88 Days to Kandahar: A CIA Diary

by Grenier, Robert L.

  Still, it was quite possible that not all of the fighters now fleeing south would return to their villages; some might well fall back to Kandahar and Helmand provinces, where they could again be reconstituted in units and contribute to the fight. This argued, I said, for our rapid advance on Kandahar. The battle for the southern Taliban capital would constitute the second phase of the war. The third and tertiary phase, and perhaps the most difficult, would likely take place in the mountains of the east, I said, where al-Qa’ida and Taliban elements could find refuge among the fierce Gilzai Pashtuns and gain support from the even more radical religious extremists across the border in Pakistan. Routing them out from there would be the most difficult challenge we would face.

  Right now, I said, the Taliban leadership is in shock. They will soon realize, though, that their situation is not so dire as they feared. “This fight is far from over,” I concluded. I had no idea just how prescient those words were.

  This was apparently too much for one of my listeners, a senior South Asia analyst from the Directorate of Intelligence, now seconded to CTC. He had been standing against the back wall of the conference room, looking increasingly agitated as I went on, but now he stepped forward to challenge me. “What do you mean, the situation is not as bad as they think?” he demanded. “The Taliban’s forces have been heavily concentrated in the north, and now they’ve been thoroughly defeated. They’re fleeing in disorder. Just how could their situation be any worse?” He appeared to be on the verge of a stroke.

  I shot a glance at Dave. “These guys are out of control,” I thought.

  “Well,” I said evenly, in my best therapeutic voice, “as you know, our intelligence in Kandahar is pretty good. We understand that the rumor rapidly circulating tonight among the Taliban leadership is that American commandos have landed at Kandahar Airport. To my knowledge, that is not true; the Taliban will awake tomorrow to find that the Americans are not yet on their doorstep, that all is not yet completely lost, and that they can fight on. But I certainly did not mean to suggest that they are in a good position.” We all obviously needed some sleep. The video conference wound up shortly thereafter with George asking me to sum up in writing my thoughts on the progress of the war.

  The events of November 14 had changed the complexion of the war, even if the struggle was far from over. Likewise, recent events had suddenly given me a decided advantage in my parallel bureaucratic struggle with CTC.

  Hank’s deputy, John Massie, had been scheduled to retire on September 11. He was said to have heard of the events in New York on the radio while driving out of the Langley headquarters for what he thought would be the final time. He made a U-turn and went back to offer his continued services. I didn’t know him, and had never even spoken with him; he was reputed to be a decent fellow.

  Shortly before the start of the November 14 video conference, he had called me on the phone with a singular proposal: “We’d like to send a team in with Brahvi,” the ex-governor of Nimruz Province. “We can use the same team to support both him and Gul Agha. We’d like to have your support.”

  I was incredulous. It seemed obvious to me that abandoning Gul Agha in deference to Brahvi was an aggressively stupid idea, diverting scarce resources to a nearly useless sideshow. Now they were making the preposterous suggestion that one could effectively guide close-air support for Shirzai using a team located hundreds of miles away. Given the comments of the DCI the night before, CTC was aware that it could not divert a team to Brahvi unless I agreed to it. That was the only reason for Massie’s call—otherwise, we weren’t having this conversation. Surely he didn’t think I was stupid enough to accept this? I almost felt embarrassed for John; this was the sort of fool’s errand typically delegated to deputies.

  “If you will consult a map,” I began, uncharitably, “you will discover that Nimruz is in the far west, along the Iranian border. It has virtually no population, and no tribal affiliations of any use whatsoever around Kandahar.” I paused. “This makes absolutely no sense. If you try to do this, you need to know that I will formally oppose it.”

