Battlefield Tourist

Wednesday August 11th, 2004 0725
Kabul

Punctuality is big in my book. When you're late, without calling, it tells me that you think your time is more important than mine. So one of the few traits I possess that I'm proud of is the fact that I am punctual.
On the way to Task Force Phoenix along Jalalabad Road, the phone rings and it's Major Bloom. I'm right around the corner so we pull in still holding cell phones where we meet up and take a two Ford Ranger truck convoy down to Pol-e-Charki, the main ANA HQ. Me and a 65 year old photojournalist named Jonas Deseaveny are about to become the first embedded journalist with the Afghan National Army. Me, Jonas and Wakil, our terp.
We drive the 15 minutes to Pol-e-Charki where we meet our Afghan escort, Captain Muhammed Osman. A non-english speaking former Mujahadeen. Big beard on a brown, slender face. About 150 lbs. Looked very Tajik, which proved to be the case. He hails from Parwan Province, which is near the famous Penshjar Valley.
Also with us are two majors, a Hezarra, one of few with such rank. We also had 14 guys armed with AK-47's and RPK's. With gear and all we had just two white Ford Rangers between it all. We looked like an armed yard sale on wheels. On various legs we would pick up extra escort vehicles. The first leg, to Qalat in Zabol province would take about 8 hours on relatively good road. The only real worry was that is what Zabol Province, on of the most dangerous inn the country. One mine or RPG and a good number of us would be dead and wounded. I was in one truck with Osman, while Jonas rode with the Terp. That meant charades and sign language mixed with bits of my Farsi and three Afghan's English. It would be a long eight hours.

Qalat, Zabol Province 1600
Qalat Fortress

Enter one of the oldest fortresses in Afghanistan, said by one American based there that it has never been taken by force. "We could take it" mumbled Sgt. Matt, a Vermont State Trooper just wrapping up his time as an embedded trainer.
He took us on a nickel tour of the place which was very enlightening. The large walled fortress sits atop a good sized hill overlooking downtown Qalat. Within the fortress is another hill, maybe 75 feet high, which acts as the main outlook.
Everywhere you look in this place there are stacks and stacks of old ammo. A war trophy hunter's paradise. THere was all sorts of abandoned things from rocket launchers to mortar charges. The place was littered. Everywhere, including under the main outpost, were bunkers and caves just filled with everything you can imagine. Some serviceable, much of it wasn't.
I spent a lot of time wandering around the place, just taking in all of it and grabbing some pictures as well. We end up sleeping in a room next to the embedded trainers. All but two of the 15 or so trainers were gone on missions. Sgt. Matt and Lt. Sid.
Matt was a big guy, bald head, meant business but was a good guy. Sid is a young 25, Lieutenant, and is ready to go home, "It's been a long 9 months..."
During the night I spent some time with the troops without a terp, which always makes things not so easy. Besides, with a terp it's just not as fun.
Later that night, Wakil and I went to visit with the officers , all of whom are friends and happy to see each other. The room was small with eight or nine guys sitting around, some of them the commanders with us. They were drinking some vodka drink from Germany that was 52% vodka and mixing it with coke. On the DVD player was a larger than a belly dancer should be woman giving some guy a lap dance. It was frightening, especially with that crazy Pak woman singing going on.
We had a few drinks, but being a Muslim, Wakil doesn't drink much, if at all, so we made it a night and hit the sack.

Thursday August 12h, 2004
Zabol Province

The morning came quick and we started gearing up for a patrol that would take us east of town about 20 km. Matt wanted to do some presence patrolling and stop by a cave he'd spotted earlier.
Like most patrols, this one was bumpy and dusty. For this one, I was in the back of
a deuce and a half with 20 ANA soldiers. Once again I was envisioning a huge blast that throws me and a dozen soldiers into the air. 1 IED at this moment, and there would be a serious problem. Fortunately, I am able to keep this stuff from affecting my demeanor and judgment and I eventually push the thought to the back of my head.
Barely an hour into the patrol and the convoy comes to a halt. We're in the back, the two Americans inn separate Rangers in front, with some extra ANA Ranger support in between. Nearly 50 men in all. In a flash, Matt is out of his truck running up a hill with a half dozen or so ANA at his side and in tow. The unit I was with dismounted and spread out across the left (as we faced, Matt in the center). Then without any notice my squad took off running as to cut off anyone trying to slip out leftside. The run was grueling. Up a hill, across a ravine, down a hill and up an even bigger hill. Me and my flak jacket were lagging bad. I stayed within 10 meters of one soldier and had the RPG grenadier taking up the back (he probably felt like me).
Eventually like in most of these cases, there was nothing to be found. So after I caught my breath and had a heart attack, wee pulled back to the road and pushed on toward the rightside elements that had now began moving east and were about to search an abandoned village. Oddly enough, these abandoned houses had no physical entrance. What was there had been mudbricked up. The troops cracked open three our four houses like this, including one that seemed to be relatively fresh. Inside the men found nothing. After we left, I couldn't understand why anyone would seal a house for nothing. Perhaps the owner wanted to come back some day.
A few miles away we made it to an area in the desert that did seem to have several caves in it. As we approached and searched each depression, it turned out to be a series of collapsed caves of some sort. Nothing too exciting, just another grueling hike through some hot and parched wasteland.
Later that evening I went and visited the guys at the front gate. They had a small two story guard shack that kept everyone but the guards themselves. Inside I hung out, playing the sign language game and burning a few CDs of the pictures I had taken. Of course that's a mistake. Don't bring candy to school unless you have enough for everyone.
They offered me dinner, a stew served from a bucket, which I politely declined before asking for chai sabz - green tea. I spent a few hours there getting to know guys like "Rambo", a burly Pashtun with sunglasses in the cool way. We smoked a few cigarettes and exchanged some culture before I decided to call it a night as I stumbled my way back to my room.

