Sunday, October 31, 2010
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Grenade Attack full story
The story I am about to tell you will take some lengthy explanation. All wars are multi facetted, there is always intellectual debate about who is good or bad, evil acts can be justified as good, mistakes seen as genius, brave men become cowards. The acts of the Taliban and ISAF are always under debate. The simple villagers are victims of this war 99% of the time. The average Afghan will put ISAF members lives at risk and they are less then honest with Afghan officials and can even assist the Taliban in planting IEDs. These dangerous acts are often performed under threat from the Taliban that reside in their town.
The town of Salar in Wardack is different. These people are “shit-heads” a nomenclature given by the troops here to Afghans that are not organized combatants, not respectful of the rules set in the Quran, lack any morals or cause and often kill indiscriminately with little purpose. If you have see the movie Mad Max Beyond Thunder Dome then you will have an idea of what kind of town this is. Jingle trucks roll through the town and get shot at, the drivers are killed and the contents pilfered. The number of truck hijackings has increased to the point where the US Military feel that they have to do something about it. At this point I was stationed at COP Carwile and could watch the actions of the bandits on the RAID camera. The citizens of Salar had attacked 2 fuel trucks in an attempt to steal their load and inadvertently set fire to the trucks thus accidentally burning down all their market stalls and some homes, the blaze was an act of Karma for the murdering and thievery. Later the town’s folk would approach a translator on patrol with the Americans and ask, “hey, you are going to give us money for new market stalls right?” The translator in a moment of rage told them to go screw themselves and yells at them “you did this to yourselves, you are bad people and this town gets nothing!” The people in the bazaar are left literally with their mouths hanging open.
A few days pass and the chaos becomes too much for my American friends to bear and they send out teams from Carwile to Salar to recover the burning jingle trucks so that the bandits won’t be able to steal the parts or contents. During one of the late night recovery operations 2 Taliban thugs decide to ambush the American team from Carwile as they use a crane to lift a burnt jingle truck onto a flatbed trailer. In the darkness the 2 Taliban get within 100m of the soldiers operating the crane, the Taliban sit and wait, the Americans are lead by Lt Brasher a young tall guy who has already survived a grenade attack. The American crew knows that removing the trucks at night is super-dangerous and they are sitting ducks. On one side of the road there is the green zone a wooded area and the other is the village with it’s burnt out market stalls both are perfect for an attack on unsuspecting ISAF troops. What Terry doesn't know is that the American's have some tricks up their sleeves, tricks that that I am not allowed to disclose. The Taliban are unaware that eyes are upon them, suddenly the two Taliban are hit with a hell fire missile fired from the sky, one fighter is hit square on and obliterated, the other flees in a daze as he bleeds heavily. Lt Brasher and his men take chase and follow a heavy blood trail to a AK-47 that is hastily hidden, the blood continues to a irrigation ditch where it turns the little river red, from there the blood goes to a Collet. The US soldiers break off chase because they would need permission from high up to go in the collet plus they figure with that much blood the man is sure to die.
The next day I watch the funeral and the hole town shows up, those in Carwile’s TOC express disappointment at the size of the crowd and wonder why the town would grieve for such a bad man. Captain Panian, Carwile’s CO watches with dismay and calls the ANA to shake down the Talban big wigs that are reported to be at the funeral. I suggest we show up with funeral food like potato salad and ladyfingers, my suggestion is met with laughter and serious ponder. Hell I think that would be a hoot having a few armored vehicles show up and I pop out “I made a bun cake and cucumber sandwiches.”
Later that day I would return to Sayed Abad, I couldn’t do any work at Carwile with no Internet access and I wasn’t really feeling it there. I was originally moved for what I consider political reasons because Battalion Seargent Major Bagby was disciplining some guys from Attack Company and they didn’t want Press around for that. At the time I figured there must be bigger reason to send me off to another base and I wasn’t pleased with my move. I like the guys at Carwile but my buddies were back at Sayed Abad. When I returned Sgt Major Bagby got on the radio and announced to the TOC the “crazy man Jake has returned.” I was almost emotional, I had a name now and Bagby said that with love…. And chewing tobacco.
