by Bryan Wood
The Afghan Police are very brutal and corrupt. The Police Chief is actually a former warlord who once controlled a large area of territory during the Taliban regime. It is said that he uses his police to traffic weapons and drugs, eliminate competition, and strong arm anyone out of any money he can. I have even heard rumors that he is paid by the Americans to remain “loyal” to us. How true that is, I have no idea.
The police here also seem free to rob at will. They set up security checkpoints, but they are more like toll booths. They allow American forces to pass through unbothered, but they rob Afghans of whatever they can find. Most of these people do not have anything to begin with, and then they are robbed by the so-called police. It just makes no sense to me.
Today was a very nerve-racking day, but it is over now. I am starting to get into a groove here, and I am trying to make it feel like a home. I try each day to go to the gym on the compound. It is not the best, but all things considered it is really not bad. I eat breakfast, and then I will either leave the compound for a mission or try to sleep. After a few hours of sleep, I wake up and do it all over again. It is becoming really repetitive, but I am hoping the routine makes the time fly.
March 2, 2003:
It was a very quiet night again; long, dark, and cold. The lonely quiet gave me a chance to talk with Massoud and learn more about him and his people. Massoud said he was a mujahedeen fighter from an area called the Panjshir Valley.
Massoud said the word mujahedeen means “holy warrior,” but the true mujahedeen think of themselves as freedom fighters. When the Russians invaded Afghanistan in the 1970s, they planned to make Afghanistan free of religion and ban Islam. The people resisted and the mujahedeen fought a long, bloody war against the Russians. After many years of fighting, the mujahedeen triumphed and the Russians left Afghanistan.
Shortly after the Russians left, the Taliban rose to power. Massoud described the Taliban as a group of men who hid behind the religion of Islam and used Islamic law to control society, although their true motive was not religious. Massoud claims the true reason for having complete control of the people was so they could also have complete control of the money, guns, drugs, and territory in Afghanistan. The mujahedeen rose again and fought the Taliban, with many being either killed or captured and subsequently tortured. This time the mujahedeen fighters had far less success than against the Russians.
Massoud then described to me a new breed of radical Muslim fighters who are declaring a jihad, or holy war, and are also calling themselves mujahedeen fighters. Massoud said these men are not freedom fighters; they are killing innocent people with car bombs, rockets, landmines, and drive-by shootings. These men torture, maim, and ruin lives; they destroy the lives around them, rather than protect. According to Massoud, these new mujahedeen fighters are not, and never will be, true mujahedeen warriors.
He also explained terrorism in Afghanistan. Massoud said the terrorist leaders try to justify their actions by calling it the poorest nation in the world striking out against the wealthiest. The fact is however, the terrorist leaders are actually very wealthy. Massoud said they are really trying to serve their own selfish motives and use the most impressionable people they can manage to manipulate. Massoud sadly said there are many people in Afghanistan who have never had an education, and they quickly follow the false teachings of these self-proclaimed leaders. Most Afghans do see through the lies, but many do not. As a result, violence has become a way of life in this country.
Other than talking with Massoud, not a thing went on last night.
March 3, 2003:
The night shift was very slow, it seems like a pattern is developing. Sometimes I actually enjoy the silence of sitting all alone in the OP at night; all you can do is think. I think a lot about myself and my life. I think about who I really am, where I am going in life, and what I am actually accomplishing right now. I have never really stopped to do that, and it is actually very nice to like the answers that you find. I think a lot of people should do this more often. If you like what you find, it is wonderful. If you do not like what you find, it is never too late to start making changes.
I have been wondering a lot about what will happen when I go home. I wonder where I will live, what I will be doing, and other things like that. We got our first chance to call home last night. I called my wife, but there was no answer. Hopefully she will be there next time.
As the morning rolled around, I did not get to go to bed; instead, we went out on a mission. Last night, a British civilian was shot and killed, and as a result we are going to be putting a lot of military presence in the area of the shooting. A total of ten of us loaded up into two Suburbans, and rolled out of the compound and into the Kabul madness. I call it that because the traffic here is absolutely insane. Just like every other aspect of life here, there are essentially no rules. People drive on whatever side of the road they choose, and they drive as fast or slow as they want. There are no stop signs or traffic lights, and the right of way basically goes to whoever has the biggest balls. To top it all off, the streets are filled with a medley of every mode of transportation imaginable, with no one giving a shit about the others. The bicyclists are the worst as they are everywhere. On our way out of the compound, we hit one guy with our mirror so hard it knocked him off his bike. I felt bad, but we cannot stop for anything.
We got to the area of Kabul we were patrolling, and it was relatively calm. There were a lot of people around, but nothing seemed like trouble, and everyone was just going about their daily business. When we parked and got out of the Suburbans, no one approached us, and there were no beggars. It was strange; people would not even make eye contact. As the day went on, we learned that the rumor on the street was that an American was killed and not a British civilian. The locals were scared that we were there for revenge. I think they viewed us as being angry and armed, and no one wanted to give us an excuse to fire.
