Foxtrot in Kandahar

by Duane Evans

  After my stint as a platoon leader in the 82nd, I transferred to 7th Special Forces Group, also located on Ft. Bragg. I liked the SF attitude about leadership that came through in the Special Forces Officer Qualification Course. The message was “be yourself.” This was something my father had said as well. The basic idea being that if you don’t have the personality and temperament of General Patton, don’t try to be General Patton. You will be seen through immediately and you will not command the respect and loyalty that you will need to accomplish your mission. Throughout my professional career both in the Army and the CIA, I have seen leaders make this mistake, and it is quite striking how easy it is to recognize. It also is a mistake that is hard, maybe impossible, to recover from.

  24

  The Best Laid Plans

  The PARACHUTE-SHROUDED MUD house in the Shin Naray Valley became our living quarters, and on the morning after our dinner with Shirzai I stepped outside to get my first daytime look at Afghanistan. From my elevated perch I saw that the wide valley we occupied was bordered on each side by steep, rugged hills sparsely covered by brown scrub brush. In any direction I turned, the land looked thirsty, and the air almost crackled from dryness when I breathed it. The arid character of the place made the pool of water below me look particularly inviting. The cumulative effect again reminded me of New Mexico, particularly southern areas of the state where as a boy I hunted desert quail, dove, and mule deer. The feel of the rifle in my hands, combined with the familiar-looking setting, put me at ease. I felt very much at home.

  As our first order of business, Mark and I climbed into Shirzai’s Land Cruiser, and he drove us around to show us his fighters so we could get a head count. They were not in formation, far from it, but were scattered in various small encampments up and down the valley, so the best we could do was to come up with an estimate. Hank was also taking a separate head count, and we compared notes at the end of the morning. I guesstimated there were 600–900 fighters; Hank figured the numbers were somewhat lower, somewhere between 500 and 700. Although our numbers differed, both estimates met or exceeded the magic number of 500. With that prerequisite met, Hank sent word back to 5th SF Group Headquarters and requested the rest of his team to be deployed that night as planned.

  After we got back from the survey, I asked Shirzai for another AK-47, one with a folding stock and no vertical grip. A few minutes later a young Afghan wearing fatigues and oversized tennis shoes trotted up and handed me his folding stock AK. I did a functions check and the gun seemed fine. I handed him my AK and as he fondled the vertical grip I disliked, he smiled, probably because the gun was brand-new and considerably lighter than the one he had given me. To make sure the gun was reasonably accurate, I walked over to the backside of a hill and set up a dirt clod as a target. After pacing off a hundred meters I took aim and fired. The dirt clod shattered. The gun was good to go. In the meantime, Mark, who so far had only been armed with the Agency pistol, acquired an AK for himself.

  Later in the day, Hank received word that the remainder of the SF team was not coming until the following evening. The original plan to have them come the day after we arrived had been scrubbed without our knowledge when the pilots who brought us in had reported to Air Ops that they spotted only about 40 fighters around the landing zone. Someone back in Jacobabad had erroneously assumed that they were the only fighters Shirzai had, so did not want to risk sending the rest of the team. Had they checked with us, we would have explained that the reason there were only a small number of fighters at the LZ was that we had instructed Shirzai to keep the numbers down; we did not want a lot of people present when we landed, which could’ve made it harder to identify friend from foe if something went wrong.

  Around the time we learned that the remainder of the ODA was delayed, Khalil told us that the night we arrived, the local Taliban commander and a couple of his sub-commanders were present at the base camp talking to Shirzai about the possible surrender of the Taliban garrison located at the mouth of the Shin Naray Valley, only a few kilometers away. No deal had been struck, but the Taliban commander had requested a second meeting that had been set for that very night.

  Khalil confirmed that we unknowingly had walked right past the Taliban delegation when we had first climbed the hill to the mud house. No doubt, that was the group that had cast wary glances at us as we tromped by. This meant the Taliban now knew there were Americans on the ground with Shirzai, a fact we had hoped to keep secret for as long as possible. To our chagrin, we now knew that the secret had only lasted for about an hour after we arrived in country.

