The Only Thing Worth Dying For

by Eric Blehm

  The new compound was similar in size to the previous one, but had just one large building attached to the western wall. The team opted to sleep in the courtyard while Dan set up his commo equipment in the building that would be used as ODA 574’s headquarters.

  Once they had settled in, Amerine returned to Karzai to reiterate that the team had to have its equipment back. He went down the list: The SOFLAM was required for calling in air strikes and was useless to anybody else; the laptop was needed for communication. Karzai promised he would have another conversation with Haji Badhur.

  A few hours later, some of Mike’s gear, including the SOFLAM, was brought to them by a villager who “discovered” it under a bush at the side of the road. The laptop and his clothes and sleeping bag, among other things, remained missing.

  As darkness fell, JD met with Mike, Ronnie, and Wes, whom he had tasked with running the drop zone for the first weapons drop. Their job was to vector in the aircraft to a narrow strip of farmland between the Helmand River and the mountains. If the plane didn’t hit its mark, the weapons could land in or across the river—something that happened frequently with their Northern Alliance counterparts. “Let’s not fuck this one up,” JD told them.

  The four Americans rode with twenty guerrillas in four trucks, parked at the edge of the drop zone, and marked its center with four infrared strobe lights visible only through NODs. Right on schedule, the MC-130 swooped down out of the starry night and into the river valley like a shadow. It glided low, rapidly ejecting several containers, then climbed into the sky and disappeared while the containers drifted slowly down on parachutes.

  Amerine had asked Karzai to choose guerrillas with “strong leadership” qualities—that is, men who wouldn’t steal any more supplies—to stand by at the drop zone and retrieve the containers. They were to keep everything together so that it could be properly divided among the tribal leaders scheduled to arrive the following day.

  Instead, when the containers hit the ground, the Afghans charged across the field and tore into them as if they were birthday presents. Some contented themselves with the parachutes and harnesses, balling up the unwieldy items and dragging them away into the night.

  Others—in groups of two or three—attempted to manhandle heavy crates that had been loaded onto the aircraft with forklifts.

  From the sidelines, the Green Berets watched with bemusement as the operation descended into chaos. At last, the more senior guerrillas ran onto the field, shouting and pummeling their frenzied comrades until they were helping to load the waiting trucks.

  “How did it go?” Amerine asked when JD returned to the compound.

  “Total mess,” said JD. “From now on we get control of the items first and hand them out later. The next drop is going to include food and water for us, so we definitely can’t let them near it.”

  “I hope there isn’t going to be a riot tomorrow,” Amerine said. “Hamid is concerned about inventorying everything so he can show he isn’t playing favorites.”

  Dan hurried up. “We got something going on across the river,” he said. “The guerrillas are pretty freaked out. Looks like a bunch of headlights.”

  Amerine and JD followed Dan up a ladder and onto the mud roof of the building, where they lay prone alongside several Afghans. Alternating between his NODs and binoculars, Amerine counted the headlights of eight trucks parked in an open field a couple of miles away.

  “They’re a long way off,” said JD.

  “It might have nothing to do with us,” Amerine said.

  Casper and Charlie joined them on the roof. “What do we have, skipper?” Casper asked.

  “We’re sorting it out. Bunch of trucks way out there.” Amerine offered Casper his binoculars.

  “Is there any air cover available?” Casper asked and took a look.

  “I’m sure. But I plan on sitting tight.”

  “They aren’t bothering us, so we shouldn’t bother them,” said Dan.

  “Yeah,” said Amerine. “I don’t think their lights would be on if they thought a threat was nearby.”

  “All the same, you should get air standing by,” said Casper.

  “We’ll get it if we need it,” said Amerine. “We don’t even know if they’re Taliban.”

  “The guerrillas seem agitated.”

  “They shouldn’t know any more than we do at this point. I’m going to talk to Hamid about it.”

  “I can do that,” said Casper, climbing off the roof.

  “Thanks, but I was heading that way,” Amerine said, following.

