Fourneau called me over to a wall and showed me several empty boxes of Winchester ammunition, with a “made in Michigan” stamp on them and a bunch of brass cartridges littering the ground. They were deer-hunting rounds for a civvy rifle, but they would work in an AK-47. I got Fourneau to take a picture and zoom in on the lot number on the boxes; maybe they could be traced back to their source. Shafiq Ullah came over and said, “See? We told you the Americans were supplying the Taliban!” Almost every ANA soldier I met would swear on his family's lives that the Taliban were being secretly supplied by the States. I had gotten into a heated debate one day back at Sper on the subject and tried to show them how ridiculous the theory was, but when we found boxes of American ammunition, in the middle of Helmand Province, I was fighting an uphill battle. Later when I was at FOB Mushan, we patrolled into an Afghan civvy compound and found a huge stash of American medical supplies, and of course, nothing I said could convince the ANA that America wasn't secretly in cahoots with the Taliban. I didn't know if the ANA thought it was all part of the American military-industrial complex or the Tri-lateral Commission making business from the war, but there was no changing their minds.
We decided to take a lunch break, and made our way onto a strip of grass near a compound. I was just digging my spoon into an MRE (meals ready to eat, a.k.a. “meals rejected by the enemy”) pouch when an incoming round cracked loudly in the space right between Captain Shafiq Ullah's head and my face, missing my nose by an inch. I automatically flung myself backwards and lay on my back for a while, with my legs still crossed underneath me. Fourneau asked if I was okay and I replied, “Fine; just wanna stay like this for a bit.” I asked him how he was doing, and he said he was fine too.
“How's your water, do you have much left?” I asked as I stared up at the cloudless sky, pondering my own mortality.
“Yeah, I'm good for a while, sir.” Fourneau just looked down at me.
“Let me know if you need any; I packed extra just in case you guys ran out.” I slowly picked myself off the ground. That was a bit too close. Clearly they didn't want the son of Jor-El to become a Jedi! They feared my “medicine.”
The ANA picked up stakes again, and we could see Longview and Hetsa off in the distance. We gave a big, friendly wave and they waved back. I hoped they were doing okay.
We realized we wouldn't be able to make the required distance that night, so the ANA began to look for a suitable place to make a patrol base for the night. Major Hobbles and Colonel Morris had gone ahead, again, and found a nice compound that would suit our purposes, right next to a hill.
I saw Rich a few minutes later. His company had marched a bit too close to mine, or more accurately, Shafiq Ullah had patrolled closer to them, hoping they'd keep up their shit shield routine for us. I gave him a big, happy wave and he waved back, shaking his head. I could hear his voice in my head: Savages. Goddamn savages.
Our call signs split up again and we patrolled farther along, until the ANA decided to stop and pray at a mosque. Fourneau and I took some cover and just sat down. It had been a very long, hot day, but I was proud of the boys. We'd marched close to twenty klicks in one day, and even though Fourneau looked exhausted (I'm sure I did too), I think he could've kept going if he had to.
The ANA and Max finished their prayers, and I was anxious to get moving before last light. The sun was starting to go down and we still had about a klick left to go to the patrol base. Suddenly my combat antenna began to buzz, so I told Fourneau to go firm. He was about to crest a small hill past the mosque and cemetery, but I wanted him to let the ANA with us go first. He walked over and joined me as we let an ANA soldier, the PKM gunner Adam Khan, pass us and go slightly over the crest.
Suddenly hundreds of incoming rounds cracked all around us, showering us with dirt and rocks as they smacked into a wall behind us and the crest in front of us. I threw Max to the ground and quickly dropped behind the crest, into dead ground where the enemy couldn't see us. I crawled to the crest and peeked over, looking for Adam Khan, absolutely sure he'd be lying dead in a pool of his own blood.
I got to the edge and then saw him standing tall, giving a big, friendly wave to the shooters over by the treeline, just like I'd taught him. But I told them to wave before the shooting started, not during! He wasn't fazed by the hundreds of rounds cracking into the rocks and sand all around him, passing over his head and kicking up sand between his legs. He just kept waving, knowing that the Taliban don't wave, trying to get whoever wanted him dead so badly to kindly stop shooting at him.
