Foxtrot in Kandahar

by Duane Evans

  After a few minutes of discussions, we departed the office. Once again, a short conversation was sending Jimmy and I closer to our intended destination.

  I had not met Greg, a career paramilitary officer serving on assignment in Pakistan. Based on his reputation, which some would say was legendary, I expected him to be physically big and extroverted. When I met him later that day, I saw that he was of medium height and build, hard-as-nails fit, and that he had a reserved personality and the respectful manners of a properly raised Southerner. His bushy oversized mustache seemed a throw-back to the Civil War, and was a contradiction to his otherwise unassuming nature. More important than my first impressions of Greg was Jimmy’s high regard for him. Jimmy had known Greg for many years, going back to the time when Greg was a lieutenant in the Marines in Beirut. Jimmy’s endorsement was all the bona fides I needed.

  I still had unfinished business with Pasha, but because of our new orders, I would no longer be able to work with him, and a station officer took over the case. For reasons I never had the opportunity to learn, the plan to put a team in with him in northeastern Afghanistan never came to fruition. All the work and planning we had done with him in Washington came to naught.

  Greg, Jimmy, and I left for Jacobabad the next day. The COS, DCOS, and a couple of others walked us out to the waiting van to say goodbye. I appreciated their taking the time to send us off, and even the DCOS seemed to have decided we weren’t so bad after all. There was something subdued about their demeanor that caught my attention, however. And then I saw it in their eyes: they believed they might well be looking at dead men walking. It reminded me of when I had once said goodbye to a beloved elderly uncle. I remembered thinking as I looked at him that I would probably never see him alive again. There must be something telling about such a look, as I could see in my uncle’s eyes that he knew exactly what I was thinking, just as I knew what the members of this send-off committee were thinking. My uncle had proved me wrong and lived long enough for me to see him again. I hoped we would all do the same.

  The van drove us to the military section of the airport in Islamabad where a Pakistani plane was waiting. Onboard the plane our mood was somber. I don’t think any of us spoke during the entire flight, each lost in our own thoughts about what we had left behind and what was to come.

  14

  Karzai

  The PAK AIRCRAFT DROPPED us and our gear at the end of a desolate runway bathed in the warm light of the mid-afternoon sun. Without so much as a word from the crew, the plane immediately turned around and took off, disappearing into a cloudless sky.

  An arid landscape surrounded us and there were no buildings nearby, but we spotted a pickup truck parked alongside the runway several hundred meters away. Greg jogged over to it and convinced the sleeping Pakistani occupants to give us a ride to an aircraft hangar we could see in the distance. The truck took us most of the way, but the driver wisely let us off before reaching the fenced security perimeter. We walked the rest of the way, and as we neared the first band of concertina wire, I noticed two machine gun positions that were dug into the barren ground, reinforced with sandbags that formed parapets. U.S. Marines, who eyed us warily as we approached, manned the guns. We had no official identification to present, and we told them we were from Islamabad and were looking for the Air Force Special Ops Squadron. Apparently convinced we were friendlies, they pointed out the way and let us pass through the entrance gate.

  We found the squadron headquarters located in the aircraft hangar which had been divided into work and sleeping areas. The Air Force personnel were working in shifts so some people were asleep, or at least trying to sleep, though it was in the middle of the afternoon and fully light inside the hangar.

  In Islamabad, we had been told to ask for Colonel Steve Hadley, the air operations commander. We found him asleep on a cot, and an airman rousted him from his slumber. He looked exhausted but that didn’t stop him from immediately getting up and tending to our needs. In the coming days I would learn what an impressive guy he was. Not only was the colonel a helicopter pilot, he was also a medical doctor and, like myself, an Army Ranger School graduate. He had an eclectic range of talents, to say the least. Quick with a smile and always in an upbeat mood, he was very personable. I think all three of us liked him immediately.

