John D McHugh

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

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

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

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

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

John D

Hi all,

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

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

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

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

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

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

15^th Nov

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hi everyone,

I’ve been very busy since I last wrote, so I’ll try to get you all up to date. Late Wednesday, 8^th Nov, night I travelled out of Masum Gar on a convoy to a “Strongpoint,” which is basically a fortified position, on the plain which Masum Gar overlooks. This is where the heavy fighting in Operation Medusa took place, and there are several Strongpoints on the Plain. The coalition is building a road through this plain as part of its reconstruction plan, improving life for the locals, and it is constantly being attacked by the Taliban. We travelled out in a convoy of Light Armoured Vehicles (LAVs), after dark, and soon I was setting up my sleeping quarters in the middle of a battlefield. As usual I can’t say much about the place I stayed for security reasons, except that it is called Club Z, a very sarcastic reference to the sun and sand holiday company Club Med. As soon as I arrived I was run through the procedures that I should follow in case of attack. Mortar fire is the usual danger in this area, so the trick is to get down low and stay down until the shrapnel stops flying. I was sleeping beside a LAV, outside on a cot, so I should be safe unless we took a direct hit. My position did have one drawback; I was right under the 25mm cannon on the LAV, which is an extraordinarily loud gun when it starts firing. I was convinced that if we were attacked when I was asleep and it started firing over my head, I would be dead from fright long before any real danger reached me.

I spent a few hours talking to the guys at my position, and I started to get a better idea of how the war is affecting these Canadians. Every single guy here had been in full-on fighting, and all of them had killed Taliban. In fact most of them talked of killing “many” anti-coalition fighters. I heard extremely grim accounts of how the body reacts to being hit with various types of ammunition, and none of them sounded pleasant. Suffice to say that these guys telling the sort of stories that would make most people sick. The thing that struck me most was the matter of fact way they talked about it. I never once asked about the killing, it was just something that kept coming into conversation. And I don’t believe anyone was boasting about it, it was more like a group therapy session. One guy would mention a particular incident, and then someone else would say, “Oh yeah, that’s where xxx happened.” Their Sergeant talked about a bok I have read, “On Killing,” written my a military shrink about the stages that a person goes through after killing someone. This Sgt. Said that he started going to the stages, but the feeling horrified stage just never took hold. He told me that having been under mortar, RPG, and machine gun fire from the Taliban for so long, and having had friends killed, he and his men were just glad to get a chance to fight back, and that the more Taliban they the killed, the less other Canadians would have to face. The other thing that struck me is that everyone I am meeting now has lost a friend, either killed or wounded. And a lot of guys I talk to are saying that they will sign up to come back here. Their attitude seems to be “We’ve been battle tested now, we’re blooded, and we’re prepared to see it through.” I’m meeting more and more guys who are getting very serious about this war. The whole attitude has changed from my last trip, and I fully expect to run into a lot of these guys again.

During the night I froze my ass off again. I am now getting roughly half an hour’s sleep before I wake up from the shivering, fall back asleep after a while, then wake up half an hour later. It means I am getting tired during the day, and taking more cat-naps. As soon as I get somewhere to buy a new sleeping bag I am going to get the biggest warmest thing they have, and fuck the price!!!

Thankfully the 25mm didn’t go off over my head in the night, and it was up at stupid O’Clock to travel further.

I arrived at my next Forward Operating Base only to discover that nobody there expected me. I met up with the people running the Command Post (CP) and they told me to hang around until the Commander turned up and he could decide what to do with me. Didn’t sound very promising, especially when one of the officers there told me that the CO didn’t like the media.

So I kicked my heels at yet another FOB, but this one was so small that I couldn’t really take any pictures at all without giving away some security features. This place has been attacked constantly, and there are the the scars of fighting all around. I am becoming very familiar with the different damage that mortars, RPGs, and machine gun fire can do, both to humans and to buildings. The one bright point about the camp was that they had a little puppy, who was the cutest thing I’d seen in a long while. The soldiers were all feeding him their food though, so he was spoiled rotten. He was a playful little devil, but I just couldn’t get a picture of him as he was scampering around so much.

