Foxtrot in Kandahar

by Duane Evans

  On the way to see them, I spotted three people walking along the sidewalk, two of whom I recognized as being former “Shelter Now” hostages of the Taliban, and who only a day or two earlier had been rescued by U.S. forces. I knew the Agency had worked hard on their behalf and had arguably played the key role in getting them out of harm’s way.

  As I passed them, I paused to say, “Welcome back,” and to tell them I was glad to see they were safe and sound. They clearly were delighted to be where they were and out of danger, and they told me it was all thanks to God that they had been safely returned. I thought about that for a second but decided not to debate the point, and continued on my way.

  After looking around for a bit, I finally found the two military Spec Ops operators, Gary and Mike. Gary came across as a slow talking, laid back country boy, but his rank of Command Sergeant Major told me the “laid back” aspect should be viewed with circumspection. Mike was a Sergeant First Class and looked like he could have been Al Pacino’s double in the “Godfather.” I liked them instantly but they said the only way Foxtrot could have the gear was if they went with it. Clearly they saw this as their ticket to Afghanistan. I could not fault them for that.

  In my COS assignment in Latin America I had worked on a project for several months with a similar team from the same task force. From that experience, I knew these guys were professional soldiers through and through, and I would have loved to have them detailed to Foxtrot. The problem was that the approval for them to deploy into Afghanistan, a war zone, could not be granted locally. It would require Secretary of Defense Rumsfeld’s signature. To get that level of approval out of the Pentagon within four days would be a challenge to say the least. I was not optimistic about the chances of success, particularly given DOD’s track record of taking many weeks to get the approval for the first Special Forces team to join up with the NALT in northern Afghanistan. Despite the skepticism, Islamabad station immediately submitted the request up the channels.

  In later discussions with Station’s communications officer, I learned that even if Gary and Mike were able to join Foxtrot, because of some software differences with their commo gear, Foxtrot still would not be able to send, or receive, any CIA text or other data. We would be limited to secure voice communications with Headquarters. Considering that we were going to be in a warzone and working at a tactical level, secure voice communications to Headquarters probably would not be all that helpful. But it was better than nothing until the paramilitary team from Washington joined us and brought in the right gear.

  To help augment our less than robust communications capability, Islamabad station issued Foxtrot a commercial email system that we could route through an INMARSAT antenna. This system would allow Foxtrot to send emails via satellite to the station, which could then relay the emails over secure staff channels to Headquarters. Unlike normal Agency communications, this backchannel system was not secure, but it did have PGP (Pretty Good Privacy) commercial encryption that, according to the commo officer, was actually fairly secure. I was skeptical that the Agency would authorize use of this type of system, but I was assured it was an approved system. The catch was that it could be used only for unclassified communications. I could not imagine that anything worth sending would be unclassified, but under the circumstances I thought, OK, whatever.

  After talking to Gary and Mike I returned to the station, where Mark and I had to deal with another problem. Mark didn’t have a weapon. Understandably, he wasn’t thrilled about the idea of stepping off a helicopter in the middle of the night in Kandahar province without one. We were told all of Station’s weapons had been issued, but then a pistol, a Browning 9mm High-power, was found in a safe drawer. There was only one magazine, however, and no holster or ammunition. Mark and I searched the supply room, literally climbing on top of cabinets to check out the upper-level shelves. Our search paid off and we found a box of 9mm ammo but still no holster or extra magazine. Luckily, I had brought a concealed carry pistol belt from the States just in case, and I gave it to Mark. Had we not found a pistol for him, I would have given him not only the pistol belt but my pistol as well. He still didn’t have a rifle, but at least he would be armed with something beyond a hope and a prayer when we first arrived in Afghanistan. We figured we would be able to get him an AK-47 from Shirzai’s fighters pretty quickly after that.

