways, although one of the more unusual was when one of the guys was busting the balls of someone else, and accused him of “not showing enough Strength and Skill.”

 

Hoo-ah and Roger that are also used constantly. Hoo-ah is a phrase I am familiar with from movies, but I didn’t realise just how much it is used. Yes, good, let’s go, are we agreed, are just some of the words and phrases replaced by Hoo-ah, followed closely by the radio terminology Roger that! For those of you that encounter me soon after my return, expect to her these often. Hoo-ah???

 

I had breakfast with Assault and Obstacle Platoon this morning, in the salubrious surrounding that is their tent. The canvas tent had leaked during the torrential rain last night (again), and all their kit was hanging from the supports, in an attempt to dry it out. Sitting around a wood burning stove that has a tendency to build up pressure and blow out occasional flames, breakfast was a relaxed affair broken up by the requirement to jump backwards when the fire burst out of the stove unexpectedly and briefly. They have a coffee machine, and are happy to share, even with a reporter, for which I am most grateful. It is still bloody cold here and a hot coffee with breakfast helps to get the system going. They are mostly young guys, who miss and talk about their wives, girlfriends and families constantly, and they are just counting off the last 3 months of their tour. Two guys in the tent having breakfast with me have been IEDed and survived, and all they want now is to get home. They have been in several TICs, and are now building a Firebase in the middle of a hostile anti-coalition militia (ACM) area.

 

One of the tasks that seem (unfairly) to fall to A and O Platoon is burning the drums of shit that are the makeshift toilets. (Those with a delicate stomach may wish to skip to the next paragraph) This has got to be the worst job in the world. The shitters here are made up of closed in cubicles constructed out of wire and felt, with a half oil barrel to crap in. There is a wooden frame to sit on, but they ran out of wood during construction, with the result that you end up balancing on a piece of 2 x 4 timber. The frame is slightly too high so in order to aim correctly you have your legs dangling in mid air, making you feel like a child, while praying that you don’t loose your balance and fall backwards into the barrel. Getting rid of this waste is done in the time honoured military fashion; fdragging out the barrels, pouring in fuel, and setting it alight. Then you have to stir it with the longest piece of wood or metal you can find, while trying not to breathe in the disgusting fumes of petrol/shit.

 

Then the rest of the guys are onvce again on sandbag filling duties. This is a laborious task that all soldiers hate, and yet they know that it is al important for their safety. Digging, holding, filling, and trying the bags are rotated to ease the strain, and hauling is carried out once enough sandbags are ready. Building a sandbag wall is a far more complex project than I had imagined, and if not done right a Sergeant will think nothing of knocking it over and ordering it done again.

 

Later in the day A and O Platoon were going out on a combat patrol, and asked if I wanted to join them. This is an extremely dangerous area, with IEDs the biggest threat, so they asked me a couple of times if I understood just how dangerous it was. I joined the convoy briefing, which ended with the threat level analysis, “which as usual is very fucking high.” Everyone was keyed up and the tension was palpable. I travelled with the Lieutenant in command, and I noticed that the vehicle had a stuffed dog in between driver and commander. The dog had a “10th Mountain Division” shoulder patch, and the driver constantly rubbed his tail, for good luck. The driver also had a photo of his wife and newborn baby stuck to the windshield, which he touched constantly.

 

We got to our destination unscathed, and we had a quick stop while some tasks were performed. I shot a picture of one of the soldiers loosening his helmet strap, and he rushed over to me. Apparently that photo would constitute him being “out of correct uniform” and he could get in trouble, he told me. I thought he was kidding, after all, we’re in the middle of a fucking warzone and people have better things to worry about, but no, he was deadly serious. The guys were telling me about all the rules regarding what outer wear can be worn in certain conditions, the correct way to wear a woolly hat, and that they have to shave every day. I almost felt guilty abut looking so scruffy. The funny thing is, they are filthy, and some of their uniforms are falling apart. They say it is just due to the extreme condition they are working in. I have also noticed purple t-shirts, which I thought were some radical anti-uniform backlash, but it turns out that their strong bleach is turning army-issue brown combat t-shirts into psychedelic purple.

 

We made it back in time for soup and hot coffee, and the guys invited me to join them in the morning for their Thanksgiving celebrations. They were quite mysterious about it, but I said I’d be there.

 

Late in the night, when I was tucked up snug as a bug in a rug, asleep inside my two sleeping bags, I was woken by two HUGE explosions. This time I didn’t even bother unzipping my bags. If it was important, someone would come get me.

 

 

23 Nov

 

The following is a short piece I wrote for AFP, but I don’t think they used it.

 

“We got sausage and we got cheese. Happy Thanksgiving!” These were the words of Lieutenant Sweatt to the men of Assault and Obstacle Platoon, Alpha Company, 3rd Brigade Special Troops Battalion, 10th Mountain Division. The men, who had been filling and hauling sandbags for most of the morning, had crowded around the wood burning pot-bellied stove in their canvas tent. With a dirt floor, and only sleeping cots for seats, the setting was not exactly full of festive cheer, but the soldiers were in high spirits nonetheless.

 

Baby Genoa Salami, Italian sausage, pepperoni, sweet sausage, provolone cheese, Jarlsberg, cheese nips, and pretzels were produced from various bags, and shared out quickly. The fare had been hoarded from various care packages, with a large amount coming from the Lieutenant’s Grandmother in New Jersey.

 

A cardboard ration box was cut into a long tray, and combat knives were used to slice up the sausage and cheese. Wasting no time, the very same knives were used to spear the food and then delivered to waiting mouths. Some heated the meat on the side of the stove that was filling the tent with smoke, and one soldier even placed his blade into the flames to prepare his meal, while others wolfed their share down straight from the improvised table.

 

With Country and Western music playing from an iPod and speakers in the background, the soldiers told stories of previous Thanksgivings, and speculated on what their families and friends would be doing this year.

 

“All we need now is some beer and the football on the TV,” one sapper said, and there was a chorus of approval.

 

Before long, the meal and breaktime were over, and it was back to their sandbagging duties. The platoon is part of the contingent tasked with constructing Firebase Wilderness, a new US Firebase in Paktia province. Less than a week old, the base has been a flurry of excavation and building, and has risen from the mountain side rapidly.

 

Some hours later the troops of the camp were called together for a non-denominational Thanksgiving service, led by Chaplin Lospanes, a Catholic priest attached to the Battalion. Lieutenant Colonel Richard Kaiser then spoke to the assembled men and women, and asked them to reflect on all they had to be thankful for. He compared the work they were doing at Firebase Wilderness to the overall job in Afghanistan, and said that each task they completed contributed to the overall improvement of the country. He told them to be proud of their achievements thus far, and to strive for more.

 

Then it was down to the Thanksgiving dinner provided by the Army, with Turkey, Cranberry sauce, and stuffing all served up hot from the containers that they had been transported in from Forward Operating Base Gardez earlier in the day. As is traditional, the Senior Officers and Non-Commissioned Officers served the troops before getting their own share, and there was plenty to go around. With cardboard trays and plastic cutlery, sitting in the dirt or on sandbags, the food was eagerly eaten up. But for the men of Assault and Obstacle Platoon, it ran a poor second to their earlier sausage and cheese Thanksgiving feast in a cold tent, high in the mountains of Afghanistan.

posted by John D at 11:32  

Wednesday, November 22, 2006

Westside

 

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

 

 John D

 

posted by John D at 19:15  

Sunday, November 19, 2006

My cunning disguise

jdm-pakol-lr.jpg 

posted by John D at 16:26  

Sunday, November 19, 2006

White knuckle ride

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

posted by John D at 16:17  
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