  Amerine didn’t think his men had noticed the subtle tug of war between himself and Casper, and he hadn’t shared with them Casper’s request for a Ranger platoon or told them that the spook was the reason they’d been forced to leave Brent and Victor at J-Bad to make room for the Delta Force soldiers. He had discussed all this with JD, and they’d agreed that involving the rest of the team would only create an unnecessary distraction.

  As Amerine grabbed his weapon and go-to-hell pack for the walk to Karzai’s compound, JD walked up and quietly said to him, “CIA is still looking for a job, eh? They want to be our link to Hamid.”

  “Looks that way.”

  “You’re handling Casper just right. Keep ignoring the power play and carry on with business as if they aren’t here.”

  Amerine thanked him and shouldered his pack. “I’ll be gone for twenty minutes and I’ll bring along Mike. Contact me immediately if those trucks come near the river. Judging from the map, it would take them hours to get to a crossing point upriver or downriver and reach this village. I’m more worried that they’re a sign of something bigger going on in this area. Regardless, if shooting starts, I’ll bring Hamid back here and we’ll be returning on the street, probably hauling ass, so don’t shoot us. If we’re cut off, you know the rally point.”

  Unbeknownst to the Americans, there was something bigger going on in Uruzgan Province that night—something that could jeopardize their entire mission. Thirty miles to the northeast, the citizens of Tarin Kowt were in the process of storming the “palace” of the Taliban’s provincial governor. If the people were successful in their coup, Tarin Kowt would be theirs—temporarily. Holding the town when thousands of angry Taliban arrived en masse for a brutal retribution would be another matter altogether.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The Battle of Tarin Kowt

  * * *

  It is the greatest houses and the tallest trees that the gods bring low with bolts and thunder: For the gods have to thwart whatever is greater than the rest. They do not suffer pride in anyone but themselves.

  —Herodotus, The Histories

  * * *

  It was November 16 and the first day of Ramadan, the ninth month of the Islamic calendar, when Muslims fast from sunrise to sunset. It is a month dedicated to worshipping Allah, giving to charity, mending troubled relationships, and finding forgiveness for others.

  In Haji Badhur’s Cove it was a day to divvy up hundreds of rifles and thousands of rounds of ammunition. It was the day to arm Karzai’s rebellion.

  ODA 574 awoke with the sun. They had increased the number of men on security the night before, but the vehicles across the river had done nothing except rob the team of sleep.

  Dan started the day with a hot mocha—one of Ken’s coveted “tea” bags of instant coffee, twice used, steeped in a cup of hot cocoa—while downloading a few dozen encrypted messages from higher command.

  “Get a load of this,” Dan said to Amerine after converting the files to readable text. “Has our commander in chief always sent out Happy Ramadan cards?”

  “You’re kidding,” said Amerine, looking over Dan’s shoulder at the computer. Sure enough, there was an e-mail titled “2001 U.S. Presidential Holiday Greeting.”

  “I’m guessing he didn’t send one of these to the pope,” said Dan, who cleared his throat and started reading the letter in his best George W. Bush imitation:…We send our sincerest wishes to Muslims in Ame
rica and around the world for health, prosperity, and happiness during Ramadan and throughout the coming year…

  When Dan finished, Amerine jokingly applauded the performance, copied the letter into one of his black journals so he could later read it to Karzai, and headed out into the courtyard.

  Standing on the roof of ODA 574’s headquarters, Mike raised his binoculars to examine the craggy mountains to the east. Morning light revealed new details of the formidable cirque that rose behind the village like an amphitheater, with the seats facing west, toward the Helmand and adjacent farmland. Caves dotted the rock face a hundred feet above the floodplain; the team would be able to observe the entire valley if they could reach them. Calling Amerine up onto the roof, Mike pointed out the caves and said, “This place will definitely suffice as a guerrilla base.”

  “I think we’re going to be here with Haji Badhur and his pirates for a while,” Amerine said.