We were in a part of Kabul that is very badly ruined and extremely impoverished. Most of the buildings had heavy signs of war with walls blown apart, bullet holes, and collapsed roofs. Even the road and sidewalk had craters from past explosions. The main street, if you want to call it that, had numerous narrow alleyways branching off of it. The alleys were littered with garbage, and each alley had families living out of makeshift shelters. Many of the “homes” within the alleys were just old boxes covered with plastic. The most shocking thing was to see how many children seem to be living in these alleys all alone.
The children were all very dirty, and their clothes were absolutely disgusting. The amazing part though, these kids were still kids. I saw a lot of them playing with what they could, and they actually seemed to be enjoying themselves. I saw one group of kids laughing and giggling while they were playing with an old, deflated soccer ball. When no adults are looking the children will sometimes give us a smile and a “thumbs up.” No matter how much life sucks for them, kids are kids.
To see a kid living a life like that and still able to smile, it sparks an emotion inside of you that is impossible to describe with words. Part of me wishes more than anything that these kids could have a better life, but I know the reality is a quarter of them will not even be alive in five years; yet, they smile.
March 4, 2003:
After the midnight to eight shift in the OP, a group of us loaded up and went back out to patrol again. Driving through Kabul is one thing, but when you stop and get out of the vehicle, you are in a whole other world. Twelve of us went out, and we walked in three-man teams. It is a voluntary mission for me today as it was another squad’s assignment. Walking around, patrolling this area is such a rush; I cannot get enough of it. After yesterday’s patrol, I laid in my bed in total darkness for a few hours before OP duty. I could still feel the adrenaline that had built up in my body, and its rush was amazing.
During today’s patrol, there were a lot more people out on the streets, and there were a lot more guns. I know that if shit goes down, my body armor will stop one or
two rounds from an AK47, but after that I would be in some serious shit. I tried not to let that thought run through my mind, but when you see so many rifles out in the streets, it’s hard to ignore them. You see men who look as old as sixty, and boys as young as twelve, carrying a rifle. It is freaky.
All of the little kids really seem interested in us. When we walk past them, they smile and wave or give a “thumbs up.” The older kids on the other hand, teenagers seem to hate us. They will tell us to go home, give us the finger, or spit towards us. They do not speak English, but a very common phrase we keep hearing is “America no good. America go home.” It does stand to reason; they are teenagers and need to rebel against something: us.
The streets were very tense today. During the patrol we had to check a lot of people, a lot of vehicles, and a lot of storefronts for anything suspicious or dangerous. Our current orders are not to take weapons from civilians as long as they are only in possession of a single rifle. We were told that order will be changing soon, but for now it is what it is.
Stopping and searching civilians is not very stressful, but searching cars get very nerve-racking. Car bombs are the weapon of choice for the Taliban in Kabul. When a car is left unattended for too long, or a driver is acting strange, it becomes our job to make sure it is safe. Checking vehicles can only be described as absolutely, fucking terrifying. With each second that passes by, your ass puckers tighter, and you pray the thing does not explode on you. The only thing that keeps me going is to constantly tell myself that if it does explode it will be quick, and I will not feel a thing. The adrenaline really is one hell of a rush, though!
Another amazing thing is how hard the Afghans work. I watched a group of men working to remove the rubble from a blown out building. They were not using heavy equipment and machinery; instead, they were using spade shovels and a wheelbarrow. All of the work here is done by hand or, if they are lucky, with the help of a horse or donkey. Most of the people here cannot afford a donkey, so it is very common to see a man pulling a cart filled with rock and debris rather than an animal doing the job.
Most of the workers are very beaten and worn by a brutal existence. They are all very dirty, most with long and mangy beards. Many of the men are even working without shoes. I could not help but wonder: if that was me, and I was being forced to work that hard, how would I look at life? My view would probably be a lot different than what I see today. I feel absolutely terrible for these people, and even after the adrenaline fades, that sadness only grows stronger. I have seen things that have made me sad and people that I’ve felt sorrow for, but never anything like this. We have all read about poverty and starvation around the world, but I never imagined I would be witnessing it firsthand. On one hand I wish I did not have to see this, but on the other I hope it causes me to never again take anything for granted. I hope this makes me appreciate every last thing I have been blessed with in life.
March 5, 2003:
Today was a good day. The midnight shift in the OP flew by and before I knew it, it was dawn. Right after shift, I put my name in to use the compound’s computer to email home. When it was my turn, I trembled with excitement as I waited for my inbox to load. It was almost like Christmas morning. Who would ever think that something as simple as an email could make you feel so incredible.
I got an email from my wife, but I feel almost confused, for lack of a better term. Every email I receive from her just seems to be a reply to something I had previously sent, or she is writing for a specific reason: a forgotten password, a combination, or she needs to know how to do something around the house. She never sends sweet emails or special notes. I know the other guys have girls back home who send sexy emails with “interesting” pictures, sweet e-cards, and things like that. I check my email whenever I can, hoping to get something like that, and I never do. One of the guys got a care package from home filled with candy and magazines, and his girlfriend threw in one of her shirts so he could smell her. The second care package she sent had a pair of lace sexy underwear. It makes me wonder why I am not getting anything like that. With nothing but time on my hands, it makes me wonder about everything. This really sucks. I cannot help but worry that I did something wrong.
