The Only Thing Worth Dying For

by Eric Blehm

  The problem—especially from 30,000 feet above—was differentiating Taliban from civilians.

  “I proposed the following rules of engagement to Hamid and he agreed,” Amerine said. “We can freely engage convoys moving north that are composed of five or more trucks, or any containing tanks or troop carriers. Everything else we let go. We aren’t going to see large numbers of trucks unless they are full of people fighting for our side or theirs. Hamid offered three as the magic number, but I wanted to err on the side of caution.”*

  “The mountain passes cause bottlenecks,” Alex said. “Any vehicles are going to bunch up and travel in packs that might look like enemy convoys.”

  “We’ll just monitor them, see if they stay together or disperse when they’re out of those bottleneck areas,” said Amerine. “It will be a judgment call. We’ll watch them for as long as we can. If there is any doubt, we let the convoys go. I’d rather let a small force through than risk killing noncombatants.”

  That night, half the team stood watch at all times, with Alex (who had an uncanny knack for waking up when new sorties of recon aircraft arrived), Dan, and Wes rotating on the radio. An hour before sunrise, JD, Mag, and Mike woke up the others, and each man covered his sector of fire with his M4. They were practicing “stand to,” short for “stand to arms,” an Army tradition since World War I trench warfare, when soldiers on both sides announced their preparation to defend against attack each morning by ceremoniously firing their weapons at each other. Over the years, the practice was refined,**but modern soldiers still ready themselves for attack at dawn and some still refer to it as “the morning hate.”

  It was Sunday, November 18, their fourth day in-country. After sunrise the team reduced security to 30 percent and ate an MRE. At 6 A.M. a recon flight reported twelve trucks bumper to bumper in a mountain pass on the blue route, halfway from Kandahar. Alex estimated that if the trucks were headed for Tarin Kowt, they would be there in seven hours, and Amerine considered whether to order a strike: Being too conservative risked allowing a Taliban force to attack Karzai’s allies along the way; being too trigger-happy could kill civilians. Alex plotted the location on the computer and, viewing the satellite imagery, saw that the area the convoy was passing through was mountainous—far from Tarin Kowt and not approaching any villages. The tension knotting in his stomach, Amerine continued to monitor the recon reports. One word and everyone in those vehicles would be incinerated.

  After nearly two hours, the bottleneck dissipated and the trucks began to pass one another, spread out, and turn onto side roads. Amerine then made an announcement to ODA 574: “I’m the only one authorizing air strikes from here on out. I know we usually delegate that responsibility among the team, but I’m not appointing anyone unless I am completely out of the net for some reason, or you’re under fire and need close air support. I apologize for micromanaging this, but I want to be the only one who has to live with killing a truckload of innocents if any mistakes are made.”

  He knew from the expressions on his men’s faces that they didn’t like this order, but no one protested. He assumed that JD would hear the complaints later. C’est la guerre.

  The sound of engines laboring uphill broke the morning’s silence as three trucks arrived at the top of the ridge and Bari Gul stepped out of the lead vehicle, followed by an older man in a white robe. Walking over, Amerine greeted them in Pashto: “Salaam alaykum.”

  Bari Gul’s scowl broadened into a wide grin, and he returned the greeting. The other man, who introduced himself as Rahim, translated Bari Gul’s next words: “He says that they heard all about the battle yesterday. He says they are here to fight with you.”

  “Tell him that it is good to see him again, and we are honored to be joined by him and his men,” Amerine said.

  Bari Gul’s nineteen guerrillas spread out around the Americans as an outer layer of security, concealing themselves behind rocks or sitting on the ground, their weapons at the ready. Feeling confident that these men knew what they were doing, Amerine, along with Wes and Mike, went back to Tarin Kowt, where he received a warm greeting from both Karzai and the now familiar faces in the circle of elders.

  “Sit, Jason,” said Karzai. “We can talk. Did your friend Bari Gul find you?”

  “He did,” replied Amerine. “Can you tell me more about him?”