Tuesday August 10th, 2004 0600
Qalat Fortress

Early rise to another long day. To start, a four hour drive to Kandahar that ended up only taking two and a half. They brought us to the edge of the American base called "KAF" - Kandahar Air Field where the ANA base and future Corps HQ would be located. Once again we were given a room near the Americans and were relatively comfortable.
The heat on this particular day was incredible. Had to be more than 120. I have never felt anything like it. Jonas regretted not bringing a thermometer, "...just so I can say it was 130!!"
Jonas had spent time in Afghanistan during the Mujahadeen era. ONce in 1985, another time in 1989. Now in 2004, he's back to finish a picture book of Afghanistan: Then and now.
Jonas is about as easy going as they get. He's been doing freelance pictures since the year of my birth (1967), has a couple of books out and has done quite a few prestigious exhibitions. Other than that, he did well in real estate and now enjoys his retirement (at least this part of it) in Afghanistan.
He was born in Germany during the war. Many things we saw on this trip would take him back in time. One time I took a picture of him lighting a form of gunpowder used to fire mortars. He said it was one those things. He had me take a picture of him doing it. Preserving a memory he's been holding in his head for 60 years.
Kandahar was so hot that we decided not to patrol, but instead, take us to Tarnak Farms, a former Al-Qaida training camp where the plot to launch 9-11 was hatched. It's the place hit by Clinton ordered Tomahawk missiles in 1998. It was also nearly the target of a bold commando raid three years before 9-11. To me, it represents the epicenter of the War on Terror and I wanted to go back.
I first went there last April. Then, like now, i just looked at it, took three bricks and left. For Jonas, it was a great experience. Picture-wise, the twisted metal and wrecked buildings was like being a kid in a candy store. But this place also brought back his boyhood memories of Allied bombings during World War II.
We spent a good hour there then took off again for camp. Pretty lazy day. Too hot. I'll save the video for the third anniversary of 9-11.
Later that night we met with all the officers for tea and dinner. We talked about tomorrow's plan and got to know each other a little better. What stands out is a question I asked of these officers. I will often randomly ask a group their ethnicity in an effort to gauge the assimilation of the ANA. 2 Pashtuns, 6 Tajiks and a Hazarra. Not bad. I later learned that would be a bit skewed.
The Hazarra told Jonas that the two "Pashtuns" were actually Tajik. He said that 98% of the ANA officer corps was Tajik. He even went so far to say that non-Tajik officers have little authority over junior Tajiks. This is definitely a shortcoming, so far, of the ANA. To make matters worse, the officer told Jonas that just a few months prior, he was supposed to go to France for training. Instead they sent a Tajik in his place, using his name. Later when I mentioned this to an imbedded trainer, he told me he had heard similar stories, so the problem seems widespread.

Friday August 13th, 2004 0530
Kandahar

Today s the day that will go down in my memoirs as hell. Ahead of us was 15 hours of jaw-jarring carnage that I doubt can be rivaled in my future. First though, we would go to the feisty province of Helemand and its restive capital Gresch. There we would check out another ANA compound and conduct a checkpoint.
It was just a two hour drive, but the terrain went from mountain to flat desert. The ANA base was on the backside of a U.S. Special Forces base. It was rather small and primitive compared to the others we had visited. Just a mudbrick walled compound with a few mudbrick buildings in it. Very simple.
The checkpoint was setup for us. I don't know how often they do them, but this was no doubt a "media op". We stayed just an hour because of the huge drive ahead. I got some pictures and video and we made our way out. The real memory of this was two guys on a motorcycle that got stopped. They were carrying a 20 foot bamboo ladder around their necks with 10 feet of ladder dragging behind them. Quite funny. Of course, nothing was found during the checkpoint and we moved on.
There really isn't much to write about the next ten hours except that the road was nothing less then a ten hour bronco ride. Every eight feet, the pavement separated. In many places the potholes were so big and so many that it was impossible to more than 5km an hour. In many places there was no road at all and often, that was better than the road itself. The road itself was fair game. Cars weaving and bobbing, trying to dodge holes to no avail. Outside it was so hot that it was better to keep the windows up with no AC, than to put them down to feel the breeze. Absolutely miserable.
Somewhere in Nimroz or Fahrah Province, we hear what we don't want to hear: A very bad noise under the right front tire. We pull over and it turns out we've bent a bolt somewhere involving the shock absorber and we were in the middle of nowhere.
The soldiers stopped a jingle truck and borrowed some tools. Within the hour, they had it fixed up like new. For sure Afghans seem to have the ability to anything. Remember our trailer that almost lost a tire in Ghazni Province a few months back?
Hours and hours would go by. Hours of mind numbing nothingness. Don't think the scenery wasn't spectacular, because it was, it just went by very slowly.
The stick out memory here is the houses. They're mud houses like everywhere else, except they have domed roofs versus flat roofs. Pretty interesting.
Near the end, we passed through a town called Shindand. It was memorable because it was a huge old Soviet air base. It was on both sides of the road and went on for a few miles. Hundreds of buildings falling apart. Dozens of rotting jets and choppers on the runway. I also noticed at least a dozen tanks near the base. Well kept tanks. Tanks belonging to Ismail Kahn. Tanks that by the next morning would belong to his arch-rival and former commander, Amassullah Kahn.
Two hours later we were at the ANA base in Herat. We were given a nice room at a guesthouse-type of place where the Americans stayed: Cold drinks, hot showers and real food. It was great. I would later spend some time with the guys that got us here safely before grabbing a shower and hitting the sack.