  I had an uncomfortable feeling after I rang off. Could there be something happening back there that I was not aware of? The mere fact that CTC had the temerity to try to make such a proposal was alarming. I dashed off an immediate cable to headquarters. Entitled “Misplaced Priorities,” it argued against sending a headquarters-proposed priority airdrop to Brahvi if that would mean a delay in providing support to Karzai and to Gul Agha in the coming days. It excoriated the hare-brained idea of diverting a Special Forces team from Gul Agha to Brahvi in contravention of the stated wishes of the DCI. Rather than trying to make of Brahvi something he was not, I suggested, it would be far better to provide him with weapons and support for a task he might actually be able to perform: interdicting escape routes from Afghanistan into Iran which fleeing al-Qa’ida fighters might try to employ as they were driven out of the country. The main road from southern Afghanistan into Iran ran through Nimruz.

  For good measure, I also argued against another idea being touted by some elements within CTC—reaching out for support from Haji Bashir Noorzai, yet another infamous opium smuggler, this time from Helmand Province, who had made indirect overtures to the Americans. He did have some tribal standing among the Noorzai, I averred, but controlled no guns, and thus would be of limited utility. And support to him would surely draw the outraged opposition of the British, who saw Afghan heroin as a direct threat to their population. Far more than we, they had been extremely active for years in attempting to interdict it.

  The following morning, the 15th, I walked into my office to find that Dave, as usual, had lined up the most important cables from the overnight traffic on my desk. I looked at the one from headquarters on top. It stated that with five teams already having been sent to the Northern Alliance, and a sixth CIA/SF team, Team Echo, having accompanied Karzai on his reinsertion into Uruzgan, a seventh such team, Team Foxtrot, would join with Gul Agha. We were finally in the clear—or so we thought.

  Chapter 27

  * * *

  CATARACT

  NOVEMBER 17, 2001

  A SMALL GROUP OF battered vehicles, packed with frightened Afghans and a handful of angry Americans, came roaring into town, pulling to an abrupt stop in front of the Americans’ compound and spilling the occupants into the dusty street. Greg, fuming mad, trailed in their wake. Quickly spotting Karzai, he immediately accosted him.

  “God damn it, Hamid. We’re willing to fight with you. We’re willing to die, if that’s what it takes. But I’ll be God-damned if we’re going to do it alone. If you don’t get some people over here willing to fight with us right now, we’re leaving. I’m calling in the helicopters.”

  Since Hamid’s extraction from a high plateau in Uruzgan on November 4, nothing had gone according to plan. Now, although he was finally back in Afghanistan, his unlikely mission was on the verge of unraveling altogether.

  Less than two weeks earlier, I had only just returned to Islamabad from my November 5 visit with Karzai at Jacobabad when we received the first in a series of unwelcome surprises. Within hours of his meeting with me, Secretary Rumsfeld had revealed during a press conference that the U.S. military had temporarily extracted Hamid Karzai by helicopter from Afghanistan for “consultations” in Pakistan. We were mortified. As far as anyone was supposed to know, Hamid was in Afghanistan, leading a popular Pashtun rebellion against Taliban oppressors. Now the U.S. secretary of defense had given the lie to the whole thing. This infuriated Hamid, who was forced to make telephoned denials of dubious credibility to the press. It also precipitated some confusing and contradictory half-denials from the Pentagon as well. We could only hope the whole thing would go away once Karzai had been quickly reinserted.

  The following day, November 7, I received a call from Greg.

  “Chief, I think you’d better speak with Hamid.” Apparently convinced that Rumsfeld’s revelation had obviated the need to maintain the fiction that he wa
s still in Afghanistan, Karzai was insisting that he should travel to Islamabad for meetings with officials and the press. Like Greg, I was aghast. When I got Karzai on the line, I wasn’t sure where to begin, so I decided to engage him in a little Socratic dialogue.

  “Hamid, Greg tells me that you’re interested in coming to Islamabad.”

  “Yes. I thought it would be useful to meet with President Musharraf, and some ambassadors also.”

  “Well, haven’t you been telling everyone up to now that you’re in Afghanistan?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “And don’t you think it’s very important that you are seen as an independent leader, leading a popular uprising against the Taliban?”