I shacked up that night with Sgt Casey a combat camera guy from Shank who’s father served in Vietnam, Casey was 42 and skinny his sister had died and he was in the middle of adopting his 2 nieces, he returned to duty due to the economic crisis in the USA. We talked that night but I had to wake up early to participate in a small show of force in Salar. We were going to be the A-Team. (yes I was Face) That morning I rendezvoused with 15 guys lead by Sgt Beauchamp Colleagues pronounced “Beach Ham.” My buddy Ken Medley, medic Pedro Benavidez and translator Rocky are along for the ride too. We drive 20 min to Salar and the only thing we know to expect is a cold reception. We dismount the M-RAP and I quickly get my bearings, I look up and my crew is already 50M a head of me, I am thinking oh shit don’t fall behind here, not here. We are walking on the main highway and to my left is a scattering of homes and a burnt out Police trucks, on the right is open farmland. Armed private security men line the route, they look like well dressed Taliban but attempt to guard the trucks along the highway in Barter Town, often the Private Security firms cause more trouble then good and Hamid Karzai wants to ban them due to their wreck less behavior.
I catch up to my 4 man group and attempt to snap photos while running, I am not looking around enough or paying attention, I look up to see another 2 armed men and wonder where they came from? Medley has moved closer to the walls of the Collets on the route and I do the same, my friend Peter Warchow 78, a former French Legionnaire told me to always keep my back to the wall, that was the rule in Africa and I figured it was safe advice. Medley and I were far left and Beauchamp and the other 2 were walking closer to the road, I should have stayed against the wall but that would put the Beauchamp and the gang to far away to help me in an emergency so I started to move closer to them but it also left me open to be shot from the Collets and the other side of the road where we only had our 1 M-RAP to defend us. This was starting to become a very vulnerable situation for us.
I paused to take photos of goat herders crossing our path the kids and mother guiding them looked spooked, were they afraid of us or what was coming? We walked further and I stopped to “see” it’s a technique I use when planning or scouting out a shot, I will say “think think.” I spy 2 kids on a roof but they are too far away for my wide angle, my curiosity turns to hunting dog alertness when their actions suggest they are scouting us and relaying our moves. I yell to the group to stop, something a civilian shouldn’t do when on patrol with a experienced Airbourne unit but I knew something was up. I tell Beauchamp we are being scouted and he dismisses it as curious town folks I voice my strong disagreement he tries to assure me this is common just then from the house a grenade flies in my direction and explodes 6ft away. POW!!! I whip around thinking that Medley has just shot his rifle but all I can see is a wall of brown dirt in the air, I yell “holy shit” and dive into the ditch I keep calm and whip my camera around and snap shots as quick as I can. Mean while Benavidez, Beauchamp and Rocky are still up the embankment looking stunned I yell to get down here and they follow suit. The 2 soldiers instinctively take aim at the Collet with the kids, Beauchamp yells to me “where the fuck were those kid you saw, what house!” I franticly try to describe a house that looks like every other house in Afghanistan, just then I realize that Medley is not with us, I panic a lillte as I grip the hill ready to spring up and save him and I yell for him to let us know he is ok, he doesn’t answer and I yell again. A pissed off and perturbed looking Medley walks through the cloud of brown dust and I thank God. Medley glares at the house and tells us he saw someone throw stones, I ask if that was a RPG they say no it was a grenade, I pat myself for wounds that I may haven’t noticed and feel none. I say to Beauchamp “those sons of bitches, lets go up there and kick their ass’, what assholes, they tried to kill me.” Beauchamp orders us all to sprint to the M-RAP for safety. I am relieved to go but increasingly getting angrier with each step. I realize that I am the only one in the back of the vehicle and yell to the driver and gunner that the others are still out there and he explains that they are doing a quick search for the grenadier. I am upset now, they can’t go hunting this guy without me, I yell for them to give me a pistol and they laugh, I say “no I am going to kick this guys fucking ass, let me out.” The rest of the guys hop back in the armored vehicle and we head for the safety of Carwile, Medley manages to smoke 10 cigarettes in 15 min and I am screaming like I won the Stanley Cup. Everything I am wearing just became a good luck charm, pants, watch, and vest.
