The Only Thing Worth Dying For (20 page)

While Mike, Ronnie, and Mag took up positions at the three points of a triangular perimeter with the trucks at the center, JD and Amerine sat down away from the rest of the team to discuss Ken.

“We can try to have him medevaced,” Amerine said.

“Do you want to risk an aircrew to get him out of here?”

Amerine shook his head. “I just don’t know.”

“It could be PTSD,” said JD. “I heard him tell a story once about helping a Saudi unit that was hit by friendly fire in the Gulf War.”

“They were hit by cluster bombs?”

“Yeah,” said JD. “Let me talk to him. You stay out of it for now. I’ll keep him close to me. Any of this shit happens again, we’ll send him home.”

“That means you would have to double as team sergeant
and
team medic.”

“It’s okay,” JD said, smiling. “I’m a damn good medic.”

“We’ll be fine here for tonight, but I want to push out to our
original observation post, with the view of Tarin Kowt Pass, tomorrow. I’m going to grab Mike and Wes and ride into town to talk to Hamid about getting us some men.”

Back in Tarin Kowt, the streets were packed with pedestrians, many waving Afghan flags in lieu of the white flags of the Taliban. Shops were open. An old man stood in the center of an intersection wearing a tattered police uniform, directing traffic with a whistle and animated hand signals. Parked vehicles lined the streets outside Karzai’s headquarters when Amerine, Mike, and Wes pulled up; inside the compound courtyard were groups of Afghan men, all in conversation, their voices echoing off the walls.

A very tall teenager, dressed in a bright aqua robe, greeted the Americans. “I am Seylaab,” he said, carefully and loudly enunciating each word. “You want to see Hamid Karzai?”

“Yes,” said Amerine. “Are you our translator?”

“No, I am Mr. Karzai’s assistant. Rahim will translate for you. He is a pharmacist from this town. You will meet him later.”

Leaving Wes and Mike near the entrance, Amerine followed Seylaab across the courtyard, ascended two concrete steps, and entered the compound’s “guest room”—the room designated in Afghan homes where visitors are received by the head of the house, take their meals, and sleep.
*
Karzai was sitting on the floor in a large circle of cross-legged tribal leaders. He motioned toward Amerine, and the man next to Karzai gave up his seat.

Another Afghan served Amerine tea.

“Do you want sweets?” asked Karzai.

“Please,” said Amerine, taking nuts and raisins from a tray. “Have you been out on the streets? It’s very crowded. There’s even a police officer directing traffic.”

“Ah,” said Karzai. “There is a story behind that man. He is one of many who have been released from the prison where he was held by the Taliban for years. I was told that he went home, saw his family, put on his old uniform, and wanted to go back to work. Nobody is paying him.”

“The crowds and traffic are from all around the area,” he continued. “The local mullahs from Tarin Kowt, some from Deh Rawood, even one from Helmand, came to visit me this afternoon. I thought they might be angry about the fight, maybe angry that all of you are here. Instead, they thanked me for bringing you—the ones from Tarin Kowt said they would be dead if you had not come.”

Amerine looked around the room. “Are any of these men mullahs?”

“No, they have already departed,” said Karzai. “These are local tribal leaders.”

“Are they bringing men?”

“Oh, yes. After today we will have no problems.”

“That is good news,” said Amerine. “Tonight I’ll keep my team south of town to watch for the Taliban. Have you heard anything about their intentions?”

“Not yet. I think it is good that you keep watch.”

“I still need men. I need them right now. My eight men aren’t very secure where I have them.”

“Bari Gul is coming tonight or tomorrow morning with his men,” Karzai said. “I will send him directly to you.”

“Seylaab says you have a translator for me?” said Amerine.

“Yes. I will send Rahim with Bari Gul.”

Amerine remained in the circle and listened, through Karzai’s translation, while the Afghans discussed the anticipated arrival of tribal fighters and how they would be fed and quartered in Tarin Kowt. As much as Amerine needed guerrillas, the most important aspect of this meeting was the simple act of sitting and listening to the tribal leaders. If he was going to take their men into battle, they had to be as comfortable with him as they were with Karzai.

“They are concerned about more attacks from the Taliban in retribution for joining our rebellion,” Karzai told Amerine. “There are villages across Uruzgan that will follow Tarin Kowt and denounce the Taliban, but they fear reprisals. Can we get them more weapons?”

“Yes. I will work on getting more weapons dropped in Tarin Kowt,” replied Amerine. “You should put the word out that they’ll arrive here in the next day or two.”

“Good. That will help.”

“Have there been any other reprisals by the Taliban in Uruzgan?”

“Not yet,” said Karzai. “But they will come.”

After an hour, Amerine excused himself to meet with Casper at the compound on the other side of the street that he had procured for his CIA team and ODA 574. Casper escorted Amerine to a large team room across the courtyard from the CIA. Karzai had a small room between them that he could use for sleeping or as a refuge from the constant flow of visitors.

“We have a helicopter arriving tonight with our three men,” said Casper, referring to one of his spooks and to Victor and Brent, ODA 574’s engineer and junior weapons sergeant.

“That’s good to hear,” said Amerine. “Can you drive them out to me tomorrow morning? It would be better not to move anyone tonight.”

“Worried we might get lost in the dark?”

Amerine laughed.

Early that evening at the observation post, Alex sat in the soft glow of his laptop on the tailgate of the truck, explaining to Amerine and JD the method he had developed to recon the three major avenues of approach from Kandahar to Tarin Kowt, which he designated on the computer map with red, green, and blue lines.

“I’ll get us recon flights down these roads every three hours,” he said. “That should give us more than enough time to spot convoys.”

Amerine relayed to the men that they were going to bottle up Kandahar by preventing the Taliban from sending convoys north out of the city and into Uruzgan. This would serve two purposes: it would protect the villages that defected to Karzai and it would undo the Taliban grip on the province.

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
)