  “He is a Popalzai chief, from Deh Rawood—very reliable. For a long time I thought that he was with the Taliban, but I learned when I was still in Quetta that was not so. He came and joined us in the mountains when the Taliban attacked. Remember, he wanted to stay and fight the Taliban. But Jason, Bari Gul, just like these men sitting here with us, could be Taliban or against the Taliban; it does not matter. God, family, and tribe are what matters. These things are Afghanistan to Bari Gul.

  “That is why we need the Loya Jirga, so all of these tribes can see that they are part of a bigger tribe, so the Pashtun, the Uzbek, the Tajik, all the tribes will call themselves Afghans as readily as you call yourself an American.”

  Amerine pulled his map from his pocket and flattened it on the floor before them. “Could you give me an update on where your support lies in the tribal belt?”

  “Many villages have pledged support,” said Karzai. “I believe it is safe to say this one, and this, and this…”

  Pointing out the locations, Karzai rattled off names of more than a dozen villages that had sent representatives to promise their allegiance. There were still a few, however, even some very close to Tarin Kowt, aligned with the Taliban. “But,” said Karzai, “these are remote and do not wish to fight against us. They fly the Taliban flag, but they remain neutral for now.”

  Amerine began to draw circles—some of them overlapping—around the areas backing Karzai, adding a K to each. Next to the villages Karzai deemed neutral, Amerine wrote the letter N.

  Photographic Insert

  ODA 574 at an impromptu farewell ceremony the day after 9/11/2001 at the paratrooper base in Kazakhstan. L to R: Amerine, Allard, JD, Mike, Bob (a temporary medic), Mag, and Brent. (ODA 574 archives)

  JD, flanked by Victor (L) and Brent (R), presents a toast to the Kazakhs on behalf of ODA 574 later that evening. ( ODA 574 archives)

  Dan (R) shakes hands with a Kazakh lieutenant pre-9/11. (ODA 574 archives)

  Colonel John Mulholland, commander, Fifth Special Forces Group (Kelley family archives)

  Major Chris Miller, ODA 574’s company commander who was sent to SOCCENT on September 17, with instructions from Mulholland to “Get Fifth Group into the fight.” (Miller family archives)

  Chief of plans at SOCCENT in 2001, Major Bob Kelley, who with the other “True Believers” pushed for unconventional warfare in Afghanistan from the first crisis action planning meetings.(Kelley family archives)

  From Fort Campbell, Kentucky, the team deployed to this “isolation” facility at forward operating base “K2” in Uzbekistan. ( ODA 574 archives)

  The last photo of ODA 574, taken upon arrival at K2, before the team went to war. Top row: Victor, Mike, Dan, Wes, JD, Ken. Front row, kneeling: Ronnie, Brent, Amerine, Mag. (ODA 574 archives)

  J-Bad, Pakistan: the aircraft hangar where the AFSOC operations center was located. The larger building to the left was the Pakistani general’s headquarters. The building in the center background was the “safe house” where ODA 574 planned the bulk of the insurgency with Karzai. (USAF/TSgt. Scott Reed)

  Amerine with Lieutenant Colonel Steve Hadley at J-Bad, a few days into the planning. (Hadley family archives)

  Hamid Karzai, a former Afghan statesman, still relatively unknown on the international stage, during the planning of his insurgency, early November. (ODA 574 archives)

  During the infiltration, each team member was given a “Blood Chit” similar to this, which read in seven local languages: “I am an American and do not speak your language. I will not harm you! I bear no malice towards your people. My friend, please provide me food, water, shelter, and necessary medical attention.
Also please provide safe passage to the nearest friendly forces of any country supporting the Americans and their allies. You will be rewarded for assisting me when you present this number to American authorities.”

  The men of ODA 574 on November 15, the day after the infiltration at Haji Badhur’s Cove, with their CIA counterparts, including Casper, Mr. Big, Charlie, and Zepeda (faces blacked out).(ODA 574 archives)

  ODA 574 with Bari Gul’s guerrilla fighters during the battle damage assessment on November 18. Bari Gul is to the left of Amerine (center back row); Seylaab is to the right of Amerine.