  “Pirates is right,” grumbled Mike, still bent about his missing gear. “Froze my ass off again last night.”

  Turning their attention to the river and the road running next to it, they watched Haji Badhur’s men load weapons from the lethal-aid drop onto trucks outside Karzai’s compound. A truck carrying what appeared to be a farmer and his boys pulled up; they emerged armed with rifles and drove away. Would-be guerrillas arrived on foot and by donkey, carrying away tightly rolled carpets that concealed an AK-47 or two. Arming the Afghans was the first step in building the insurgency, and it gave Karzai a chance to inventory his gathering forces.

  By twelve, business was booming at what Dan dubbed the grand opening of Uruzgan’s “McWeapons” franchise, and most of ODA 574 had climbed onto the roof of the largest building in their compound to observe the rush.

  “They’re coming out of the woodwork,” said Mag.

  “It’s a good sign,” Amerine said.

  “Any idea how many guys so far?”

  “Not certain, but more than a couple hundred,” said Amerine. “Some of them might be coming solo to arm a group. Might be a lot more.”

  “You know,” said Mike, “they’re just coming and going. I’m not seeing much of a force gathering behind Hamid.”

  “I noticed that, too,” said Amerine. “Either his clout is still in question, or they’re just too wary to stick around. I’ll feel out the situation when I meet with him in a bit.”

  JD and Ken climbed up.

  “Got some news,” said Ken. “Miles, one of the Delta operators, has a bad case of dysentery—fever, cramping, can’t eat, and liquids are pouring out of him as fast as we can pump them in.”

  “Are we talking medevac?” asked Amerine.

  “He says no way,” said JD. “He wants to gut it out.”

  The men laughed, then paused as a young Afghan crossed the courtyard, reached up, and handed Amerine a folded piece of paper.

  “Well,” said Mike, “we’ve got a long way to go before we’re ready for any kind of combat operations. If you’re gonna have the shits, this is a good place for it. We’re not going anywhere for a while.”

  “Not so sure about that,” said Amerine, holding up the paper. “Just got word from Hamid that there was an uprising at Tarin Kowt during the night.”

  “Wait a minute,” said Dan. “Isn’t that supposed to be our job?”

  “Exactly. Somebody jumped the gun,” said Amerine as he climbed down off the roof. “Consider this a warning order: We might be rolling out of here.”

  “Rolling out of here on what?” said Mike after Amerine had left to talk to Karzai.

  “I will not get inside another meat box like the last one,” said Ronnie. “I’ll ride on top if I have to.”

  Amerine entered Karzai’s compound, where four simply dressed old men sat on the ground admiring the AK-47 assault rifles cradled in their laps. Toward the back of the courtyard, more than a dozen Afghans wearing colorful long shirts or embroidered robes mingled round an opened crate of machine guns. Standing a few feet from them, Karzai was speaking with Casper.

  Karzai smiled broadly when he saw Amerine. “Jason,” he said, “you received my message?”

  “Yes,” said Amerine, nodding at Casper. “Is the news reliable?”

  “Yes. These men”—Karzai motioned to the large group—“are elders from Tarin Kowt. They report that the Taliban governor—a very bad man—and his personal guard were killed in the uprising last night. The governor was hung in the street. Other Taliban have been driven out. The citizens are guarding the city. They wish for me to return with them and break the fast of Ramadan tonight with leaders from the rebellion.”

  Amerine studied Karzai’s face. If the coup had taken place against Karzai’s orders, he would have been angry. He recalled Karzai’s phone call with his supporters in Tarin Kowt a few days earlier, in which they’d told him that the people there wanted to rise up. Amerine had strongly advised against it.

  “They could wait no longer,” Karzai said.