  Late that afternoon Mark and I loaded onto an Air Force C-130 and flew down to Jacobabad. During the flight I thought about the abbreviated deployment timeline and all the equipment and personnel deficiencies that Foxtrot faced. It hit me that the decision to send in a CIA team to join Shirzai seemed almost an afterthought, something someone had forgotten about and then remembered at the last minute. Certainly, it was a shoestring operation by any standard, and we would be flying by the seat of our pants. I knew at that point that if it was going to make a contribution in Afghanistan, in spite of its many challenges, Foxtrot had to become—for lack of better words—“the little team that could.”

  In the final approach to the airbase my thoughts shifted to more immediate concerns as the pilot put the plane through some hard turns and quick changes in altitude. I had flown nap of the earth before on approaches to drop zones when I was in the 82nd Airborne Division, but the evasive maneuvers the pilot steered the plane through exceeded anything I had ever experienced. When I saw the Air Force loadmaster lose his cookies, I thought, Yep, this is some serious flying.

  PART THREE

  AFGHANISTAN

  21

  There Be Snakes

  Upon ARRIVAL IN JACOBABAD we moved into tents close to the airfield. Within a day or two, Special Forces ODA 583 came down from Karshi Khanabad, Uzbekistan, to join us. Other than brief introductions between myself and Hank, the ODA team leader, there was almost no interaction with the rest of the ODA for the first day or two. They kept to their area, and it seemed like they did not know what to make of us, or if they could trust us. I kind of understood that. We were the CIA after all, and God only knew what bullshit they had been told.

  I decided that as it was entirely possible we all might die together in the next few days, it would be good if we got to know each other. So slowly we introduced ourselves to the ODA members and the ice began to break. Then we began in earnest our planning for the infiltration and link-up with Shirzai’s fighters.

  My experience from having been with Echo team during its pre-mission planning phase really began to pay off, as by now I understood what needed to be done and by whom. Just as I had seen with Echo, there were a myriad of details that had to be addressed. The next three days passed quickly and the date of our infiltration, 19 November, arrived.

  I received word that the approval for Gary and Mike to deploy with us had just come in, and they would be arriving in Jacobabad soon. I was thrilled, having become almost certain the approval would not come through in time.

  Islamabad was also sending down a paramilitary officer named Doug who had recently arrived from Washington. He would not be part of Foxtrot team but would stay in Jacobabad to set up a logistics support base for both the Foxtrot and Echo teams. He was also bringing down $500,000 for Foxtrot to take into Afghanistan.

  When Gary, Mike, and Doug arrived, Doug immediately wanted me to count and sign for the money he was carrying. Mark and I were busy doing all the final coordination with the Air Force, Islamabad station, and Headquarters, and there was no time for us to deal with the money at that moment. We also did not have any place to securely store it, which meant someone had to be with it at all times. I told Doug his primary job for the day was to take care of the money and when I was free, I would sign for it.

  I could tell Doug was not happy about that. He followed me around like a puppy dog, and several times during the day he asked me again to take the money. If I’d been him, I would have wanted to get rid of the responsibility for it as well. Despite my empathy for his situation, I finally got a little angry and came unglued on him.

  “Doug, I told you. You
’ve got one job to do today and that is to keep this money with you and do not lose it. When, and only when I tell you I’m ready for it, will you talk to me about it.”

  I knew he must have thought I was a jerk, but at least he didn’t bother me anymore about the money.

  Just hours before we were to board the helicopter for the air insertion, we received the enemy threat briefing from the squadron intelligence staff. It was the same drill I went through with Echo team, and it was a reminder that even though Kabul had fallen a few days before, there were a lot of bad guys still in the South. In fact, there were probably more than had been there before Kabul’s fall. The briefers told us that the greater Kandahar area had an estimated 20,000 Taliban and al-Qa’ida fighters. An estimated 5,000 of these were believed to be in and around the city of Spin Boldak, which was near the Pakistani border. This was of immediate significance as our plan was to join up with Shirzai’s fighters in the Shin Naray Valley north of Spin Boldak and then move southward to capture that city. After that, we would turn our sights to the primary objective of Kandahar, which was connected to Spin Boldak by Highway 4.

