NO REGRETS ~ An American Adventure in Afghanistan (26 page)

Since the 4th Brigade was deep into a real world op, I decided to evaluate them in action. They weren’t terribly organized, but I knew that already. I walked over to the ammunition storage facility. There were half a dozen soldiers dozing in the morning sun. I stood outside for a moment peering in and watched them prepare ammo for transport to Bala Marghab. The facility was a single room in one of the barracks. Wolverine was in there with his assistant and a couple other guys whom I’d not seen before. There were stacks of ammunition of all sorts. Many of the boxes were broken open. 9MM rounds for the pistols were scattered all over the floor. Mixed in with the 9MM rounds were 7.62MM rounds for the AK-47s and PKMs. Wolverine and his men sorted and counted rounds. It was a mess. They seemed to have just thrown the ammunition boxes in the room willy-nilly. Slapped on top of that were boxes of grenades. RPG-7 rockets were thrown into a corner and seemed to have been neglected and rusting. The whole damn thing was chaos.

As I walked into the building, I asked Wolverine, “Dude, this place is a mess. Why don’t you have soldiers in here helping you get this straight?”

Major Aziz looked at me like I was an idiot, “Dave, we can’t let the soldiers in here. They’ll steal ammo so they can sell it at the bazaar.”

After I walked out, Colonel Aminullah told me the class would have to wait for the next day. Understandable given all the chaos created by the emergency mission. The operation in Bala Marghab was a cluster fuck because of piss poor planning. Rear echelon police and army units were scrambling to make up for the shortcomings. Colonel Aminullah was told to keep three day’s worth of fuel, ammunition, and water. The Ministry of Interior in Kabul promised to replace the supplies within that three-day timeframe. Colonel Aminullah and his staff worked until late that night. Even so, the next day, he had his logistics officers in the class at 0900hrs.

When everyone had settled into their seats that next morning, I asked them their opinions on the state of the ANP and ANA. Why did they think the operation up in Bala Marghab had been so poorly planned? Mostly, they answered that the ANP was ill-disciplined and had low morale.

²¹
These attacks are the now infamous “green-on-blue” shootings. They’ve occurred since the beginning but only began to get serious media coverage in 2012.

Motorcycles, Politics, and Sex Videos

Mid-August 2008

Another day in class, a guy from Farah Kandak stood up and sheepishly told me his accountability concerns. “Teacher, I have tried to document all of my vehicles. My commander has issued all of our motorcycles out to the Commandahn of Check Point 4. Twenty motorcycles. I have tried to inventory these vehicles. I have attempted to get the Commandahn to sign for this equipment. He refuses.”

I interrupted saying, “Stop taking ‘no’ for an answer. Make the guy sign for them or take the motorcycles back to Kandak headquarters.”

He laughed. “Oh, Teacher. The motorcycles are no longer there. My Commandahn told me to stop asking about them.”

I asked Mirwais to repeat. He told me again what the guy had said. I shouldn’t have been surprised but I guess you never get over the insanity of Afghanistan. So, I was a bit dumbfounded.

The guy then continued as if everything that he was saying was normal. “Teacher, I know where the motorcycles are. They are in Iran. My Commandahn sold them at the bazaar.”

At this point, I started tripping. From flabbergasted to WHAT THE FUCK! in six seconds flat. “If you know where they are and that they’ve been sold illegally, why haven’t you reported it or started an investigation?”

“Teacher, I don’t have the authority to start an investigation. If I report my Commandahn, I would be in danger.”

I asked him what he meant by danger. “Teacher, I would be dead. Who would take care of my family?”

What could I say? I stopped the class right there for the morning. I was too frustrated. All of the other students had followed along in the conversation. I’d noticed them agreeing emphatically with choruses of
“baleh, baleh, baleh,”
which is Dari for “yes” when the guy told me that he’d be killed for reporting his Commandahn. What could I expect from these guys? Are twenty motorcycles worth your life? Would twenty motorcycles be worth my life? I don’t know what I’d do in the same circumstance. In an earlier class, I had gone on about having to sacrifice your life if you wanted change in Afghanistan. But would I do that with my own life? At the time, I couldn’t even figure out if I wanted to report that information up the U.S. chain of command. Hell, I might’ve been responsible for the death of that guy if I had alerted the higher ups. In the end, I told the story to Colonel Markinson, but did not repeat it on the Afghan side of the house. He passed it up the chain of command. As far as I know, nothing ever came of it. Based on my experience in-country, that didn’t surprise me.