When the OC came back I was introduced and he asked me straight out what I wanted from him. He wasn’t rude, but just direct. He had lots of people who wanted his time, and I obviously wasn’t going to get much of it. I decided if he was a straight talker, then I wouldn’t mince my words either, and said I just wanted to get into the middle of the shit-storm so that I could show people what the real situation was like in this area. He asked me if I didn’t know that all the fighting was finished in that area, or at least that was what people seemed to think, and I realised that he was annoyed at the media for abandoning the story after the big Op Medusa finished, and not staying to cover the day to day fighting. I explained that I knew the big battle was over, but I also knew the war was still going, and I explained my frustration at watching it from Masum Gar when I should be in the middle of it. So he said “Alright, if you want to get into the thick of it, I’ll put you there.”

Next thing I knew we were racing through the fine powdery sand in a convoy, and I mean racing. The soldiers in this area are regularly hit with IEDs, and in fact as I was talking to the CO at the camp we heard one explode just outside the base, hitting a civilian vehicle. So these guys take no chances and move as fast as possible, veering all over the place and stopping for nothing.

We stopped of at a different Strongpoint to deliver some supplies, and shortly after that I arrived at our destination. This strongpoint was a real eye opener to me, as it was like something out of a Vietnam movie, or even World War I. The whole place was sandbags and trenches, and it must have taken a huge amount of work to construct it. It was more of a fortified fighting position than a base. When I arrived there was double reason for joy at the Strongpoint, as they had run out of sandbags to fill, hence less backbreaking work, and the convoy had just brought them their first fresh food since 19^th October. After I found a place in the sand to sleep (no bunks here), I had a chat with the Platoon Commander. These guys have also seen a hell of a lot of fighting in the last 3 months, and they are becoming hardened. They are attacked regularly, but were keen to point out that they attack as often if not more than they are attacked. They do not have a siege mentality in their fortified positions, and are constantly asking for clearance to get out and engae their enemy. The Captain in charge was a friendly guy, as are all these Canadians, and he ran me through the by now very familiar procedures on attack. Again, mortars seemed to be the Taliban’s favourite method of attack. He introduced me to the Sgt Maj., who laid down the ground-rules (which essentially were don’t do anything stupid or dangerous, and don’t be a pain in the ass to the men), and then I was shown around. As I said, this place was straight out of Apocalypse Now, and every photograph I took looked to me like an old war photo. So I decided to send a whole lot of them in black and white, as befitted the style of the place. Unfortunately they don’t seem to be on Getty Images website, but I’ll try to get a gallery up on my site soon.

As I was being shown around there were regular explosion at various distances, but no-one seemed perturbed by them so I tried to ignore them. It is surprising how quickly I have become used to hearing gunfire, mortars, and artillery without flinching. Between strikes on “suspect movement” and “test firing” there are guns shooting and explosions going off frequently.

Everyone was friendly at the position, although I’m sure the fact that they had just had fresh food was more the reason than seeing “reporter.” I find that even the friendliest guys out here are wary of the media, but when they hear I am a photographer it usually alleviate s their fears of me. (Which is why I don’t name people in this email / blog.) Anyway, I wandered around shooting this “war zone that time forgot” and got some really great stuff. Not bang-bang fighting stuff, but guys sitting in the dirt, just living their lives in very difficult conditions. And then there was the care package, sent from a school in Stittsville, Ontario, which included lots of treats for the soldiers, and letters from the 14 and 15 year olds. I read a couple, and I swear, you couldn’t make this stuff up. There were prayers for the soldiers and their families, thanks that these guys were fighting so the letter writer’s friends didn’t have to, and fears that this war would still be going on for years. I really felt I was witnessing a whole country come to terms with the situation it finds itself in, which again is very different from when I was here in April / May, when most Canadians still seemed to think it was a peace-keeping mission.

Eventually it was time to freeze, I mean sleep, and of course the night passed in small sections of sleep interspersed with long bouts of shivering and loud bangs. There were flares fired from mortars at various stages, and occasional gunshots in the distance. At around 1am there were some very loud explosions nearby, which I think actually shook me awake, but when I finally managed to open the top of my sleeping bag no-one else was moving around, so I figured it must be ok and just tried to get back to sleep. And that’s what these soldiers go through every night.

Hi everyone, 

First off I have to apologise for my last mail / post. Apparently most of you didn’t find it as amusing as I did writing it. I have no excuse, I am an idiot. 