  We met with Shirzai to discuss his planned meeting and cautioned him that the Taliban had recently carried off a deception operation up north where they were supposedly surrendering but instead mounted an attack. We told Shirzai that if he still wanted to meet the Taliban commander, he should position a large force at the site well in advance of the scheduled meeting. Shirzai still believed there was a chance he could negotiate the Taliban surrender and wanted to go through with the meeting. No Americans accompanied him, but Hank loaned him some night vision goggles to take along.

  Just after dark, Shirzai’s force moved down the valley to the appointed meeting spot. A few hours later, they returned and Shirzai gave us his report. His force had arrived well in advance of the meeting and took up defensive positions. Only minutes later, a convoy of Taliban trucks came down the valley. They had stopped some distance before reaching the site and off-loaded the trucks. The Taliban force had spread out and was advancing toward the meeting site. Believing the Taliban were deploying for an attack, Shirzai’s men opened up on them and a short firefight ensued; the Taliban retreated.

  There would be no more negotiations.

  The following morning we met with Shirzai to plan our next steps. It was out in the open on top of the hill near the mud house. We sat in a circle on Afghan carpets with our maps spread out in front of us. In keeping with the plan we had hatched in Jacobabad, we proposed to Shirzai that we go to Spin Boldak first and then move down Highway 4 to Kandahar.

  Shirzai pointed out that there were lots of Taliban in Spin Boldak, plus we would have to fight our way through the nearby Taliban garrison to get there. He counter-proposed that we completely avoid Spin Boldak and the Taliban garrison and head straight across the desert for the village of Takhteh-Pol, which sat astride Highway 4 two-thirds of the way to Kandahar from Spin Boldak. There was a small Taliban garrison there, Shirzai said, but if we captured the village, we would cut the main road between Kandahar and Spin Boldak, and thus block al-Qa’ida’s primary escape route to Pakistan from southern Afghanistan.

  Shirzai’s proposal made sense. We were far less interested in capturing Spin Boldak than in controlling Highway 4 to stop the movement of al-Qa’ida. We all agreed; Takhteh-Pol would be our first objective, and plans were made to depart the base camp before dawn the next morning.

  That night, figuring it might be my last opportunity to get clean for a while, I decided to take advantage of a bathhouse that Shirzai had set up for us. It was located in a small building a couple hundred meters further up the ridge from the mud house where we were lodged. Inside the bathhouse I found a low wooden platform about a square meter in size that was meant to serve as the washing station. In the house was a fireplace with a small fire already burning that served to heat a pot of water. I moved the water next to the platform and after stripping down I stepped up on the platform and doused myself with the exquisitely warm water using a large ladle that was lying there. While the bath facilities fell short of 5 star luxury, all things considered, they were pretty damn good.

  25

  Wagons, Ho!

  It WAS THE 22ND of November and we were up well before light. The rest of the ODA had arrived by helicopter during the night, an event I had witnessed from afar with the aid of night vision goggles. Standing on a hillside I could see the helicopter descend into the valley, the sound of its rotors low but audible and its dim silhouette visible despite t
he green and grainy visual effect of the goggles. With the ODA team members’ safe arrival, our complement was complete, and everyone was anticipating our imminent departure from the base camp. It was our next big step.

  Our means of transport would be an odd mix of vehicles. Shirzai had his big Land Cruiser for himself, Khalil, and a couple of his security guys. The Americans and some of the fighters were to ride in dual cab Hi-Lux Toyota four-wheel drive pickups. These vehicles were “thin-skinned,” meaning they had no armor protection. A few fighters would be mounted on scrawny-looking motorcycles, but the bulk of the force would ride in stake-bodied trucks. A final unfortunate few were consigned to make the journey riding on flatbed trailers pulled by farm tractors. When the convoy finally got underway, which proved to be highly problematic, it was a spectacle to behold.