“Adam Khan, pro-at, pro-at, get down, get down!” I screamed, as the incoming rounds began to slowly taper off and then stopped completely. It felt like five minutes had gone by, but it was probably closer to ten seconds, when I quickly crawled to the edge, and looked to see who was shooting at him. I saw about thirty of the high friends of Jesus, the Afghan Border Police, hanging out by some trees around fifty metres away. I guessed they were still high if their poor marksmanship and target identification were anything to go by. As if this freaking day hadn't been crazy enough, to now almost get killed by the Afghan Border Police!
Looking at Adam Khan, at the bullet holes in his shirt and pants, and at the dust kicked up all around him, it completely reaffirmed my belief in the concept of “when it's your time, it's your time,” because clearly, it wasn't his time. He didn't have so much as a scratch on him, let alone a hundred bullet holes through his thin body! It was nothing short of divine intervention that he hadn't been totally ripped apart by the amount of incoming fire, all directed solely at him. I wanted to reach out and touch his Wookie ammo bandolier, hoping his mojo would rub off on me and keep me safe, but he just shrugged and kept walking down the slope, leading the way. Inshallah.
As we passed by the border cops, Shafiq Ullah shouted something derogatory at them and they shouted something back. We marched over to the hill and then into the compound, where we'd be staying for the night. We cleared the compound to make sure no one was hiding in the back, and used a broom to sweep a bunch of used hypodermic needles into a corner. A bunch of old heroin pods littered the ground. Obviously, the compound was used as an opium den and someone had been shooting pure heroin oil with the needles. We grabbed some water from the ANA trucks and topped up. I looked over at Fourneau and realized he was absolutely finished, both physically and mentally. But I couldn't blame him. I wasn't exactly feeling a hundred per cent myself.
We finally reunited with Longview and Hetsa and I gave them hearty slaps on their backs, happy to see them alive and well. They looked the way I felt. I found out the warrant's radio had crapped out at almost the very beginning of the patrol, but I'd figured as much. But the warrant and Hetsa seemed good to go. I was confident if we had to, most of us in the compound could've kept going, and that was a real testament to the Canadian soldier, because it had been a very long march through crushing heat, with lots of TICs thrown into the mix.
A big cheer went up as Rich and his men arrived in the compound. We all ran over to greet them and help them with their kit. Warrant Smith looked absolutely hilarious! His helmet was askew, he had dust and dirt all over his face, and he looked like he'd been through the damn wringer. Of course, at the time I didn't know he'd been caught in an RPG explosion and launched ass-over-teakettle in the air like a rag doll. I found Rich and gave him my seat and handed him a coffee I'd brewed especially for him.
“How you feeling, champ?” I asked, smiling away.
“Fuck me, Rob. Holy shit, man.” His thousand-yard stare had improved considerably. He now looked like he could see through time.
“I know, brother,” I said as I handed him the brew. “Have some joe. Don't talk, just take a sip.” After a minute he really began to open up and told me the story of their two firefights. It sounded incredible and hard to believe at the same time. I said I was sorry I couldn't get Shafiq Ullah to come and help them out, and I told him I felt really ashamed by what happened. I felt like I'd really let Rich down and
it bothered me a lot. Rich called me a dickhead and told me they probably just would've ended up killing us too. Maybe he was right.
Hobbles called an O-group and gave out some good pointers. Everyone took the piss out of me when they explained how I had cut off Rich during the middle of his contact report to give my locstat, earlier that morning. Hobbles turned it into a cautionary note for all of us, and it was a lesson I'd never forget. He also warned me of the dangers of being too eager to go and help out a buddy, and he explained it from his perspective and it made total sense. But he was a klick and a half away, and I was only five hundred metres away, listening to Rich's voice as he shouted on the net with all hell breaking loose around him, so my perspective was different as well. But I could see his point and took it on board.