I feel so pumped with adrenaline that I have nothing to compare it to, I walk into the TOC and tell everyone how we were grenaded and lived. At the time I was unaware that there were 20 unlucky men who didn’t make it through Salar with out a scratch and that this grenade tossing "shit head" had injured those 20 people over the last 2 years one of them was Lt Brasher who was standing behind me and he tells me that he has BBs still lodged in his leg that are too deep to pull out, he then takes me to his office and shows me the 2 types of grenade that this guy uses and that the Pineapple version cut the jugular of Sgt Woods. I felt even luckier to be alive and proceeded to act like I won the Cup for the next 2 hours until I found out that we had to return to the town that night and walk the whole length of the town again.
The town of Salar in Wardack is different. These people are “shit-heads” a nomenclature given by the troops here to Afghans that are not organized combatants, not respectful of the rules set in the Quran, lack any morals or cause and often kill indiscriminately with little purpose. If you have see the movie Mad Max Beyond Thunder Dome then you will have an idea of what kind of town this is. Jingle trucks roll through the town and get shot at, the drivers are killed and the contents pilfered. The number of truck hijackings has increased to the point where the US Military feel that they have to do something about it. At this point I was stationed at COP Carwile and could watch the actions of the bandits on the RAID camera. The citizens of Salar had attacked 2 fuel trucks in an attempt to steal their load and inadvertently set fire to the trucks thus accidentally burning down all their market stalls and some homes, the blaze was an act of Karma for the murdering and thievery. Later the town’s folk would approach a translator on patrol with the Americans and ask, “hey, you are going to give us money for new market stalls right?” The translator in a moment of rage told them to go screw themselves and yells at them “you did this to yourselves, you are bad people and this town gets nothing!” The people in the bazaar are left literally with their mouths hanging open.
A few days pass and the chaos becomes too much for my American friends to bear and they send out teams from Carwile to Salar to recover the burning jingle trucks so that the bandits won’t be able to steal the parts or contents. During one of the late night recovery operations 2 Taliban thugs decide to ambush the American team from Carwile as they use a crane to lift a burnt jingle truck onto a flatbed trailer. In the darkness the 2 Taliban get within 100m of the soldiers operating the crane, the Taliban sit and wait, the Americans are lead by Lt Brasher a young tall guy who has already survived a grenade attack. The American crew knows that removing the trucks at night is super-dangerous and they are sitting ducks. On one side of the road there is the green zone a wooded area and the other is the village with it’s burnt out market stalls both are perfect for an attack on unsuspecting ISAF troops. What Terry doesn't know is that the American's have some tricks up their sleeves, tricks that that I am not allowed to disclose. The Taliban are unaware that eyes are upon them, suddenly the two Taliban are hit with a hell fire missile fired from the sky, one fighter is hit square on and obliterated, the other flees in a daze as he bleeds heavily. Lt Brasher and his men take chase and follow a heavy blood trail to a AK-47 that is hastily hidden, the blood continues to a irrigation ditch where it turns the little river red, from there the blood goes to a Collet. The US soldiers break off chase because they would need permission from high up to go in the collet plus they figure with that much blood the man is sure to die.
The next day I watch the funeral and the hole town shows up, those in Carwile’s TOC express disappointment at the size of the crowd and wonder why the town would grieve for such a bad man. Captain Panian, Carwile’s CO watches with dismay and calls the ANA to shake down the Talban big wigs that are reported to be at the funeral. I suggest we show up with funeral food like potato salad and ladyfingers, my suggestion is met with laughter and serious ponder. Hell I think that would be a hoot having a few armored vehicles show up and I pop out “I made a bun cake and cucumber sandwiches.”
Later that day I would return to Sayed Abad, I couldn’t do any work at Carwile with no Internet access and I wasn’t really feeling it there. I was originally moved for what I consider political reasons because Battalion Seargent Major Bagby was disciplining some guys from Attack Company and they didn’t want Press around for that. At the time I figured there must be bigger reason to send me off to another base and I wasn’t pleased with my move. I like the guys at Carwile but my buddies were back at Sayed Abad. When I returned Sgt Major Bagby got on the radio and announced to the TOC the “crazy man Jake has returned.” I was almost emotional, I had a name now and Bagby said that with love…. And chewing tobacco.
