The Only Thing Worth Dying For (29 page)

Some eight hours after they left Tarin Kowt, the road widened and the mountains parted like curtains on a massive stage to reveal a vast desert. At 10
P.M.
, the convoy, having come together as one in the mountains, reached Petawek. Situated on the fringe of the foothills at the southern edge of Uruzgan Province, the village was bisected by the Kandahar Road, which continued south into the desert.

More than half of the guerrillas parked their vehicles north of the village, up against the mountains they’d just passed through, guarding their rear. Karzai’s shuttle bus followed Bari Gul’s and JD’s trucks to a compound in the more densely populated section of the village on the right side of the road, and Amerine’s trucks pulled up and parked alongside JD’s. As Karzai was greeted by a village elder and escorted into the compound’s courtyard, the Americans formed their usual defensive perimeter.

“This will be Karzai’s headquarters,” Fox said, approaching Amerine and JD. “He’s going to meet with the locals and bed down. We’ll discuss the movement tomorrow. I want your team on the hill over there, to guard the town.” He gestured toward some high ground a few hundred yards to the east that overlooked Kandahar Road and the desert to the south.

Amerine watched Casper and his men unload their gear from the shuttle bus and move into Karzai’s compound. “You don’t want us in there with Hamid?” he asked Fox.

“No, I don’t. Get your men moving. I’ll be sleeping out there with your team.”

ODA 574 drove away from Petawek and parked on a flat-topped
ridge, facing their vehicles back toward the road and the village. Two hundred yards from the nearest buildings and three hundred yards from Karzai’s compound, nothing stood between them and Kandahar Province except sand, until Bari Gul and his men arrived and set up a perimeter around the Americans as they had done in Tarin Kowt.

Amerine scanned the surroundings with his NODs. The village sat on an arid, rocky plateau of rolling hills covered with patches of scrub brush. Their observation post was located where the plateau descended abruptly to the edge of a desert that extended to the horizon. As with Tarin Kowt, aerial reconnaissance would be their only early warning if Karzai’s spies failed to warn them of an attack.

“Sir,” JD said quietly to Amerine, “let me get this straight. We’re three hundred yards from Hamid, the C-team is out here with us doing nothing—shouldn’t somebody be with the G-chief?”

“I brought that up with Fox,” said Amerine, “but he appears to have a reason for being out here with us.”

“Maybe you should consider keeping a split team in the compound, so we know what’s going on—kind of slide back into your old liaison job if they aren’t going to do it.”

“They haven’t even been here a week. Let’s give them a chance to do their job before we start working around them.”

“Fair enough,” said JD.

“Come up with a plan for us to drive back and grab Hamid if we get attacked,” Amerine said. “I’m going to check on the recon flights and see if anything is going on.”

“I’ll put the team at fifty percent tonight,” JD said. “See that glow out to the south?”

“Yeah,” said Amerine, watching as a surface-to-air rocket, tiny in the distance, rose from the darkened void well beyond the horizon. The streak hung there, then evaporated into the blackness.

“That’s Kandahar.”

“Say hi to the Christmas present,” Mag called out as Amerine and Mike, on their way to meet with Karzai in his new command post,
trotted down from the top of the hill where ODA 574 had spent the night.

“Christmas present?” Amerine turned, looking back up the slope at Mag.

“It’s December first, sir. Right now we’re Santa Claus. Mr. K’s the Christmas present. We gotta deliver him to Kandahar before Christmas.”

“Where do you come up with this stuff?” said Amerine, shaking his head.

“Sir, it’s just how my mind works,” said Mag. “You always have to have a goal.” Mag’s singing followed them down the hill: “Feliz Navidad…Feliz Navidad…I want to wish you a Merry Christmas…”

An hour later, Amerine and Mike returned to the team’s perimeter with Fox and Bolduc, who had met with Karzai earlier, in tow.

“We’ll be here another night,” Amerine told JD. “Hamid refuses to move forward until we get another lethal-aid drop and some humanitarian aid for this village and his men.”

“I’ll get Dan on it,” said JD.

Amerine gestured toward Fox. “The colonel is putting together the list for Santa Claus right now.” He winked at Mag. “He’ll run it past you.”