Since then things have been busy. That night there was lots more artillery, firing illumination flares, and heavy explosive (HE) into Pashmul, which this FOB overlooks. Pashmul is where the heavy fighting in Operation Medusa took place recently, and it is still active. Yesterday morning I was up early to follow Chief of Land Staff General Leslie, the top dog, big boss of the Canadian Army. He arrived the previous nigh, which is why I haven’t been able to email or file photos, as it was deemed a bad idea to announce his presence. Fair play to the General, he slept outside on a cot in a sleeping bag just ike the rest of the troops, ate MREs, and drank the bad coffee. He spent hours yesterday walking up to the various Observation Posts to meet the soldiers stationed here, and I chased him around the whole place, which he didn’t mind at all. He spent a lot of time asking questions about possible improvements to equipment and issued kit, and the soldiers felt at ease enough to make some interesting suggestions. He then sat atop a peak and was talked through the story of the fighting while having the various locations pointed out to him. Boy, if a Taliban sniper had only known who the bloke on the hill was……… 

As usual I made up a CD with the pictures I had shot of him, and gave it to one of his staff. I always try to make sure that the people I have photographed out here get a copy, and the soldiers love it. They all have cameras, and some of them are pretty damn good with them, but usually they are too busy doing their job to get the really good stuff, which of course is them doing their jobs. So, the General was no exception, but he found the time to thank me personally, and insisted I shake his hand. In his hand he had concealed “The Commander’s Coin,” which only he can give, and tradition says it must be transferred through a handshake. So now it’s mine. It is a big hunk of metal, golden coloured, but not gold I’m sure, with red enamel, and has the Canadian Army’s emblem set in it, and pretty cool looking. He said it’s not worth anything, but if I’m ever in trouble and Canadian troops are there, show them the coin and they will take me in. I was impressed that he took the time to make this gesture, and I can see why all the soldiers and officers hold him in such high regard. We spent about 10 minutes talking about the importance of having embedded media with the military, and wanted to hear my thoughts, and I felt I was being mined for information too, just like the soldiers he spoke to. 

In the afternoon there was a contact (fighting) with the Taliban, or somebody, in Pashmul, and as soon as it came over the radio I rushed up to a vantage point to see what was going on. There had been small arms fire, and some possible mortars fired, and I was just in time to see the second of two 500lbs bombs being dropped on the suspected Taliban’s position. That pretty much stopped the fighting, as those bombs don’t leave many survivors. 

Then it was time for the barbecue. Every few days the camp gets in fresh food, and everyone gets some real food, and a huge morale boost. We had grilled chicken with spices, a hot dog with fresh bun, and some potato salad. It is amazing how something so ordinary can so suddenly seem so special. The soldiers all sat around eating and chatting, and even though everyone was wearing body armour and covered in sand and dust, you could have imagined yourself at the greatest party in the world. 

Later in the day I went back to one of the Observation Posts to photograph the guys at dusk. The light here is just amazing, and the sandy mountains turn the most stunning golden colour as the sun sets, turning to purple before the light dies. I tried shooting some stuff through the troops Night Vision Goggles (NVGs) but it is a nightmare. I ended up doing some slow exposure by the light of the almost full moon. Then we watched a jet fighter criss-cross the area of the earlier fighting. He dropped some flares, and then various bases started also firing illumination. It was a very pretty firework show. Then I had to face the walk back down the rock. There is still that viper around, and everyone is paranoid about it. The troops are pissed off, as they have been told they can’t shoot it if they see it, just get it with a shovel or their bayonet. And worse, there is no anti-venom available on base, so they have been told that if they get bitten they have to put a tourniquet on themselves and then they will be taken to hospital by helicopter. It seems unreasonable to them,. And walking down it seemed unreasonable to me too! 

I climbed into bed I the dark, and again had a crap nights sleep. A convoy came in to camp in the middle of the night, and when I woke I though I was being strangled. My inner lining moves inside my sleeping bag, and it is similar to trying to wrap yourself up in a tight sock, and then get comfortable. But it is really very cold at night, so I have no choice. 

This morning I was up early, 5:30am, and had breakfast with the same guys at the same OP. They have to man the post all night obviously, but it really must be cold up there, as it is very exposed to an extra wind chill factor. 

Then it was off on a patrol with the omelette guys. Well that’s what their called, but it’s actually the OMLT (Observer, Mentor, Liaison, Training) team, and they work closely with the Afghan National Army, helping them to improve. It was a long walk out of a village, through some fields, over a lot of walls, through some vineyards (where you can’t see your footing and there are more snakes) and back into the village. It is still hot here, though not as hot as it was when I was here last, and with my body armour I was exhausted by the time we were finished. 

I’ve been editing and sending for the last few hours, so if you check out www.gettyimages.com, and go into editorial, then news, and search mchugh, you can see for yourselves. Now I’m off to find an MRE and some coffee, before my next mission. Speak to you all soon. 