  Colonel Hadley was one of only a handful of Air Force personnel who were briefed on who we were and the nature of our mission. Others who were briefed included members of the intelligence staff, one of whom was a young Air Force Captain named John Smith. Because of the restricted number of briefed personnel, Colonel Hadley and Captain Smith would be our principal contacts during our time at the airbase. Over the next couple of weeks they were an incredible support to us in our preparations for infiltrating Afghanistan. Colonel Hadley’s support would prove to be even more impressive and critical in the days following Echo team’s insertion into the heart of Taliban territory.

  We had only been in Jacobabad a couple of days when we received orders to pull Karzai and his tribal elders out of Afghanistan ASAP and to bring them back to Jacobabad. Karzai and his fledgling anti-Taliban insurgency’s tactical situation had deteriorated to the point where they were on the verge of being cornered and annihilated by the Taliban. Using a CIA communication link with Karzai that had previously been established, arrangements for how his rescue would be accomplished were worked out. The plan called for Greg and Jimmy along with a small SEAL team to carry out a helicopter extraction. I was disappointed that I was not going to be part of the mission, and I approached Greg about being included. But he refused my request, saying he didn’t want to risk any more people than necessary.

  I couldn’t argue with his logic about risking additional lives, so I suggested that I take Jimmy’s place. Jimmy had participated in just about every U.S. military undertaking since the Vietnam War, and he had twice been in helicopter crashes, one of those during a combat mission. I felt he had done more than his fair share of risk-taking for his country, particularly when compared to the comparatively minor risks I had taken.

  “This is the real deal,” Greg responded. “If something goes wrong, I have to have a clear conscience about the decisions I made for this mission, including who I picked to go. Jimmy has more extensive and more recent military experience than you do. I appreciate your willingness to go, but he is the best choice.”

  He was of course right about Jimmy. There was no way I could compete with his military experience—a full Army career, most of it spent with Delta. On top of that, Greg and Jimmy were close, having known each other for many years. I knew that counted for a lot as well. I, on the other hand, was an unknown quantity in Greg’s eyes. While I was Army Ranger and Special Forces qualified, I had spent only six years in the military and had not worn the uniform in almost 18. There really was no argument to be made about which one of us made more sense to take on the mission, and I had to accept the logic of Greg’s decision. So when the team departed to extract Karzai and his tribal elders, my role was relegated to staying behind to keep the home fires burning.

  While the team was away, I went over to the hangar and talked to Captain Smith about getting some folding cots for our expected guests. He and I loaded them onto a pickup truck, brought them to our building, and set them up in the largest room available. I was not even sure the Afghans would want to use the cots, but I figured it would be rude not to make them available. If they didn’t like the cots, they could always sleep on the floor.

  Late that night, we got word that the extraction was successful, and the team and Afghans were returning to base. The extraction had been carried out using a helicopter, but once in Pakistani territory, all the passengers were transferred to an MC-130 fixed wing aircraft and flown to the airbase.

  Captain Smith and I walked over to the motor pool and found a bus with the keys still in it that we could use to transport the passengers. It was an interesting drive over to the airfield, as neither of us had ever driven a bus, and we had to
do it in the dark without headlights due to tactical restrictions. Fortunately we managed to get there without running anyone over.

  The incoming aircraft was totally blacked out so in the nighttime sky we couldn’t see the plane’s approach. But we heard it land and taxi over to our location. Even when the plane was only feet away, it was almost impossible to see it without the aid of night vision goggles. Although the aircraft was now in relatively friendly territory, the SEAL team members were taking no chances. When the tail ramp came down, they were the first ones off, holding their weapons at the ready. They did not move quickly, however, and in the dim light that emanated from the interior of the plane, I could see the odd fashion in which they high-stepped down the ramp in order to minimize the chance of stumbling over the raised framework of the ramp floor. Only after they determined to their satisfaction that the area was secure did they permit the Afghans to file off the plane. The SEALS then loaded back onto the MC-130, which taxied away into the darkness.