They were out of earshot of Fox and Bolduc when JD said, “Have you figured out why the lieutenant colonel has us all the way out here?”

“I don’t know,” said Amerine. “But Casper has gotta be happier than a pig in shit since Fox is apparently staying with us.”

“So, what’s the plan for today?” asked JD.

“You want to take a recon element out?”

“I’m afraid I got some of what Miles had. I’ll be fine, but if you don’t mind, I’ll stay here to make sure this hill doesn’t go anywhere.”

“Okay,” said Amerine. “I’ll grab Seylaab, have him get Bari Gul’s men moving. Then I’ll take Alex and Mike south and recon to that ridgeline out on the horizon.” Amerine indicated a dark streak in the distance where hills could be seen rising above the cream-colored desert. “You get the guys organized for the supply drop tonight. Once we get all that sorted out, we’ll plan the next push forward.”

Four trucks headed south on the main road out of Petawek, the first three carrying Bari Gul and his men while Mike drove Amerine, Alex, and Seylaab in the fourth. The recon route descended from an arcing line of leafless trees that marked the outskirts of Petawek and into a broad expanse of desert. Here the road was barely discernible beneath a layer of powdery sand that had been swept smooth by the wind. About ten miles away, the hills that were their destination crouched in front of distant mountains.

Halfway across the valley, the Americans looked back toward Petawek: Set against the mountains, with only north and south avenues of approach, the village would be easy to defend. Even if an enemy convoy managed to slip through Karzai’s network of loyal Pashtun villages or conceal itself from aerial recon, it would still have to cross eleven miles of open desert.

After twenty minutes, the trucks rose out of the valley and turned off the road onto hard-packed red clay dotted with angular rocks. Reaching a saddle between two peaks, the men parked and got out. To the south, the mountains obstructed their view; to the east, they could make out the main road as it left the desert and threaded south through the mountains.

Amerine, Mike, and Alex stood around a map spread out on the hood of their truck and estimated this range to be about fifteen miles across from north to south. Beyond, the terrain sloped down gentle foothills that fanned out onto a vast high-desert plain on which sat Damana, their next destination. The farming community was still under the control of the Taliban owing to its proximity to Kandahar, fifteen miles farther south.

“These mountains are where Hamid expects to encounter Taliban patrols,” said Amerine. “But the larger forces are right on the outskirts of the city.”

“Do we have any idea how many?” asked Mike.

“Tens of thousands, down from the hundreds of thousands thought to be in Afghanistan when we started.”

“Which means we don’t have a clue,” said Alex. “I’ll get more re
con up tonight. Really have them work these mountains, so we don’t get surprised by anything.”

“Shit,” said Mike, looking at a puddle forming on the ground. “Radiator’s leaking.”

“Call Triple A,” Amerine said with a grin.

Bari Gul walked over, crouched down, and peered under their vehicle. He beckoned over one of his men, who raised the hood, uncapped the radiator, and poured in a pouch of chewing tobacco.

“He says this will close the leak,” said Seylaab. “It should get you back to town, but then you will need a better repair, or a new truck.”

“Tashakor,” said Amerine, thanking the man in Pashto.

Mike was scanning the desert to the east, between them and the road back to Petawek. “Is that what I think it is?” he said, lowering his binoculars and pointing to two parallel indentations traversing below a ridgeline.

Amerine could see the marks without binoculars. “Tank tracks,” he said.

“The ground is rock hard,” Mike said. “No telling how old they are, but there certainly weren’t any tanks in Petawek.”

“Let’s get out of here,” said Amerine. “Alex—we got air?”

“Yes, we do. I’ll bring one this way for another look.”

To Seylaab, Amerine said, “Ask Bari Gul if he knows anything about tanks.”

Seylaab translated, then said, “He doesn’t. Should we go?”

“Yes. Tell him to be careful,” said Amerine, glancing at the radiator fluid still dripping from their truck before he climbed into the passenger seat.

“Imagine being chased by a tank, then our truck breaks down,” said Mike as he got behind the wheel.

“That is
not
a story I want to tell my grandkids,” said Amerine.

As the convoy descended the hill in the direction from which they’d come, the men heard the sound of an engine through their open windows. They halted. A large cloud of sand was being kicked up on the main road a couple hundred yards away—whatever created it was hidden from view by a small rise, but it was big.