  “Oh, yes. That is very important. I must be independent.”

  “Well, if you were to suddenly appear in Islamabad, and it were obvious that you had been brought there by the Americans and the Pakistanis, wouldn’t that make you seem much less independent?”

  “Yes,” he said thoughtfully. “I suppose that is true.” There was a long pause. “So you think it is better if I don’t go to Islamabad?”

  I wasn’t sure which was more disturbing: that Karzai would seriously entertain going on a media tour of the Pakistani capital, or that I could so easily talk him out of it.

  In the meantime, Hamid remained in touch with his friends inside Afghanistan via the sat phone he had left with them. Their reports were not encouraging. The problem was circular: without Hamid there to rally them, it was difficult to raise enough armed men to assure his protection on his return. This required a change in plan. On November 9, Greg and Jimmy mounted up again for a return helo trip to Uruzgan, but rather than reinserting with Karzai, they dropped off the six elders. The Afghans would return to their villages to assemble a proper army for their chief. Greg and the ODA calculated that Hamid should have at least 500 men under arms to recommence his insurgency.

  As the days ticked past, the wait became increasingly intolerable, particularly as the Northern Alliance gained greater military traction in the north. On November 13, with Mazar-e-Sharif having fallen and General Fahim about to launch his offensive toward Kabul, we sent out a cable to Langley advocating Karzai’s early reinsertion. It was clear, we said, that his lieutenants would not be able to recruit 500 armed men in time; we would have to go with what we had. Meanwhile, we learned from Pat Hailey, the CIA representative to Central Command, that General Franks was growing increasingly impatient, fulminating that he would “order” Karzai back inside, perhaps compensating for the dearth of Afghans under arms with an increase in the number of Special Forces troops assigned to him.

  Fortunately, we were not the only ones with deep misgivings about the future. Also on the night of the 13th, as Kabul was coming under Northern Alliance assault, Karzai received a call from Tayyib Agha, the head of Mullah Omar’s personal office. The talib stated that the Popalzai chief was respected; but what, he wanted to know, was Karzai’s program? What were his intentions? In light of the imminent collapse of the Taliban’s position in the north, it seemed perhaps that they might be interested in exploring a potential peace option through Karzai, who was at least a Pashtun—but Mullah Omar’s office director would not, and probably could not, say so. Without making any other commitments, Hamid indicated willingness to provide “safe passage,” presumably to their villages, for any talib willing to lay down his arms. He would be seeing Mullah Omar the following day, Tayyib Agha replied; he would recontact Karzai thereafter.

  Finally, on November 14, Greg and the Echo Team, including two JSOC operators, joined with part of Captain Amerine’s eleven-man ODA 574, and loaded onto five helicopters for the nighttime journey to Uruzgan. The ODA had been “split” by Colonel John Mulholland, the commander of Fifth Group, who was too concerned about the dearth of loyal Afghans ready to receive Karzai to commit the full eleven-man force. The delay at Jacobabad had at least provided an opportunity for headquarters to send us several more CIA paramilitary specialists, augmenting the CIA presence on the team from two to five. But our luck did not improve. The insertion into a mountainous area near the village of War Jan, 35 miles or so west of Tarin Kowt, was a near disaster. As so often happened during helo landings in Afghanistan, thick dust on the ground was fanned by the rotor blades into a blinding “brownout,” causing one helo to make a hard landing, breaking its nose gear. The landing zone was poorly situated, marked by three bonfires in a ravine; as two more helos came in to touch down, their rotors made rock strikes against the steep slopes on either side. A fourth craft, seeing this, peeled off and diverted to an alternate site, a couple of kilometers away.