  Ronnie with one of the guerrillas at the team compound at Tarin Kowt.(ODA 574 archives)

  The “living room” at the team compound in Tarin Kowt, late November.(ODA 574 archives)

  Dan, sighting his carbine on a knoll in Tarin Kowt just prior to departing for Petawek.(ODA 574 archives)

  Mag with guerrillas in Tarin Kowt. (ODA 574 archives)

  Mike with Bari Gul (to Mike’s right) and his men while formulating the team’s evasion plan at Tarin Kowt.

  Alex and Amerine leaving Tarin Kowt with the convoy on November 30. (ODA 574 archives)

  The children of Petawek. (ODA 574 archives)

  Nelson Smith with local at Petawek. ( ODA 574 archives)

  Karzai in his command post at Petawek with Fox (barely visible), Bolduc, and Amerine—reviewing their route to Damana and Shawali Kowt on December 2.(Rambo 85 archives)

  ODA 574 with Karzai and headquarters staff on the morning of December 3 before departing Petawek. L to R front: Alex, Bolduc, Mike, Mag, Dan. L to R, standing: Ronnie, Wes, Ken, Victor, Karzai, Brent, Fox, Smith, Amerine, JD. (Gilbert “Mag” Magallanes)

  The convoy leaving Petawek, with the mountains of Uruzgan behind them and Mag at his machine gun in back of the center truck, heads toward Kandahar Province.(ODA 574 archives)

  Shawali Kowt medical clinic—which became the casualty collection point for the wounded on December 5—as seen while looking northwest from atop the Alamo.(ODA 574 archives)

  The bridge over the Arghandab River as seen looking southwest from the Alamo over the rooftops of Shawali Kowt.(ODA 574 archives)

  Lieutenant Colonel Mike Kingsley gave the order to send the first daylight rescue mission in the war from J-Bad, Pakistan, on December 5, despite the unknowns at Shawali Kowt.(USAF/TSgt. Scott Reed)

  Dual-hatted Lieutenant Colonel Hadley was both the air mission commander for the rescue efforts and lead trauma physician on Knife 03.(USAF/ TSgt. Scott Reed)

  Captain Paul Alexander, copilot on Knife 04. (AFSOC archives)

  Captain Steve Gregg, pilot and aircraft commander of Knife 03.(AFSOC archives)

  Staff Sergeant Scott Diekman, the tail gunner on Knife 03.(AFSOC archives)

  Knife 03 and Knife 04, low level and broad daylight over Afghanistan, early December.(USAF/ TSgt. Scott Reed)

  The CCTs and PJs surround Hadley after the mission at Camp Rhino on December 5.(Hadley family archives)

  Cubby and Allard with the Alamo in the background on December 7.(Wojciehowski family archives)

  Karzai walking in the desert of Uruzgan Province on December 3. Two days later, he would narrowly escape death and be named the interim leader of Afghanistan.(ODA 574 archives)

  Karzai being sworn in as interim leader on December 22, 2001, in Kabul.(Hadley family archives)

  Captain Amerine’s mentor, Dennis Holloway—shown here outside of Kuwait City on January 18, 1991, during Operation Desert Storm— walked him through the Trees of the Dead at Gabriel Field when Amerine was still a cadet at West Point.(Holloway family archives)

  The Trees of the Dead, Gabriel Field, Fort Campbell, Kentucky, 2008.(Bruce Watts)

  “I’m told there are small jirgas [councils] taking place across the tribal belt,” said Karzai. “All the way to Kandahar, tribal leaders are discussing which side to take.”

  “So this battle really stirred things up,” said Amerine.

  “It was as I’ve told your government for years. Most Pashtun have not been happy with the Taliban, but could not defeat them. Now they see an opportunity. The question they have now is whether or not your military will stay to finish the job.”

  “I can’t make any promises,” said Amerine. “I know we intend to stay until the Taliban fall and al-Qaeda flees the country. I don’t know the plans for reconstruction. Afghanistan is going to take decades to rebuild.”