I shacked up that night with Sgt Casey a combat camera guy from Shank who’s father served in Vietnam, Casey was 42 and skinny his sister had died and he was in the middle of adopting his 2 nieces, he returned to duty due to the economic crisis in the USA. We talked that night but I had to wake up early to participate in a small show of force in Salar. We were going to be the A-Team. (yes I was Face) That morning I rendezvoused with 15 guys lead by Sgt Beauchamp Colleagues pronounced “Beach Ham.” My buddy Ken Medley, medic Pedro Benavidez and translator Rocky are along for the ride too. We drive 20 min to Salar and the only thing we know to expect is a cold reception. We dismount the M-RAP and I quickly get my bearings, I look up and my crew is already 50M a head of me, I am thinking oh shit don’t fall behind here, not here. We are walking on the main highway and to my left is a scattering of homes and a burnt out Police trucks, on the right is open farmland. Armed private security men line the route, they look like well dressed Taliban but attempt to guard the trucks along the highway in Barter Town, often the Private Security firms cause more trouble then good and Hamid Karzai wants to ban them due to their wreck less behavior.
I catch up to my 4 man group and attempt to snap photos while running, I am not looking around enough or paying attention, I look up to see another 2 armed men and wonder where they came from? Medley has moved closer to the walls of the Collets on the route and I do the same, my friend Peter Warchow 78, a former French Legionnaire told me to always keep my back to the wall, that was the rule in Africa and I figured it was safe advice. Medley and I were far left and Beauchamp and the other 2 were walking closer to the road, I should have stayed against the wall but that would put the Beauchamp and the gang to far away to help me in an emergency so I started to move closer to them but it also left me open to be shot from the Collets and the other side of the road where we only had our 1 M-RAP to defend us. This was starting to become a very vulnerable situation for us.
I paused to take photos of goat herders crossing our path the kids and mother guiding them looked spooked, were they afraid of us or what was coming? We walked further and I stopped to “see” it’s a technique I use when planning or scouting out a shot, I will say “think think.” I spy 2 kids on a roof but they are too far away for my wide angle, my curiosity turns to hunting dog alertness when their actions suggest they are scouting us and relaying our moves. I yell to the group to stop, something a civilian shouldn’t do when on patrol with a experienced Airbourne unit but I knew something was up. I tell Beauchamp we are being scouted and he dismisses it as curious town folks I voice my strong disagreement he tries to assure me this is common just then from the house a grenade flies in my direction and explodes 6ft away. POW!!! I whip around thinking that Medley has just shot his rifle but all I can see is a wall of brown dirt in the air, I yell “holy shit” and dive into the ditch I keep calm and whip my camera around and snap shots as quick as I can. Mean while Benavidez, Beauchamp and Rocky are still up the embankment looking stunned I yell to get down here and they follow suit. The 2 soldiers instinctively take aim at the Collet with the kids, Beauchamp yells to me “where the fuck were those kid you saw, what house!” I franticly try to describe a house that looks like every other house in Afghanistan, just then I realize that Medley is not with us, I panic a lillte as I grip the hill ready to spring up and save him and I yell for him to let us know he is ok, he doesn’t answer and I yell again. A pissed off and perturbed looking Medley walks through the cloud of brown dust and I thank God. Medley glares at the house and tells us he saw someone throw stones, I ask if that was a RPG they say no it was a grenade, I pat myself for wounds that I may haven’t noticed and feel none. I say to Beauchamp “those sons of bitches, lets go up there and kick their ass’, what assholes, they tried to kill me.” Beauchamp orders us all to sprint to the M-RAP for safety. I am relieved to go but increasingly getting angrier with each step. I realize that I am the only one in the back of the vehicle and yell to the driver and gunner that the others are still out there and he explains that they are doing a quick search for the grenadier. I am upset now, they can’t go hunting this guy without me, I yell for them to give me a pistol and they laugh, I say “no I am going to kick this guys fucking ass, let me out.” The rest of the guys hop back in the armored vehicle and we head for the safety of Carwile, Medley manages to smoke 10 cigarettes in 15 min and I am screaming like I won the Stanley Cup. Everything I am wearing just became a good luck charm, pants, watch, and vest.