  Rocket-propelled grenades whizzed briefly overhead as the helos disgorged their passengers; the RPG-7s were suppressed with automatic weapons fire from the small Afghan reception team. Karzai, concerned that the diverted helicopter had gone toward a village controlled by Taliban sympathizers, and quite oblivious of any danger to himself, took off after it at a run in his white sneakers. Greg, Jimmy, and one member of the Afghan reception team ran in pursuit, catching him with difficulty at the top of a steep hill. It took two hours for the entire entry team to regroup in the darkness, and another three hours for them to make the dangerous climb down a cliffside to a mud-walled compound held by a local notable loyal to Karzai. One of the CIA paramilitary specialists had badly injured his ankle in the crash landing. An inauspicious start.

  The following morning, Echo Team received its first airdrop of weapons, with Karzai overseeing their distribution to various small groups of followers who bounced seemingly randomly into the camp. Most took their weapons and returned to their villages; it was not at all clear how many of them Karzai would be able to rally to his cause when he needed them. To Echo, the whole exercise thus far was one of faith.

  Reports filtering in from Tarin Kowt, though, were encouraging. The Taliban defeats in the north and rumors of Karzai’s return were apparently feeding political restiveness in the provincial capital. That night, the Taliban deputy governor who had been so cooperative with Karzai, along with three of his colleagues, were beaten and killed, strung up in the street by an anti-Taliban mob.

  With Hamid optimistically predicting that 2,000 supporters would be awaiting his arrival in Tarin Kowt, Greg agreed that they should move immediately to the governor’s house. He made a priority request for an airdrop of food for a hoped-for 1,000 fighters: best to plan for success.

  On the 16th, they began their tactical move toward Tarin Kowt. In his report that day, Greg compared the operation unfavorably with the Oklahoma land rush: A small band of armed farmers piled into whatever vehicles were available, and raced pell-mell to the east, with Echo trying to preserve as much order as it could. They arrived after nightfall, only to be informed by local leaders that a large number of Taliban were moving north to retake the town. Unsure how large a force they might face or when it might arrive, the ODA, now at full strength, moved out before dawn to set up an observation post on a ridge commanding the southern approaches to the area.

  On the morning of November 17, the lead elements of a large Taliban force mounted in perhaps eighty vehicles, led by an old Soviet “BMP” armored personnel carrier, came into view. The Taliban split into three motorized columns, rushing forward across the broad, sandy valley below. With the first American attack aircraft coming on station, it was a perfect opportunity to catch them in the open. But as the Air Force combat controller began guiding the initial strikes, the rest of the Special Forces troopers turned to see their Afghan security contingent piling in panic into their trucks, about to flee. Faced with abandonment, having no vehicles of their own, and not enough guns to protect themselves from the onrushing Taliban, they had little choice but to jump into the vehicles themselves before they raced off. The little convoy’s chaotic arrival back in Tarin Kowt was what prompted Greg’s verbal assault on Karzai.

  The Popalzai elder had been distracted as usual, speaking on a sat phone with the media, as was his wont, but the sight
of Greg, fairly spitting with fury and threatening to leave, concentrated his mind. He immediately rushed off to find his most capable commander, ordering him to gather some men and return to the fight with Echo and the ODA. By now, the Taliban had long bypassed the ODA’s initial observation post and the three columns were closing in fast on the town. Rushing to the closest high spot they could find, the Special Forces air controllers returned to providing guidance to the fighter-bombers high above. If the Taliban could make it into the town, both the Americans and the Afghans would be surrounded, and airstrikes would be useless. They were minutes from annihilation.

  In Islamabad, CW3 Poteet, the redoubtable Special Forces veteran, burst into my office.

  “My God,” he said. “This is turning into a turkey shoot.” Alerted that a major Taliban attack was under way with Americans in direct danger, fighter aircraft had been scrambled from carriers in the Arabian Sea and were being diverted from seemingly everywhere in theater. Poteet was listening in on the chatter as pilots requested clearance to make bombing runs on the Taliban columns, which continued to press relentlessly forward. There were so many aircraft, he said, they were being stacked in holding patterns to wait their turn.