Over the course of the next week and a half, we finished up the course. I’d have eight to fifteen students each day ranging in rank from first lieutenant to colonel. I encouraged interaction in the course, always trying to keep them talking as much as I could. I enjoyed the give and take. I never knew what I’d learn. We didn’t always stay on the course subject in our conversations. It ranged wildly at times. We discussed politics and the upcoming election of Obama. My students didn’t seem to like the idea of a black man becoming president. Afghans have a strange fascination with complexion. They look down on darker peoples and think that white women are more beautiful. Of course, this is all relative. White is not always white. Just as black is not always black. An Afghani thinks of the Persian people from Iran as white. They consider Europeans to be white as well. Pakistani and Indian women such as Aishwarya Rai, the Indian film actress who was immensely popular in Afghanistan, are considered white. Halle Berry who has nearly the same complexion is considered black. I’ve seen the two women side by side and there’s not much difference between their skin tones. Some Thai women have fairly light complexions. When I showed them pictures of Thais I had met, the Afghans told me that they were black. I can only speak about the folks with whom I spoke. Overwhelmingly, they do not seem overly fond of darker skinned people. It was almost a mania with them once they got started on the topic.

On the subject of Obama, the Afghans were scared silly. Democrats are reputed to be soft. The Afghans kept telling me that Obama would pull America out of Iraq and Afghanistan immediately upon being sworn into office.

“David, do you think that Obama will be elected president?” one of the students asked.

“I have no idea. But the chances are looking good.” I smiled since I knew this would get them.

“David, if Obama becomes president will he take America home and abandon Afghanistan?”

“Colonel Aminullah, I have no idea. I don’t think it’s possible to simply pull us out. There would be enormous chaos which would not play well politically for him. Pulling out too early would mean certain defeat in a second term. It would completely justify the Republican stance that Democrats are soft on terrorism. Highly unlikely that Obama could pull out even if he wanted to do so.”

“I hope you are right, David. Afghanistan is too fragile to be left alone right now. We would descend into chaos.”

On that we agreed. If Obama had come into office and pulled out of Afghanistan immediately, the Taliban would have been back in power within a year or less. The violence would have been worse than the years of the Muj wars because the stakes would have been higher. By this time, the U.S. and Coalition forces had supplied so many weapons and so much equipment that the country would probably have broken up into armed enclaves. Even the Afghans admitted as much. Neither 2008 nor 2009 would have been good years to withdraw from Afghanistan. I’m not sold on the idea of a 2014 departure either.

Aside from politics and prejudice, we discussed sex. Once Afghans get comfortable with you, they’ll talk your ears off and no subject is off limits. They were always good for a few lewd jokes centering on anal sex. At the end of class each day and on breaks, I put up PowerPoint presentations from my travels around Afghanistan or the world. The Afghans enjoyed seeing pictures and were always inquisitive about them. I’d also play music videos from my iTunes collection. Many of them absolutely loved these. Especially the videos with women in sexy lingerie or bikinis. It always happened, though, that some officer would ask me to play “sexy videos.” They meant porn, of course. I would refuse them time and again. I had porn videos but I’d definitely be fired if I showed them. Sitting around with old Afghan men watching porn wasn’t my idea of a good time. Afghan men were repressed sexually as it was. I had no desire to add to their problems.

We ran through the rest of the course over the next few days. Students would come one day and not the next. I don’t think I ever had a full class. They had real world missions going on all the time. I expected that I’d have five to ten students each day. The course is broken down into modules, so that missing one day doesn’t leave a student lost for the next day’s class. The class usually ran in the morning from 0800hrs to 1200hrs. After lunch, I would attempt to mentor the brigade headquarters officers. When I couldn’t find them or wake them from their naps, I’d lie down and read one of the books that I’d brought with me. Afghan, Islamic, and Central Asian history were the main subjects that I was reading at that time. I wanted to get into the head of the guys whom I was supposed to be mentoring.