  Amerine decided then that Karzai must have known all along that the people of Tarin Kowt were going to revolt. He must not have understood the repercussions—that the Taliban would send forces to recapture the town and likely increase their presence in Uruzgan. Or perhaps he was alarmed at the Northern Alliance’s succession of victories in the north and feared they would beat him to Kandahar. Regardless, the more dire issue was that ODA 574’s long-range plan, to take Tarin Kowt themselves once the team had built up and trained a guerrilla force of hundreds, was now back to the drawing board.

  All Amerine could read when he made eye contact with Karzai were good intentions. Still, he thought, he has no idea how fucked we could be because of this.

  “What do you intend to do?” he asked Karzai.

  “I must join them in Tarin Kowt.”

  Amerine had expected to maintain a low profile for weeks, if not months, during which time ODA 574 would arm, organize, and train Karzai’s followers. Did Karzai not understand that a battle was imminent in Tarin Kowt?

  He asked to speak to Karzai in private. Casper followed them into the house.

  “There will be a counterattack,” Amerine said away from the other Afghans.

  “Yes,” said Karzai. “But I must go to the governor’s palace and meet with the leaders of the uprising right away.”

  Amerine understood that Karzai had, after all, been lobbying for the anti-Taliban Pashtun to rise up. What kind of a message would it send if he now left them to face the Taliban’s reprisals alone?

  “Okay,” Amerine said. “Do we have vehicles?”

  “Not at this time,” said Karzai. “But we will have transportation.”

  “How many men can we expect to join us?”

  “Those who took weapons today returned to their homes. There are a few remaining, but Haji Badhur’s men will accompany us on the drive. We will have many men in Tarin Kowt.”

  “Translators?”

  “Not yet,” said Karzai. “But in Tarin Kowt that will not be a problem. I will translate in the meantime.”

  After nearly an hour of planning, Casper leaned into the conversation. “Skipper,” he said to Amerine, “we have to get moving.”

  Since the spook wouldn’t be involved in the fight, Amerine didn’t even acknowledge the comment. He did, however, note the paradox: Risk-averse throughout planning, Casper seemed suddenly gung-ho about engaging the enemy.

  “Gather around!” JD bellowed to ODA 574 when Amerine returned to the compound. “Captain has some information to put out.”

  The men stopped what they were doing and formed a circle around Amerine.

  “All right,” said Amerine. “I know we were just getting settled here, but we’re leaving in three hours. The people of Tarin Kowt killed their Taliban governor last night, so that speeds things up for us. We’re going to help the locals hold the town. Karzai is getting vehicles—it’s a four-hour drive, and there are some twenty villages on our route that should be on Hamid’s side. That said, Alex, let’s get some air to escort
us.”

  “Question, sir,” said Alex. “What is the route?”

  Unbuttoning the flap of a cargo pocket on his pants, Amerine pulled out his survival map,1 which he’d folded so that Uruzgan Province was on one side and Kandahar Province on the other. He traced the route with his finger for the team to see.

  “Hamid says we’ll head north along the river to Deh Rawood and then cut east through these mountains to Tarin Kowt. All our maps are fucked—we don’t know if these roads still exist, so we’ll play it by ear, but this is the basic route. I expect a counterattack in Tarin Kowt within twenty-four hours. Hopefully we’ll get there before that happens.”

  Mike said, “What happened to the hundreds of guys who picked up weapons today?”

  “They disappeared back into the mountains,” said Amerine. “It was understood that some of them were being armed to protect their villages, but it appears that Hamid is still lacking credibility or there would be some guys hanging around looking for something to do. Hamid says he’s been promised all the men we need in Tarin Kowt once we get there.”

  “That sounds familiar,” said Dan.

  Amerine checked his watch. “Okay, it’s 1500; Hamid says he’ll have vehicles at 1700.”

  While the men got to work, Amerine huddled with JD and Mike to look over the proposed route. With a mechanical pencil, Amerine drew a circle around Haji Badhur’s Cove and wrote K in the center, for “Karzai.”

  “This is where we fall back to,” said Amerine. “Right now it’s the only place that we’re sure is backing Hamid. The rest of the south is a question mark.”

  They looked at the dime-size circle.