I feel so pumped with adrenaline that I have nothing to compare it to, I walk into the TOC and tell everyone how we were grenaded and lived. At the time I was unaware that there were 20 unlucky men who didn’t make it through Salar with out a scratch and that this grenade tossing "shit head" had injured those 20 people over the last 2 years one of them was Lt Brasher who was standing behind me and he tells me that he has BBs still lodged in his leg that are too deep to pull out, he then takes me to his office and shows me the 2 types of grenade that this guy uses and that the Pineapple version cut the jugular of Sgt Woods. I felt even luckier to be alive and proceeded to act like I won the Cup for the next 2 hours until I found out that we had to return to the town that night and walk the whole length of the town again.
Monday, October 18, 2010
Saturday, October 16, 2010
Grenade!!!
Well there we were walking in Salar the worst place on earth and this guy chucks a grenade at me and the boys and it lands 10ft away and goes off, it was a miracle no one was killed. Full story tomorrow.... after Church.
Friday, October 15, 2010
Afghan School Story
It’s not all bullets and bombs here in Afghanistan sometimes there are good deeds too. I was on my way to bed when Staff Sgt Cobbeldick said CNN is showing up tomorrow maybe they would be interested in some “B-roll” from your video? Who? CNN. The next morning Barbara Starr showed up with a cameraman from Australia, a British sound guy, and an American editor. Barbara’s parents were from Winnipeg so that makes her Canadian in my book it was like a Commonwealth get together. CNN was here to interview soldiers regarding the awarding of the Congressional Metal of Honor to Staff Sgt. Salvatore Giunta, for rescuing a wounded friend from the clutches of 2 Taliban during a close quarters ambush high in the mountains. Author Sebastian Junger featured the story in the book WAR.
The CNN gang was professional and fun. Barb was the serious one because the project had her name on it. Barb made a suggestion to Lt-Col Gilleran that we do a story on the Jordanian female soldiers that are in Afghanistan doing out-reach to women. My first thought was ok maybe I will get the now elusive burka shot I need for my collection. The look on the Lt-Col’s face said oh boy I have to call the Jordanians and get this thing working. The next day we show up at the Jordanian compound where a dozen armored vehicles would meet us, I mentioned to the Commander that I had met their King in Ottawa and they looked a little surprised and maybe a little envious. The Jordanian ladies show and I am expecting something like our women soldiers but these ladies were unarmed, wore makeup and had a tan… hummm I will call it a Nun’s outfit on with badges adorning it.
We drove out of Shank on to the main road and into the possibility of an IED. I am cramped in a M-ATV that is universally despised by the Americans for their weak armor, but that’s a story for later. As we drive through the small towns I get an idea of life in Wardak Province. New shops dot the route, shops that wouldn’t look out of place in the Caribbean if it weren’t for the multitudes of garbage and dirt. There are sides of beef and lamb hanging out in the open and vegetables for sale, plenty of beat up Toyotas and motorcycles move around. You can’t help feel that this new commerce will help defeat the Taliban. One thing that struck me was some of these collets (walled homes) are so big that they can be considered castles or mansions. Where does all this money come from and how do they get away with what ever they are doing? These houses would cost millions in Canada. I thought this country was poor?
Despite the distraction we move on to a dirt road where we dismounted and get out and walk. I am with an American girl named Martin who is a medic. She is tall and has puffy lips that hide crooked teeth she is cute but married. Lt-Col Gilleran walks with the Jordanians and CNN crew. We come to this walled school that the UN built and wait to get in, the gate of the school is kept but two 80 year old men that seem disturbed that we have shown up with a huge entourage. Eventually we are let in and are greeted by 200 girls and boys, CNN and I scramble to make heads or tails of what’s going on. The kids are ecstatic to see us, outfits aside the kids are just like any other children around the world, and laughter and giggles surround us.