  I saw Karzai for the first time as he stepped past me to board the bus. Dressed in traditional Pashtun garb, his hands clasped and pressed against his chest, he nodded to me and in a voice not much above a whisper said, “Hello.” His image and demeanor struck me as that of a religious figure, gentle and kind, hardly someone you would expect to have just started an armed rebellion against the Taliban regime.

  15

  A Full Up Team

  Within A COUPLE OF days of Karzai’s extraction, three paramilitary officers, Don, Will, and Ron, as well as Dave, a CIA Office of Medical Services physician assistant, arrived from Washington. At this point, Echo Team came fully into existence. Greg and Jimmy knew most, if not all, of the new team members. I knew none of them. They were a tight group, and I assumed that since I was not a paramilitary officer, it would take a while to gain their acceptance. The truth was, despite my own background as a former Green Beret and Ranger, I felt a little insecure about not being a member of their elite group. But that didn’t last long, as I very quickly came to feel like part of the team.

  Shortly after the paramilitary team arrived, we were all issued weapons and other equipment. Ron, a former Force Recon Marine who hailed from New York, was the team armorer and he handed out the weaponry. I signed for an AK-47 and a Glock 19. The AK was a new lightweight model made out of a type of wood I had never seen used before. Despite its light weight, I didn’t like it. I was not used to the kind of fixed vertical fore grip carved into the stock, and the rear stock didn’t fold. For practical reasons, like climbing in and out of vehicles and living in confined spaces, I wanted a rifle that could be made smaller when needed, and a solid stock wouldn’t give me that option. I decided that once I was inside Afghanistan, at my first opportunity I would trade it for another one. I didn’t tell Ron about my plan, however, as he seemed pretty proprietary about his weapons.

  In addition to the AK’s, we were issued magazines for them. Unfortunately, the team hadn’t brought an extra tactical vest for me, so I had no way to carry the magazines other than stuffing them into my cargo pants pockets. Eventually I met an Air Force Sergeant who said he could lay his hands on a flight vest if I was willing to part company with the black Spyderco folding knife I wore on my belt. I had another knife so the deal was a no-brainer, and both of us walked away happy. The flight vest really wasn’t designed for the purpose I had in mind, but it worked well enough. It also drew attention from the other team members; one said he thought it looked “sporty” and he even offered to trade his tactical vest for it. Realizing that my mates were envious of my warzone chic, vanity got the best of me and I decided that I liked the vest and hung onto it.

  Other gear was issued as well, to include communications equipment, both radio frequency and satellite based, and Iridium phones. The robust commo suite would allow us to communicate with just about anybody we wanted—from aircraft providing close air support to wives talking about kids running fevers back home. For record traffic, there was also a team commo system used to communicate with CIA Headquarters and stations and bases around the world.

  Soon after the arrival of the PM’ers, Special Forces Operational Detachment-Alpha 574, consisting of 10 men from 5th Special Forces group, joined us in Jacobabad. Normally, an ODA has 12 men, but the ODA was short one soldier and the team sergeant was delayed and would join us at a later date. The ODA’s main role would be to call in air strikes in support of Karzai’s forces. Additionally, they would advise the Afghans on tactics to use against the Taliban and al-Qa’ida. Special Forces ODA’s were also capable of providing training to indigenous forces, but because Echo team and the ODA would be joining with Karzai’s fighters already engaged in combat, deep inside enemy-held territory, there would be little time for training.

  With the ODA’s arrival, all the players were now in place to move the plan forward, and Karzai was anxious to get back with his fighters in Afghanistan. He was worried that his absence and that of his tribal elders would undermine the morale of his supporters and lead to their abandoning the fight against the Taliban. This was a concern that we all shared. We also recognized that Karzai’s return to Afghanistan with Americans in tow would demonstrate America’s commitment to their cause, and the sooner we could make that happen the better.