  Highway 4 was of strategic importance in its own right as it was the only principal route to Pakistan from Kandahar. Al-Qa’ida frequently used the highway to move back and forth. By our controlling it, al-Qa’ida fighters would lose the use of the highway as a resupply and escape route.

  While the number of enemy fighters was sobering, the final piece of bad news was almost as alarming. Unlike the area where Echo team had infiltrated, Foxtrot was headed to an area where there were heavy concentrations of land mines, i.e. “snakes.”

  22

  Infiltration

  After THE SECURITY BRIEFING I stopped by to thank Colonel Hadley, who had been invaluable in helping Foxtrot team over the last few days. With that accomplished, I finally had time to go to my tent to finish packing my rucksack. It was only minutes before we were to load on trucks and move down to the waiting MH-53 helicopter, and I told Doug I was ready for the money. There was no time to count it, however, and I just signed the receipt. Doug was all smiles. I did not have enough room in my rucksack for all of the money so I pitched Mark a couple of the cash bundles to stuff in his pack.

  Mark had told me once that he knew he wanted to be a CIA case officer from the time he was a kid. Sitting in the tent, only minutes from our infiltration into Afghanistan, I wondered if he ever imagined he would be doing the kind of things he was doing now. At some point, I noticed Mark stopped his packing and just sat there on the cot, motionless. He was that way for a while, a distant look on his face, not moving, like his battery had just run out. I started to ask if he was okay, but I didn’t. I didn’t know what he was thinking, but I suspected the realization that we were about to go in was really sinking in. Finally, like a switch was turned back on, he resumed packing. I know I had had similar moments; probably everyone else on the team including the SF guys had, too.

  As dusk fell we loaded our gear and ourselves onto a couple of pickups for transport to the helicopter. Contrary to our original plan, only a three-man advance element of the Special Forces ODA would be going in with us and not the whole team. Hank explained that the last minute change was mandated by 5th Special Forces Group Headquarters and was driven by SF doctrine that dictated that an ODA could not be infiltrated until there was confirmation that there was an indigenous force of at least 500 fighters present. The assumption was that a force this size could hold its own against any serious attacks. Once we had established that fact, the rest of the ODA would follow. The now reduced number of passengers meant that aside from the aircrew, there was only a total of seven men, consisting of Hank, his team sergeant, a third SF soldier, Mark, Gary, Mike, and myself. Our small number meant we only needed one bird. That was a good thing. With only one helicopter there would be less “brown-out” from dust blowing when we landed. This had been a serious and dangerous problem during Echo team’s three-helicopter insertion five days earlier, which contributed to the team initially getting separated. Our helicopter would, however, be escorted by another bird that would not land except to rescue us in the event of an emergency. In addition, jet aircraft would be on station, ready to provide close air support for us if things went to hell at the landing zone.

  Despite our small number, with the gear and the aircrew, the helicopter was tightly packed. I was glad it would be a relatively short ride, as the Shin Naray Valley was just a few kilometers across the Pak-Afghan border.

  By the time we lifted off, it was dark outside. No lights were allowed on inside the aircraft so it was pitch black, and I discovered I had unwisely packed my night vision goggles in an inaccessible spot so I was effectively blind during the entire flight.

  The helicopter flew with the rear ramp open with the tail gunner sitting in a rearward facing position. A few minutes into the flight he opened up with a burst of machine gun fire. The sound of the gun was unexpectedly quiet, but still, I was startled. It took me a minute or two to figure out that the gunner was just testing the gun. If they had said they were going to do that in the pre-flight briefing I had missed it.