The female students are supposed to flock to the Jordanian ladies but instead they hang out with the American girls who are sitting quietly off to the side. The young girls from the school surround the 2 American like they are rock stars, the kids have the look of amazement and hope in their eyes and are in shock that a women can be more then some burka wearing hostage. Eventually the Jordanian and American women hang together as to not divide the attention of the schoolgirls.
One of the A.N.A. soldiers was uneasy with us from the start and constantly tried to block shots and bark at kids, my thought is that he was Taliban and one of those strict grouchy assholes. The A.N.A. guy eventually starts to freak out and tell us leave ASAP, the CNN cameraman was in the middle of filming when the soldier tried to push his camera away which almost set off a fist fight, I tried to make a joke to break the tension but I realized this was not Parliament and he didn’t speak English. We left and the entourage of girls followed the female soldiers to a neighbouring field and continued to gaulk. We walked away from the school to a near by mosque where we handed out Qurans. We ended up causing a traffic jam due to kids hanging around, the old school master tried chasing them away with a stick but he was too slow. We headed back to our armored motorcade and sped back to Shank. I couldn’t help but think about the reception the girls gave the female troops and the impression that were made. These kids were just like North American kids in the way they acted and played it made you wonder if they could really grow up to be like their parents with soulless eyes and quiet demeanor? How could this generation be anything like the last, these kids are so bubbly and fun, I couldn’t see any of these cute children picking up a gun or wearing a burka. Maybe I will have to return in 20 yrs to see.
The CNN gang was professional and fun. Barb was the serious one because the project had her name on it. Barb made a suggestion to Lt-Col Gilleran that we do a story on the Jordanian female soldiers that are in Afghanistan doing out-reach to women. My first thought was ok maybe I will get the now elusive burka shot I need for my collection. The look on the Lt-Col’s face said oh boy I have to call the Jordanians and get this thing working. The next day we show up at the Jordanian compound where a dozen armored vehicles would meet us, I mentioned to the Commander that I had met their King in Ottawa and they looked a little surprised and maybe a little envious. The Jordanian ladies show and I am expecting something like our women soldiers but these ladies were unarmed, wore makeup and had a tan… hummm I will call it a Nun’s outfit on with badges adorning it.
We drove out of Shank on to the main road and into the possibility of an IED. I am cramped in a M-ATV that is universally despised by the Americans for their weak armor, but that’s a story for later. As we drive through the small towns I get an idea of life in Wardak Province. New shops dot the route, shops that wouldn’t look out of place in the Caribbean if it weren’t for the multitudes of garbage and dirt. There are sides of beef and lamb hanging out in the open and vegetables for sale, plenty of beat up Toyotas and motorcycles move around. You can’t help feel that this new commerce will help defeat the Taliban. One thing that struck me was some of these collets (walled homes) are so big that they can be considered castles or mansions. Where does all this money come from and how do they get away with what ever they are doing? These houses would cost millions in Canada. I thought this country was poor?
Despite the distraction we move on to a dirt road where we dismounted and get out and walk. I am with an American girl named Martin who is a medic. She is tall and has puffy lips that hide crooked teeth she is cute but married. Lt-Col Gilleran walks with the Jordanians and CNN crew. We come to this walled school that the UN built and wait to get in, the gate of the school is kept but two 80 year old men that seem disturbed that we have shown up with a huge entourage. Eventually we are let in and are greeted by 200 girls and boys, CNN and I scramble to make heads or tails of what’s going on. The kids are ecstatic to see us, outfits aside the kids are just like any other children around the world, and laughter and giggles surround us.
The female students are supposed to flock to the Jordanian ladies but instead they hang out with the American girls who are sitting quietly off to the side. The young girls from the school surround the 2 American like they are rock stars, the kids have the look of amazement and hope in their eyes and are in shock that a women can be more then some burka wearing hostage. Eventually the Jordanian and American women hang together as to not divide the attention of the schoolgirls.