After using the computer, I hit the gym for a little bit. The gym is my favorite way to unwind and blow off the steam and excess adrenaline from the day. I made a promise to myself that I will go every day and get everything out.
Once I was back in the room, I managed my way through the little space there was to get to my bed. Our room is now filled with bunks and gear, and it smells like a brutal combination of feet and ass. Our plumbing shit the bed almost a week ago, so none of us have showered in days. The smell in this room is absolutely horrendous, and I actually signed up for this.
March 6, 2003:
During shift last night, I was in the OP when there were three small explosions around four o’clock in the morning. About ten minutes later a fourth, much larger explosion rang out. The first three were far enough from the compound that they did not cause much alarm. The fourth one was much closer, and it was strong enough to rattle my OP. I am still not sure what was bombed; we usually don’t find out until later the next day and sometimes the day after.
After shift ended, we went on another mission. Today we went to a remote village about ninety-five miles west of Kabul. We received our briefing, and from the get-go it was very unsettling. The village was about four hours from Kabul, so it was going to be a long ride. The route through the rural area is not often used, and the area is notorious for landmines. Lastly, our destination is very pro-Taliban and anti-American. What could possibly go wrong?
The powers that be determined we would travel in civilian SUVs rather than military HUMVEEs. Five of us loaded up in a single Land Cruiser and moved out. Most of the trip was uneventful, and the road was old, narrow and at times almost non-existent. The landscape looked a lot like the area outside of Las Vegas, nothing but desert and mountains. Four hours into the drive, we passed through a small village. The road winding through the village was very tight, forcing us to pass through very slow.
Each person we passed leered into the truck and looked at us like we were from Mars. They knew we were Americans, and it was very obvious we were not welcomed. A lot of the men wore a green strip of cloth tied around their upper arm, indicating they were Taliban. I was very, very far outside of my comfort level. After a few minutes we had cleared the village without any incidents, but in Afghanistan the situation can always change in a split second.
About ten minutes outside of the village, we entered a blind curve along a cliff. As we exited the curve, there was an old Soviet T-55 tank blocking the road. We were stopped about thirty yards from the tank, and an Afghan was manning the tank’s 20mm machinegun which was pointed right at us. Even though that tank was an old Russian piece of shit, that machinegun would rip our vehicle to shreds. We were very quickly approached by three Afghans with AK47 rifles. The Afghans spoke no English, and the situation became extremely tense. One of the Afghans was shouting something at us, and he was obviously very pissed off at us. The Sergeant in the front seat ordered everyone to stay still and not do a thing. We were in no position to make a move because of that machinegun.
None of us spoke, and we were all scared shitless. I did not know, and I guess I still do not, if this was just a random checkpoint set up to rob people or if the village had notified them we were coming and we were about to be taken. An American head is worth a lot of money in Afghanistan. After a very long and tense twenty or so minute wait, an Afghan arrived who spoke broken English.
The English-speaking Afghan demanded to know who was in charge, and the Sergeant identified himself. The Afghan started yelling something about us having hostile intentions and accused us of trespassing on their land. After a minute of arguing, the Sergeant told the Afghan that we called in on our radio and reported the tank and our location. He told the Afghan that if we do not call in again in the next five minutes, Bagr
am is going to send out the A-10 war planes to kill them, level their village, and destroy their tank. The Sergeant argued with the Afghan again, and after a few minutes the Afghan walked towards the tank while waving his hand in a circular motion in the air. I heard the tank’s diesel engine fire up, and the tank pulled off from the roadway.
The sergeant told the driver to go slow, but start driving. As the SUV slowly moved forward, I was cringing and half expecting the machine gun to start firing. It never did, and we made it out fine. Like I said, I do not know if they were just a checkpoint to rob people or if we were almost taken, but I cannot get a thought out of my mind: what would have happened if they had taken us? We did not have nearly enough ammo to fight our way out of there, and no one even knew where we were. I just imagine myself wearing some jumpsuit and having my head cut off, for the world to see on Al-Jazeera.
We finished out the mission and then drove back to Kabul. When we passed through the same area where we had previously encountered the tank, it was gone and the village was practically deserted. They probably figured an airstrike was coming and hauled ass. We got back to Camp Eagle safely, and now I am here writing about the day while I get ready to take a nap before reporting for OP duty.
March 7, 2003:
After shift today, we went to the local bazaar. It is an open area where the Afghans lay out blankets and display all sorts of items for sale. It is the Afghan equivalent of a flea market. It was a fun way to spend the day as merchants were selling antique guns, knives, videos, jewelry, handmade rugs, and more. As you pass each merchant, they greet you with, “Hello, my friend. Items very nice.” I think they all learned their limited English from the same person.