  Because of the lack of space, when we boarded I had to sit down on the floor with my rucksack still strapped on my back. It made for a comfortable backrest during the flight, but I knew that between the weight of the ruck and the crowded space, it was going to be a devil of a time trying to stand up and make a quick exit when we landed. After much thought, I decided my best hope was to use some netting that was attached to the inside wall of the aircraft. The only way I knew the netting was there was because I could feel it in the dark. When the crew chief gave the ten-minute warning, I grabbed the netting and began to pull myself up. It was a slow ascent. It was very hard to do in part because of the movement of the helicopter and also because we all were pressing against each other as we tried to stand. It took what seemed like several minutes and all my strength to grope and claw my way up the net into a standing position. There I was, on my “D-Day” assault into Afghanistan, and I was clawing and grabbing like a blind monkey in a cage. It was not how I had imagined it would be.

  As we neared the coordinates of where the reception party should be waiting, the pilots were looking for three small fires set on a north-south axis. The fires were to serve as a reference marker to indicate where to land the helicopter. I knew when the pilots had seen the fires as I felt the helicopter start to slow and then begin a wobbly descent. For an instant we touched down, but then lifted back up, moved forward, then came back down harder than the first time, but not too bad, considering.

  “Go, go,” the crew chief yelled, and we started exiting out the rear of the aircraft. We were in two single file lines, one on the left side, one on the right. I was on the right side of the helicopter, and as I stepped off the ramp I was careful to avoid falling. Given the weight of my rucksack that was not easy, but I managed to alight safely. I immediately turned left to avoid the vertical tail rotor cutting through the air just a few feet away. Burdened by the rucksack, I stumbled away to get clear from the helicopter. Dust and sand driven by the prop wash made it impossible to see anything, even though I wore protective goggles.

  After about 20 steps I ungracefully fell to the ground. As I fell, the rucksack slipped and its weight turned me sideways. I ended up on my back on top of the pack, like an upside down turtle. As I laid there in the most “non-tactical” of positions, the MH-53 lifted off into the night, its dark shape rising into the sky and moving away from me, taking the engine noise and prop blast with it. As it receded from view I managed to roll over. Silence descended, the dust settled, and I saw Afghanistan for the first time.

  A sliver of moon hung low in the clear night sky, and I could barely make out the barren hills that overlooked the Shin Naray Valley. High above the valley, thousands of stars twinkled in the dark sky. The lovely nighttime scene reminded me of my boyhood home. Hey, Toto, this isn’t New Mexico, I told myself.

  I put the AK to my shoulder an
d assumed a defensive prone position. There was no gunfire, which I took as a good sign. I decided to try to stand up, and once again I had difficulty with the anchor on my back.

  “You need some help?”

  It was Mike, who had gotten off the helicopter just before I did. I stuck up my arm and he grabbed it and pulled me to my feet. After finding the rest of the group, we knelt down in the darkness alert for any signs of danger as we looked and listened for the reception party. At last we saw a blinking light shine in our direction. It was the recognition signal we were looking for, and we moved toward it. The light flashed a couple more times as we approached, and we soon saw the dark silhouettes of pickup trucks and men with guns. Then, out of the darkness an accented voice rang out, “Welcome to Afghanistan!”

  Our greeter was an Afghan named Khalil who would become our number one go-to guy during our time in Afghanistan. He spoke English perfectly and was a cousin and right hand advisor to Shirzai.

  We tossed our gear in the pickups, and along with other trucks filled with Afghan fighters providing security, we headed for Shirzai’s base camp located a few kilometers further down the valley. Along the way Khalil told me that after the helicopter departed they couldn’t tell that anyone had gotten out of it, and they were so disappointed thinking that at the last minute we had chickened out. Smiling a big smile through his beard he said, “Now that you guys are here with us, I know we are going to win!”

  We arrived at the base camp, which was situated at a junction with a smaller valley. Next to where we parked, there was a small stream that had been damned up with rocks so that a clear pool of water a couple of feet deep and maybe 30 feet across had formed. It was the only surface water I would see during my entire time in southern Afghanistan.