  Satisfied with Amerine’s candor, Karzai nodded. Three Afghans approached, each handing him a few sheets of paper, and he glanced at the writing, then signed the documents with a flourish. The men thanked Karzai and left the room.

  “These letters they asked me to sign,” said Karzai, “they grant safe passage as they travel to Helmand Province.”

  “Who are they?”

  “Young men who have snuck away from their Taliban units in Kandahar and are going home.”

  Amerine had read about these chits in Ahmed Rashid’s book Taliban: Mullah Omar had provided letters of safe passage as his movement swept across the land, his signature serving as a stamp of protection. Now Karzai was receiving the same respect.

  “That is a big deal,” Amerine said.

  “It is how things are done here,” Karzai responded.

  When Amerine, Mike, and Wes returned to the observation post, Brent and Victor had arrived and were settling back in with their team. Ronnie was telling Brent about the nickel-plated AKS, and Mike immediately began going through a new rucksack that Victor had brought him, full of replacements for his stolen gear.

  “Thank God,” Mike said when Victor tossed him a sleeping bag. “I have been freezing my ass off.”

  “Any news?” JD asked Amerine.

  “The tribal belt is in complete upheaval. We don’t have everyone on our side, but most of the villages between here and Kandahar are rethinking their allegiance.”

  “Not bad.”

  “Yeah,” said Amerine, “but I think we should give it one more night out here. Hamid agreed.”

  Dan walked over. “Task Force Dagger wants us to provide battle damage assessment [BDA] with digital photos of the enemy vehicles we destroyed,” he said.

  “Are they worried about the effectiveness of five-hundred-pound bombs on Toyotas?” said JD.

  “I think they’re worried that we’re still in Pakistan and just making all this up,” replied Dan.

  “Okay, so we’ll take a drive around the battlefield, then camp on the ridge for the night,” said Amerine.

  Through Rahim, Amerine briefed Bari Gul, who nodded. Rahim, on the other hand, shook his head as he spoke. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but I cannot go with you.”

  “Why is that?” asked JD.

  “I am here to translate, not to fight,” he said, expressing his concern that there might still be Taliban in the area. “I will return to the headquarters now.”

  “We need a translator,” said JD. “Karzai said you’re our man.”

  “I will send Seylaab. He is young,” said Rahim, appearing pleased that he had solved the problem. He climbed into the passenger seat of one of Bari Gul’s trucks, closed the door, and stared through the windshield. A guerrilla climbed behind the wheel, and the truck headed back toward Tarin Kowt.

  Amerine looked at Bari Gul. Despite the language barrier, as long as this warrior was around, Amerine felt that ODA 574 was in good hands.

  It was an hour before the truck returned, and the six-foot-four Seylaab, still wearing his aqua robe, stepped out; he was carrying an AK-47 upside down, one hand gripping it awkwardly by the barrel.

  “He’s all yours, sir,” said JD.

  The team laughed as Seylaab hurried to Amerine’s side. “Mister Jason, I was told that I am to assist you.”

  Amerine nodded to Bari Gul, who walked to his truck, which was packed with his men. Seylaab lingered, awaiting his next order. “Hop in, Seylaab,” said Amerine. “We have to go.”

  Dashing ahead, Seylaab held open the door to Amerine’s truck. �
��You don’t have to do that,” said Amerine. “Just get in.”

  “Yes,” said Seylaab. “Yes, Mister Jason.”

  The five trucks moved slowly in single file along the same dirt road that had been gridlocked the day before. They had traveled no more than fifty yards south into the labyrinth when Bari Gul’s lead vehicle turned off-road and ascended a ridgeline a short distance to the west. At the top, Bari Gul, Amerine, and Seylaab got out of their trucks. Staring across the labyrinth, Amerine realized that this piece of high ground, just across the road from the one they currently occupied, was a far better observation post. He knows what he’s doing, thought Amerine.

  Bari Gul spoke, looking at Amerine, not Seylaab.