One of the A.N.A. soldiers was uneasy with us from the start and constantly tried to block shots and bark at kids, my thought is that he was Taliban and one of those strict grouchy assholes. The A.N.A. guy eventually starts to freak out and tell us leave ASAP, the CNN cameraman was in the middle of filming when the soldier tried to push his camera away which almost set off a fist fight, I tried to make a joke to break the tension but I realized this was not Parliament and he didn’t speak English. We left and the entourage of girls followed the female soldiers to a neighbouring field and continued to gaulk. We walked away from the school to a near by mosque where we handed out Qurans. We ended up causing a traffic jam due to kids hanging around, the old school master tried chasing them away with a stick but he was too slow. We headed back to our armored motorcade and sped back to Shank. I couldn’t help but think about the reception the girls gave the female troops and the impression that were made. These kids were just like North American kids in the way they acted and played it made you wonder if they could really grow up to be like their parents with soulless eyes and quiet demeanor? How could this generation be anything like the last, these kids are so bubbly and fun, I couldn’t see any of these cute children picking up a gun or wearing a burka. Maybe I will have to return in 20 yrs to see.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Friday, October 8, 2010
The full story of the shootout in Daimerdad
It was suppose to be a safe and easy mission, fly into a remote town and help Elders distribute project money, things didn’t go according to plan.
Daimerdad was a small town nestled in the crux of 2 mountains. The area was rarely visited by ISAF troops and was not known as a hot bed of Taliban action. Our mission was to take several Government Officials, Elders and a small contingent of ANA and U.S. Soldiers to a Shura that was set up with locals to help distribute money for projects. The hope of the Shura was to show transparency and put the money in the hands of the Elders.
We were wheels up from Sayed Abad in the morning, we would fly in 2 Chinook helicopters to FOB Airborne and pick up ANA commandos and a Deputy Governor. Our flight was short, less than half an hour to Daimerdad. We landed in a potato field at the base of the mountains in what they call a “Green Zone,” orchards and forest covered the valley floor that was patterned with irrigation ditches that were fed by one main creek. As the big birds left we were pelted with rocks and stones as usual. Our trek was to the city Centre building that doubled as a ANA base and Police station. We walked past 2 dozen villagers that leisurely hung out in empty market stalls on this main road, they seemed curious but by no means hostile, hell our arrival was nothing short of a volcano eruption and would send most people into a panic. The town was home to maybe 200 people but it had the charm of a Hobit shire, well that was until I saw the bullet riddled police truck and the three destroyed Soviet tanks that were in our path to the City Center building. As we walked past the war relics a yelled to my American friends “ I think this is an ominous sign and a warning that these people might not be so friendly?” One of the officers rebutted my comment and assured me this was a low trouble area.
The City Centre was the same two-story building that I had stayed in Chak but this one was completed and clean, in an Afghan way. Several sandbag gun pits marked the corners of the walled compound. Upstairs we entered a large room where very friendly Afghan Police and 6 met us or so Elders, we would wait on another dozen to show. While we waited for he others lunch was served, naan bread and lamb shank cooked in tasty thin onion gravy. The mood was jovial as we sat on the floor and dined, I was privy to this meeting but the soldiers were not. Lt-Col McFarlane who to my great disappointment didn’t go to West Point (inside joke), was leading this operation in cooperation with the deputy Governor who wore a well fitted Afghan style suit and well groomed beard, he looked about 55 and had a air of power to him, he reminded me of an Iranian Mullah with his glasses and poker face. I was informed by someone there that this guy was high-jacking most of the money coming into the region and he drove a armored Lexus and had several big houses. The other key players were elders from near by towns who during this Shura would decide how they would direct project money and the sheer numbers of them would hopefully insure accountability.
I felt that I should leave the Shura as to give these men privacy and not have a Westerner distract their talks. Out in the hallway ANA and U.S. solders waited. I started talking to 2 ANA soldiers who spoke English well, for some reason just like in Chak the Afghans thought I was some sort of celebrity and insisted I have my picture taken with them, it was a little embarrassing and confusing, who did they think I was? Why did they keep doting over me with food and tea? Was it the beard, my height, the shamang, or being a Canadian Photographer? I always made a point of being engaging to all Afghans regardless of status and offered a respectfully hello all the time. I entered all events like I was on the red carpet at the Grammys, throw in a firm handshake, sudden look in the eyes and easy smile.