“Oh fuck,” said Amerine. “Get me some elevation.”

They backed up, parking behind a dune to wait. Finally, a giant yellow bulldozer came into view, clearing sand the way a plow clears snow.

“Well, that was fun,” said Mike.

“Let’s go back and get a new truck,” said Amerine. “We can tell JD we fled in terror from an Afghan in a bulldozer.”

Even before he entered Karzai’s headquarters to request a new truck, Amerine knew something was up when he heard the tribal leaders inside talking excitedly. The small receiving room was packed with Afghans sitting shoulder to shoulder and knees to backs, filling every inch of the floor like a human carpet. Karzai was against the far wall, facing men who looked serious, even angry, waving their hands and fists in the air and speaking all at once. When he noticed Amerine, Karzai lifted his hand and the crowd parted slightly, providing a five-inch-wide pathway that Amerine pushed through.

“What’s all the excitement about?” Amerine asked.

“Word arrived from Germany,” said Karzai. “I’m being considered for interim leader.”

Uncertain what this meant, Amerine said, “Interim leader of…”

“Afghanistan,” said Karzai, who chuckled when Amerine’s eyes widened in surprise. “That was my reaction as well. In Bonn, they have identified a list, and my brother tells me I’m favored to lead the interim government—a whole new administration. The process will lead to a Loya Jirga, then the writing of a new constitution and, in a couple of years, elections for president.”

“Congratulations,” Amerine said. “Sounds like democracy. But your men don’t appear to be celebrating.”

“They are angry because there is a rumor that the supporters of King Zahir Shah are lobbying for him to add his name to the list of candidates to be considered. They fear that with his popularity, it would block my chances.” The phone Karzai was holding in his hand rang and he took the call, talking loudly over the din in the room.

Amerine had known that Karzai would play an important role in bringing the tribes together in support of a post-Taliban government, but his tireless lobbying for the Loya Jirga had seemed to overshadow even himself as a consideration for the top slot in any future government. Now Karzai was the front-runner.
Do I call for a helicopter and evac him out of here?
Amerine wondered.
No, we need Hamid to press the Taliban to surrender. Is there anybody else? No, this army will disintegrate without Hamid. I can’t even get a truck without him.

When Karzai got off the phone, Amerine said, “Sorry to jump right into business, but I need a new truck.”

“You will have one before nightfall,” said Karzai.

Amerine left a few minutes later with a smile on his face, but it faded as he continued to dwell on the dangers ahead. If the Taliban were to focus on killing one person to thwart the campaign, Karzai would be their prime target.

Approaching Fox at ODA 574’s observation post, Amerine told him the news. “You might want to get down there and talk to him,” he said.

Fox and Bolduc went straight to Karzai’s headquarters, and JD called the team together.

“All right,” Amerine said. “This mission just got a whole lot bigger.” He gave a rundown of what was happening in Bonn, then continued: “Our job is to get Hamid to Kandahar and force the Taliban to surrender. Even though he is being considered for interim leader, we are not his bodyguards. We still need to take him to the fight.”

That evening, Amerine, Fox, Bolduc, and Karzai gathered around a map in the lantern-lit receiving room, now nearly empty except for Karzai’s standard entourage.

They’d been in Petawek for less than twenty-four hours and already Karzai was receiving updated intelligence from Afghans fleeing Kandahar Province in expectation of a battle. Some of the Taliban defectors who had abandoned their posts were holed up with friends or
relatives in nearby villages, Karzai told the Americans; the air strikes over the past two weeks had definitely dissuaded Taliban movements north into Uruzgan Province, and only small patrols limited to one to three vehicles were pushing north of the Arghandab River, the main waterway that wraps around the northern and western outskirts of the city of Kandahar.

Supporters of Karzai had come to Petawek from Damana, Pashtun farmers who informed Karzai that the Taliban troops stationed in their village were gone. Damana was now being “watched” by smaller Taliban patrols that came from the direction of Kandahar, crossing the Arghandab on a bridge at the town of Shawali Kowt,
⁵
which was three miles south of Damana and ten miles from the city center of Kandahar. According to these reports, it seemed logical to assume that the Taliban would defend Kandahar along the river and specifically at this bridge, the only one for miles.