  Planning sessions began immediately, and over the course of a few days a campaign plan was developed. It called for a helicopter insertion into the area of Tarin Kowt in Uruzgan province located in south-central Afghanistan, just north of Kandahar province. Tarin Kowt was chosen because it was where Karzai came from and he had many supporters there. The hope was that those supporters would swell the ranks of Karzai’s fighters. Once a capable force was raised and equipped, the campaign to capture Kandahar would begin.

  Kandahar was ground zero for the Taliban. It was the birthplace of the movement, as well as the political center of gravity for the Afghan Pashtuns. From a Taliban psychological perspective, when that city fell, even more so than Kabul, it would signal the end of any hope that they could continue as the ruling power in Afghanistan.

  Aware of the importance of this effort, I found it extraordinary that the decisions on how to achieve this goal were being made by this small group of Americans working in concert with Karzai, and without interference from Washington.

  During those days of planning at Jacobabad, I got to know the members of the ODA, some more than others. The two I spent the most time with were the team leader, a captain named Jason Amerine, and “Mag,” the team Intel Sergeant. Interestingly, Jason at some point mentioned to me that he had applied and been accepted for employment with the CIA, but because the Army had instituted a “stop loss” policy after 9/11 he could not leave to take the job. If he was upset about that, I could not tell. Mag was a big, tough-looking guy. He had only recently taken on the role of the intelligence specialist on the team. He wanted to do a good job for the team, and he was interested in learning everything he could about intelligence. Aside from my time in Special Forces, my basic Army branch had been Military Intelligence, so I felt a connection with Mag and tried to serve as a mentor of sorts.

  Sometimes, in the early morning, Mag and I would take our exercise together jogging around the airbase. As we ran along the sun-baked roads we would talk about the upcoming mission. Although he looked forward to it, his eagerness was tempered by a realistic and mature outlook about the dangers he and the team would face, an attitude I thought appropriate for someone serving in the role of the team’s intel sergeant.

  Another critical partner in our planning for the infiltration was the Air Force 20th Special Operations Squadron that would have the mission of inserting the combined CIA-Special Forces team into Afghanistan. The Squadron had ample capability and expertise for this kind of operation. Of particular importance from a planning perspective was the squadron’s all-source intelligence section which brought to bear an impressive array of capabilities to include near real-time imagery, weather data, battlefield and threat analysis, and customized map pro
ducts—all of which were used in the planning.

  The intelligence section also was responsible for providing the pre-infiltration briefing to Echo Team and the ODA. The “enemy threat” portion of this briefing was particularly sobering. Up until the time of the briefing we had been focused on what we needed to do to get ready to deploy, and we had not focused heavily on what awaited us, although we certainly had a general idea. The threat briefing not only reminded us we were headed straight into “Indian country,” it also provided details on the lethal capabilities the enemy possessed. By this time, Taliban and al-Qa’ida forces were largely being routed in the north, but in the South the situation was much different. With the exception of Karzai’s fledgling armed-efforts and a couple of quick raids by U.S. special operations elements, no ground combat had taken place. Well-armed enemy forces numbering in the thousands still operated there.

  About the only good news to come out of the briefing was that the area where we were going was not believed to have land mines left over from the days of the Soviet occupation, unlike some areas of Afghanistan which were saturated with them. Two things that I had always had an elevated fear of were snakes and lightning, both of which were hidden threats that could seemingly come out of nowhere and snuff you out. Putting those fears in a military context, land mines equaled snakes and artillery equaled lightning. So when the briefer said there were no land mines, this translated to me as “no snakes.” That just left the lightning.

  16

  A Devoted Man

  Although GREG, AS THE team leader, was in effect Karzai’s counterpart, he had his hands full overseeing the infiltration planning, so he designated me to be Karzai’s “go to” guy.

  I occupied a room next door to Karzai and he took full advantage of my proximity, often calling out in his clear voice: “Duane, come quick. I have something very interesting to tell you.”