He wrapped up the O-group and, as was his custom, insisted that everyone make at least one point, even if it was only to say, “No comment.” I liked that idea; it was sort of Chinese Parliament–inspired. Our wounded Canadian had a banged-up knee, so he'd be sitting the rest of the foot patrol out with Ross in the RGs. It was an absolute miracle that we only had one guy with a sore knee, after the day we'd just had.
A real festive mood overtook the compound as everyone realized how close we'd all come to being killed. Rich was on the sat phone with his missus when Hobbles fired off a full mag of AK tracer rounds into the air, trying to bring the other ANA vehicles into our leaguer. Rich had to explain to his concerned girlfriend that it was fireworks going off. Oh how we lie and lie!
I went over to the ANA HQ truck and asked Colonel Morris how he was doing. It had begun to get cold, and he didn't seem to have anything besides a small blanket. We talked for a while and he asked about me and my family. He had come to visit us in Sperwhan once, and when he opened up our OMLT door, he immediately began speaking to Hetsa (who was resplendently bearded) in Dari, asking Hetsa to introduce him to our team. He began to get frustrated until Hetsa finally broke his silence and explained he wasn't a terp. We had a good laugh and he talked for over two hours with us that night, getting to know all of us and just having fun.
I knew I had my sleeping bag, and my outer “bivvy” bag to protect the sleeping bag and add extra insulation, so I offered Colonel Morris my Ranger blanket from the States. He seemed very grateful, and when he tried to return it the next morning, I told him to keep it. I didn't know at the time, but I had made a friend for life. Later when I was in FOB Mushan, he would radio the ANA on their net and tell his captain to go and get me, just to talk and ask about my family. He was just that type of guy. I think it burned Major Hobbles pretty good to see me getting along so well with the officer he was mentoring.
When my turn came for the sat phone, I called home and reached Amélie. We talked for a few minutes and it felt great to hear her voice, especially after the day we'd had. I was still giddy with the adrenalin monkeys still riding my back, because we'd almost been killed a dozen times over in one day. Amélie was the best, and she understood what was going on, without me having to say anything. She was the rock that kept me grounded in that terrible place with her love, strength, and patience.
We could only talk for a couple of minutes because everyone needed a turn, so I handed the sat phone over to the next guy in line and found Warrant Smith. I shook his hand and told him how glad I was that he was still with us. I described how he had looked walking into our compound with his helmet all askew, and we had a good laugh. He told me all about his “unplanned space flight,” and it was an incredible story. I told him he was lucky it was an RPG anti-tank round, the conical shaped one, because if it had been an anti-infantry round, he'd be suntanning in the Elysian Fields. We just hung out and shot the shit. I really liked talking with him, and I learned a lot from him later in the tour when we were together in Mushan.
I checked on my team and made sure everyone was doing okay, then we said good night Waltons style, as was our custom. I heard the other call signs snickering at us, but we didn't care. Traditions were important. That night, we all slept like the dead, grateful we hadn't joined them.
Chapter 13
The ANA took a few days off from the planned mission for admin reasons, and nobody really complained. We were all terribly dehydrated from the first day's patrol and welcomed the chance to get topped up and rested a bit. We changed all of our batteries, cleaned our gear, and then started patrolling in the local area. On one patrol, my team found an IED in the middle of the street, not buried but just waiting for us above the ground. We set up a cordon with the ANA, who quickly grew bored with the whole thing, and then casually picked up the IED and just threw it into the back of a truck. We also had some incoming fire whanged at us. Just to harass us. All very normal.
After two days of local area patrols, we woke up early on the fourth day of the op and headed off to the LD, the start line for the day's patrol south. We marched for twenty minutes, before a visiting Afghan general named Bashir called everyone back to the LD and switched my ANA's position on the trace with Rich's ANA. For no apparent reason.