John D 

I don’t know if it’s made the news back home yet, but it was bound to happen sooner or later. Of course I had hoped it would be at the end of a glittering career as a war photographer. We were warned earlier in the afternoon to expect an imminent attack, and to wear or carry our body armour and helmet at all times. A few hours passed and I relaxed, thinking it was no big deal. I decided to eat before it got dark, as it’s difficult to prepare a meal in the dark, even an MRE (Meals Ready to Eat). These meals in a foil pack are great, but very fiddly, so it’s best to cut them open and get the whole process underway before last light. I made my way to my sleeping area, and sat down, after taking off my armour. I was just cutting open the wrapper when, BOOM!!!
 

The sound of the explosion made me jump, and then I felt the pain. Shocked, I looked down to see blood!
 

Yes, that’s right, I had a very nasty paper-cut on my right index finger The sound of OUTGOING artillery had caused me to jerk, dragging my finger along the sharp foil wrapper, resulting in a nice neat gash.
 

The prognosis is good though, as the medical specialist (me) cleaned the wound and believes I won’t lose the finger. Sorry to have worried you all though.
 

On a more serious note, I’ve had a good day after a bad night. Well not bad exactly, but cold and loud. You see, I’m in the dog-house with the army. Or to be more precise, I am sharing a tent with two dog handlers, and their dogs. At least I have a cot to sleep on, and a canvas over my head. Unfortunately the dogs like to bark at anything and the tent is open at the front, where they put me. It was fairly mild when I went to bed, about 8pm local time, but I woke up later in the night and it was fucking freezing. Of course my thermal liner for my sleeping bag was buried in my backpack, and as soon as I started rustling around looking for it, the bloody dogs were off again. So in the end I just shivered, rolled over, and went back to sleep. Shivering, it turns out, does not lead to a refreshing nights sleep.
 

On the plus side, I was up to see the dawn, which I never do in London.  Fresh coffee made from a percolator, a yummy (urgh) breakfast of prawn and ham jambalaya, (the rule with MRE’s is that what ever you pick out of the box you have to eat) and I was all set for the day. It was still cold, so I wrapped up in my nice new Snug-Pak, super warm pull over which is waterproof outside and warm wool inside, and a woolly hat, just like everyone else. This was a good tip from one of my friends, you know who you are, and I was very glad of it.
 

I do love being out in this environment, as opposed to a big base like KAF. Here, everything is a picture. A guy climbing out of his dust covered sleeping bag here, and someone eating his breakfast while examining a map over there. Of course I couldn’t actually shoot either, because the guy in the bag was sleeping beside a structure I’m not allowed photograph, and the map is classified. But you know what I mean.
 

I spent the day hanging out in an OP (Observation Post) with some of the guys from A company. These guys are from the 2^nd Princess Patricia’s Canadian Light Infantry (PPCLI), and you may remember I was with 1^st PPCLI last trip. One of the guys celebrates his 21^st birthday tomorrow, the last one in the company, so I shot some special “hero” photos for him to send home to his parents and girlfriend. I got some other nice pics too, but it is difficult shooting in the base because there is lots of restricted stuff I can’t show. Still, the guys were happy to put up with me so I took as much time as I needed. It’s quite a climb up to the OP, so I stayed and ate lunch with them, and of course there was the usual bitching about what was in the rations, but as these guys have been eating them for 3 months I guess it’s understandable that they get fed up with the limited options.
 

When I finally said I was heading back down, they told me to watch out for the viper. Apparently there is a very poisonous snake living in a crevice about half way down the narrow path, which they have so far failed to kill. Now I don’t know which would be worse, getting bitten by the little beast, or falling down the mountain after jumping out of his way. They said “just shoot it,” but of course I am the only person on the whole base who doesn’t have a gun. As you know, I survived, only to be wounded later in the day. War is hell!
 