Kidnappings and Drive-Bys

Late August 2008

On one of my trips out of Ghalla Attar, we were passing the Gozara police headquarters when we came upon two police vehicles on the side of the road. Both vehicles were bullet ridden and I could still see blood inside the vehicles. We didn’t stop to ask questions but instead proceeded on to Camp Stone.

The next day, I went to see Jonny Fernandez to ask if he’d heard.

“Yeah, Colonel Murad was killed along with some of his security detail.”

“The Gozara police chief? We just talked to him a few days ago. That guy?”

“Yes. He was killed by a local thug. The word is that the two were in on some big drug deals and kidnapping/ransoming rings. The police captain shorted his partner. So, the thugs did a drive by and shot them up.”

“Jesus. I’m glad we weren’t there. I’d have hated to have been mixed up in that.”

“We suspected that Murad was corrupt. We could never prove it, though. Guess we don’t need to now.”

“Guess not. I reckon he got greedy. I’ve heard stories about him. Mirwais told me about his ransom ring. His thug kingpin kidnaps somebody’s kid. The family calls the police. Colonel Murad brokers the money exchange and keeps half.”

“That’s how it’s done here. I don’t know if any of these dudes can really be trusted but we still gotta try.”

“I guess we do but sometimes, it seems a huge waste of time. These guys aren’t interested in changing.”

* * *

We departed Ghalla Attar for our return to Camp Stone early morning on the last day of our mission. Everyone was loaded up and ready to go by 0730hrs. Captain Fernandez ran through our movement briefing and went over the BOLO list again. Nothing new. Same list of non-descript Toyota Corollas with nervous, lone occupants against whom we should all be vigilant. We did a last minute police and check of the area, pulled on our body armor, and jumped in our vehicles. Then we rolled out of the gates and were on our way.

It was an uneventful ride until we got to the other side of Herat proper. I had my internal headset on so that I could talk to Jonny. Things got tense as we hit the Farah-Herat Highway. A white Toyota Corolla was spotted about a mile back. The vehicle was driving erratically and kept speeding up and slowing down behind us. Colonel Markinson decided to intercept him and try a takedown. This was a possible vehicle- borne improvised explosive device (VBIED). The Taliban had been known to attempt hits on this stretch of road. I started to sweat a little. The convoy slowed down except for our vehicle. We sped up and halted at a police checkpoint at the next major intersection. It was a wide open area where we could attempt to intercept and pull the suspect vehicle over.

Once we’d pulled over, Jonny asked me, “Dave, can you record this on your vidcam?” I was like, “Hell, yeah!” So, I jumped out of the Hummer and got my Sony recorder out and prepared to record. Sitting there waiting, the dialogue in my head was a little nutty. “Damn, this is wild. I hope that thing blows sky high. It’d be cool as hell to get that on video.” Then I thought, “Shit, I better get back in that vehicle. It’s armored and will save my ass if that bastard blows up, especially if he decides to ram my vehicle. That wouldn’t be too fuckin’ cool.” I compromised. I stood behind the open armored door and waited there with my vidcam at the ready.

I was on a great adventure and helping out with the mission in some way. That was the amazing part. Actually being useful. No one lives forever and I’d never know what’d hit me in all likelihood if the jackass Taliban bastard was loaded down with a 105mm high explosive artillery round.

Jonny got out with his interpreter and explained the situation to the police officer at the checkpoint. Those were some brave sons of bitches. The convoy rolled in and halted right behind us. Jonny jumped into a police Ranger with the police officer and a couple of soldiers. When the suspected vehicle attempted to pass us, the police Ranger pulled out in front of it and caused him to swerve off the road. Jonny and the Afghans jumped out and ran over to the vehicle. The Afghan police officer yanked the driver out of the vehicle almost before the vehicle came to a stop. They checked the vehicle for wires and bombs. In the trunk there were bomb-making materials but no bomb. They asked him what he was doing and why he was following our convoy. Colonel Markinson told the police officer to take the vehicle driver to the regional police headquarters. We continued to Camp Stone.

About a month before, a suicide bomber had hit an Italian convoy only a mile further down from the spot where we stopped this potential bomber. That’s why we were on edge when we saw him following us. We knew they were out there and we knew that they were willing to die to hit us. A few days later, Jonny told me that the driver of the suspected VBIED admitted to being a test-run for a suicide bombing. He was casing us. He would have hit someone later that week had we not pulled him over.