So after some under-the-breath-cursing, we started up again, and we'd been marching for a half an hour when we came across an American vehicle convoy of army troops, waiting outside of a narrow village. We said hi and kept walking. Rich and his crew broke off to the west while 72A started to enter the village. Longview and the dirty Hungo passed through it with Aziz in the lead, and Fourneau, Shafiq Ullah, and I were just about to go through a narrow alley when—CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
Incoming rounds began to scream down the narrow alley choke point. I threw Max behind me as we all took cover at a right angle to the alley. I heard Warrant Longview and Hetsa open up, and quickly broke out my map. The next village down the road was allegedly a Taliban stronghold. Must be coming from there.
I pulled my head back as rounds snapped and cracked into the wall in front of me and continued down the alley. The Americans scrambled into their vehicles and started them up, ready to move. I knew Rich and his guys would be finding cover on the other side of the village.
I tried to peek down the alley but the incoming fire was too intense. I looked left and right, but the walls were too high for us to jump over. There was nothing for it—we'd have to go down the alley. Hey diddle diddle, right up the middle. I suddenly remembered the words of a Para instructor of mine back in England who said, “The worst thing that can happen to you is you'll die.” Hmm. Poignant.
I turned to face Fourneau. “We can't do any good here; we've got no SA [situational awareness]. We've gotta sprint up and join Warrant Longview and Hetsa. Do you want to come with me or wait here?”
Fourneau looked terribly insulted. “I'm coming with you, sir!”
“Good man.” I continued, “It sounds like big incoming rounds, like a crew-served weapon. We'll wait until they reload, and then take off at a dead sprint.” I quickly peeked around the corner. “It's going to be twenty metres. Hey, you should be happy I've been working out, 'cause I'm massive! I'll make a great meat shield for ya!”
A big grin spread across his face. I looked over at Max and told him to stay put. We wouldn't need him, not yet anyway. “Please ask Captain Shafiq Ullah if he would care to join me, up at the front, so we can actually see what's going on.”
“No thank you; he says he is good here.” The incoming fire had begun to die down a bit.
“Yeah, I thought he might say that. Okay Fourneau, stand by. In four, three, ready, steady, GO GO GO!”
I pushed off the wall and rounded the corner at a dead sprint, giving it everything I had to cross the open ground down the narrow alleyway. I could see Longview behind a wall, now only fifteen metres away, ten metres, five metres, RUN RUN RUN! I slammed into the wall next to Longview and spun around to see where Fourneau was. He was only five metres away and pounded into the wall right beside me just as the Taliban machine gun began firing again.
SNAP SNAP SNAP! CRACK! CRACK!
The incoming rounds tore the air over our heads as we ducked behind t
he wall.
I asked the warrant what was going on and he pointed to the village to our south, the one we'd been warned about. I looked all around and took in some ANA behind the wall to my right, ducking and shooting back, and some American Humvee vehicles, part of the convoy, strung out and disappearing back into the village.
Suddenly Rich shouted over the net, “Charlie, Charlie! You are engaging us, you are engaging us! CEASE FIRE CEASE FIRE CEASE FIRE!” I scrambled to look left, right, and behind me, trying to find the friendlies who were shooting at Rich. I couldn't see anybody shooting toward him in the west; everyone around me was shooting where they should be, to the south, at the Taliban stronghold.
I spoke quickly over the net, “Charlie, Alpha, there is no one around this call sign engaging you, over.” I looked again, but still couldn't see anyone shooting in Rich's direction.
“Charlie,” Rich shouted, “run around and tell everyone to stop shooting—the Americans, the fucking Afghans! Get everyone to stop shooting!” I suddenly realized how stupid it was to be arguing the finer points of friendly fire with the guy getting shot at, so I ran up to the nearest American Humvee and found a major standing behind it, using it as cover. He started to say, “Hey, I was thinking—”
But I cut him off. “Get all your call signs to stop shooting; someone's engaging my other call sign to the west. Get everyone to stop shooting, NOW!”
“But we're not—”
“DON'T ARGUE! Just get all of your American call signs to stop shooting!” I had gotten through to him because he quickly ran up to his vehicle, opened the door, and started barking the order over his radio net.
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