I’m happy to report that yesterday I finally managed to get outside the wire. Although embedded with Canadian Forces, as you know I have been waiting for a convoy to get me out into the Forward Operating Area, and so have been sitting on my ass at KAF. One of the first questions I asked when I arrived was how many rocket attacks a night KAF was getting, as there were a few when I was here last, and I heard it got to a point that they were being attacked almost nightly during the summer. I was told that there hadn’t been an attack in the last month, not since those crazy fucking Brits took over security outside the wire. Now I know the Brits who specialise in this stuff, ‘cause I met them last year in Iraq. The whole camp think these guys are heroes. The RAF Regiment in an infantry regiment within the Royal Air Force, and I spent a few days with 1 Squadron at Basra last October. In fact it is those guys that are on my home page. So, I tracked down the British Press Officer, and begged and pleaded to go on a patrol with the guys here, 2 Sqn, as I had nothing else to do. He had a word, and next thing I knew I was meeting the Commanding Officer of 2 Sqn. The first thing he said to me was “You know we travel in soft skins” referring to the Land Rover that the British use. There has been a lot of controversy over their lack of armour lately, although I know they use advanced tactics to protect themselves. “Yes” I said, and then he replied “And you still want to go out. That usually puts off journalists.” So I said yes and off we went. It was great to sit in on the briefing, with the excitement in me building. The frustration of the last few days sitting around was terrible. To get this far and then not get outside the wire was driving me crazy. Anyway, we loaded up the wagons and as they are open topped I was able to stand and shoot for the whole trip. (I’ve been meaning to say, for anyone who is interested, you can see my photographs on www.gettyimages.com then go into news and search mchugh) It was a CIMIC mission (Civil and Military Cooperation) which means that as well as patrolling the extended area to interrupt any planned attacks and anti-coalition militia activity it also has an outreach goal. The coalition is going to dig 5 new wells for the local villages and they wanted to talk to the village elders to decide on the sites most suitable to their needs. Of course any interaction is used to gather HUM-INT (Human intelligence, or information and gossip to civilians) and also to build relationships with the locals. In one village they found the remains of used rockets, although the village elders said they collected them for scrap metal. They looked so small and insignificant, and I had to remind myself that although the kids were playing with them they can still kill people. As the sun started to set the sky was clear so I could also get some “Golden Hour” (that beautiful light you get when the sun rises and sets) photographs. Then is was a bumpy ride in the dark for a while, and back to base. But it doesn’t finish there. As part of their operations, the RAF Regiment also use mortars to send up flares at night, illuminating vulnerable or suspicious areas. I had asked to see this, and sure enough they guys got me straight down there, just before the firing started. Now, some of you may remember me describing how loud and terrifying a mortar is when it goes bang, and how I almost had a heart attack when Recce fired one in front of me back in April. Well, I had thought about this, and before I left this time I bought a mini tripod to attach to the bottom of my camera. This way I can set the camera down, and it doesn’t matter how much I jump because the camera will be steady. It was totally dark long before I got there, and obviously I can’t use flash in a war zone, but I knew that when a mortar fires it blasts out a huge flame. I used this to illuminate the picture, and it worked perfectly. Still bloody terrifying though!!! The noise is so loud it is heard across the entire camp, giving the RAF Regiment their new nickname, The Thumpers. Hours of editing followed, and then packing, because I had to be up early today. I finally got my transport out to the boonies, and am sitting in a tent at a Forward Operating Base in Panjwayi district in Kandahar province. Panjwayi is where there was very heavy fighting a few weeks ago, and it is still a high priority area for the Coalition. They have announced a new mission, Operation Eagle, which will run for the winter. The idea is that their troops will clear particular areas, then garrison them, and ISAF will then use the winter to conduct lots of reconstruction projects during the traditional seasonal lull in fighting. However, Taliban spokesmen have stated that this year the will conduct a winter campaign, so it looks like this war is not going away soon. I can’t really say much about the base, but it’s nice to be back with troops in the frontline. There is a much different attitude out here than behind the wire in KAF. The guys here have been shot at, mortared, rocketed, etc, and they know it is for real, but that also builds this camaraderie and lightness of humour. People are busy, and serious about their job, but at the same time laugh and joke a lot. And as always, the Canadians are endlessly welcoming, helpful, and hospitable. It’s sad though, to hear what can only be called (and I apologise for the cliché) “a grim determination” in their conversation. One of the guys who was with us on the convoy told me straight, when he came here he was not at all happy about the idea of having to fire on someone, let alone try to kill them, but now he feels different. He talked about coming to Afghanistan to help people, to do something good in his life. He was a nice, decent, warm guy, who I could have happily hung out with or had a beer with. He told me he has sent home 4 friends in body bags, and kinda knew 3 others who died, and he has been repeatedly shot at and has witnessed multiple road side bomb attacks. Now he just wants to survive, and if that means shooting someone he says he will do it without hesitation, not because he wants to take a life away, but simply because he wants to live.

3 Nov 2006