  The plan that morning called for everyone to take their vehicle to the fuel supply point to top off their gas tanks, and then form into a convoy heading south down the valley. A gas truck-trailer rig parked at the edge of the dry riverbed served as the fuel supply point.

  Very quickly we discovered that there was no gas in the gas trailer. Left unguarded during the previous couple of days, the gas had been stolen. This put a huge dent in our departure plans. Shirzai sent for another gas truck but it took many hours to arrive. Additional organizational problems ensued one after the other, and the confused situation quickly moved beyond a “herding cats” scenario to the level of a stampede. We did not break camp until mid-afternoon.

  Our convoy route took us south down the Shin Naray Valley for several kilometers. We passed the landing zone where we had arrived, and then came upon the site of the firefight, but there were no Taliban around. We were driving on what barely qualified as a dirt road, more like a faint track in the dry riverbed, and were forced to move slowly. As we turned westerly and began our ascent out of the valley, one of the big trucks almost overturned trying to traverse an eroded part of the steep road. The occupants spilled out of the sharply angled truck, and it took some time to get it righted and on its way.

  Once clear of the valley, we found ourselves on an open plain. Vast and featureless, it offered us unobstructed views. It seemed that if our binoculars had been just a bit more powerful we would have been able to see Kandahar in the faint distance.

  My place in the convoy was directly behind Shirzai’s Land Cruiser. As the day progressed its dust caked image became burned into my visual cortex like a television test pattern. Every hour or two, at least one vehicle broke down, requiring that we stop until the repair was made.

  Day turned to night and we drove until around 1:00 a.m., finally reaching our overnight bivouac, a large, walled compound that belonged to a friend of Shirzai. We slept indoors in our sleeping bags in small alcove-like rooms along a hallway lit by candles burning on the floor. Like the first night we spent in the Shin Naray Valley, the atmosphere was almost romantic if you overlooked the guns, gear, and bearded, smelly men, not to mention the total absence of women.

  We pulled out of the compound before light the next morning and resumed our dirt road trek. Not long after the sun rose we reached a tiny village, and Shirzai stopped to get some face time with prospective constituents. While we waited we stomped our insulated, boot-clad feet in vain attempts to keep them warm while the village children walked around laughing and smiling, wearing nothing on their feet but plastic flip-flops. As a crowd of villagers pressed around Shirzai, he handed out money to them like candy at Halloween in hopes of winning their allegiance. It was really no different from politics anywhere else, just more honest and direct. We continued on.

  Our speed was a little faster than the day before, but vehicle breakdowns continued to plague the convoy. We were in Taliban territory, and as a general rule we did not want to leave anyone behind to fix a vehicle for fear they would be captured or killed. Accordingly, a lot of valuable time was lost waiting for vehicles to be repaired. Of necessity, exceptions were occasionally made, but when a vehicle had to be left behind for repairs, a security element of fighters remained with it.

  During one repair stop, Khalil came back from Shirzai’s vehicle and offered up a big bag of little, round nuts for a snack. I grabbed a handful. They were tasty so I ate some more.

  “What are these things?”

  “Opium seeds.”

  I guess Khalil could tell by the look on my face that I was concerned.

  “Don’t worry. It’s the leaves of the plant that can mess you up; the seeds don’t do anything.”

  Fortunately this turned out to be true, and I relaxed in the knowledge that I would not have to sweat the drug use question on my next polygraph.

  Early in the afternoon the advance element of Shirzai’s fighters encountered Taliban—two guys napping in a pickup. Under questioning, they said they were from the local area and were supposed to be guarding the road. They appeared to be low-level members with little information to tell us. The only things of value they had were their pickup truck and guns, which we took. They were given some water and turned loose, and our convoy pushed on in the direction of Takhteh-Pol.

  26

  The Longest Night

  Late IN THE AFTERNOON we pulled into a defensive perimeter for the night. Surrounded by low hills forming a bowl-like configuration, the spot for our bivouac was excellent. Shirzai’s fighters occupied the hills, which offered us views for miles around in any direction. Our command post, consisting of my pickup truck, Shirzai’s Land Cruiser, and Hank’s truck, was set up in the center of the bowl.

  Shirzai immediately dispatched a reconnaissance element mounted in Toyota pickups to check out the route to Takhteh-Pol, now only several kilometers away. Several members of the ODA accompanied Shirzai’s recon element.

  As the sun set and the shadows lengthened, wind gusts kicked up small eddies of dust that danced across the basin we occupied. At dusk the temperature began to fall and some of Shirzai’s fighters who had fallen behind earlier in the day straggled in. They reported that word was out among the local populace, which included the Taliban, that there was an anti-Taliban force in the area. Soon, our observation posts started reporting that there were convoys of vehicles headed toward us from three directions. As the temperature continued to drop and the darkness and winds increased, a general sense of foreboding set in.

  I climbed up on a hill and through my binoculars saw headlights from two convoys in the distance. They were still many kilometers away, but they were a concern. The fact they were convoys pointed to them likely being Taliban. Coalition bombing policy was that if a convoy was on the road at night, unless identified otherwise, it could be considered a target. If the convoys continued to move once it was dark, they would be fair game.

  Concern about the convoys coming our way grew as Shirzai was not expecting any volunteers. The light was all but gone when I heard a couple of shots out beyond our perimeter. It was not clear who fired them. A couple of minutes later something streaked overhead and impacted in the dry riverbed inside the perimeter.

  “An RPG dud,” an American nearer to the riverbed called out.

  A couple of other shots crackled in the distance, but it was impossible to determine what was going on. My guess was that some trigger-happy Shirzai fighter was responsible, but the RPG round coming into our perimeter gave me pause.

  About this time, Hank walked over to me and said that he was taking one of Shirzai’s fighters and going up on the hillside. He took the SOFLAM laser designator with him. He looked completely relaxed and in his element. This guy knows what he’s doing, I thought. No more than 30 minutes later, Hank was at work as the sounds of distant explosions could be heard as fast-movers began to hit one of the convoys.

  At about the same time, a radio call came in from the recon element. They had run into Taliban on the hills just outside Takhteh-Pol and were taking fire and had called in close air support. About 20 minutes later I spoke by radio to one of the ODA members with the recon element. He told me they had disengaged
and were on their way back. They had a few wounded Afghans, but they didn’t appear to be in serious condition.

  About 10 minutes later, a pickup with one of Shirzai’s commanders sped into the perimeter, sharply braking near our command post of trucks. He jumped out of his truck and began shouting. A group of Afghan fighters immediately gathered around him, agitated by what he was saying. I grabbed Khalil and we waded through the throng of fighters to the excited commander. Through Khalil I learned that the commander was saying that the Americans had dropped bombs on his men in the recon element, and they had been wiped out. I told Khalil to tell the commander that I had already spoken with the senior American with the recon element and his fighters had not been wiped out, but there were a few slightly wounded who were being brought back. Hearing this, the commander seemed to settle down, and the mob of fighters that had formed around him dispersed.

  Afterward, I learned that bombs had indeed struck in the immediate vicinity of the fighters, as in the darkness they and the Taliban forces had gotten mixed in with one another. When the close air support was called in, the bombs fell among both Shirzai’s men and the Taliban.

  A few minutes after the episode with Shirzai’s agitated commander, the recon element began to return to the bivouac. A nervous Afghan on the perimeter lit up the first pickup with AK fire. It was carrying the SF members, but fortunately no one was hit. A bullet did cut the hydraulic brake line for the right front wheel, however, and from that moment through the next couple of weeks every time the brakes were applied, the pickup would careen to the left. It provided some comic relief during our convoy movements.