Eventually the dealings outside seemed more exciting then the ones inside so I headed to the main road without my vest and helmet. I asked Sgt-Maj Bagby if he thought it was safe not to wear it, he seemed indifferent to my choice. What could go wrong in such a peaceful village? I was among a half dozen U.S. soldiers at the gate of the compound one of the men had given a little 3 yr old a small stuffed tiger, the little boy thought it was a dog having never heard of a tiger before others were envious and wanted one too but our gifts of school bags and school supplies were to be given out later to two Head Masters. I remarked that the simple gift of the tiger to the boy was going to win us more headway then the bombs we dropped, he will remember Americans as being kind and not the monsters of Taliban rumors. We then proceeded to stroll further to a medical clinic that was in short supply of medicine and the troops could make no promises on that and explained to the clinic operators that it would be a while until we return. We continued further with our entourage of curious children in tow I came to a Mosque that looked like any other home, I was warned not to go inside so I didn’t. That was far enough for me and I started to make my way back past the Russian tanks to the gate of the compound.
On the way back Bagby posed with curious children and I showed them their photos on my camera. Sgt-Maj Bagby was a man of few words but you didn’t want to cross him, he had busted down some guys in Attack Company just for allowing Afghan scarves to be worn by troops, he was in the Army for 30 plus years and was now the head NCO for the 1st 503rd Battalion. As grey and hardened as he was he had a soft side and he felt for the kids, he turned to me out of the blue and said “I agree with what you said back there,” I was surprised that he listened to any of my jibber jabber I was shocked. He felt strong about a soldier’s impressions on the public and knew that when that boy hit 15 and was asked to join the Taliban to kill evil Americans that he would know different. I was concerned that we show these kids how real men act and that we were not like the boy molesting shit heads that they had to deal with at home. Many of these kids would be abused and become abusers in a sexually distorted society.
Back at the gate more kids were gathering, along came a black bearded man on a motor bike who yelled at the kids to leave he then told us he was a teacher and was coming to pick up the bags, we told him he could have half not all and he hastily grabbed them and left on his motor bike and showed little to no thanks. There was something wrong with him, his greeting was dishonest and he was mean looking, I told the troops something was wrong with him and he was trying to shoe the kids because he knew of an attack. No body seemed concerned but I can read people this guy was not right. Meanwhile Bagby had pointed out a tiny boy he wanted to give a backpack to, the boy surrounded by envious peers came over to accept the gift, tough old Bagby knelt down and like some gruff Grandfather with a secret soft side handed the boy his gift, the boy’s eyes lit up his face read of stunned disbelief as did mine 2 seconds later when the whiz and crack of bullets flew over the heads of the children, Sgt-Maj Bagby and I. No questions were asked I knew he and I were being shot at, I ran quick behind the compound wall, the old Sgt-Major turned and glared at the Hill’s with daggers in his eyes. The ANA instantly returned fire with their belt fed machine gun, then another soldier breaks out the window on the second floor so they can also shoot back. Men scramble and a mortar station is setup. I yell to a near by Yank if I should have my vest on Bagby replied, “I don’t know what do you think.”
I made a break for a sandbag tower and sat with some troops on the supposed safe side, just then someone brings me my vest and helmet. We are informed that there are Taliban in the Green Zone which is in plain view of where I am sitting, I couldn’t figure out why no one was moving so I said fuck it and took cover where I thought it was safe. I come around the corner of the second building on the property to find a group of Afghan Commandos standing around their Colonel who is sitting on what looks like a throne. I was shocked, he was sitting there as guns roared picking his nails, I couldn’t bring myself to take his picture because I know he would freak out if anyone saw his slack jaw posture. Americans took charge and hit back with mortars thus silencing the Taliban guns.
Our ride was on the way and with chaos still on the menu we rallied what elders didn’t flee and prepared them for ex-filtration. Just then an old man carrying a one-year-old baby appears at the front gate, his eyes filled with sheer terror. Shrapnel from a Taliban bullet had hit the baby. Her head was bleeding. The old man was brought into a safe doorway medics worked fast to bandage her head and put ointment on. Somebody yelled, “We gotta go now!” The old man was starting to cry and that almost made me cry, as he left I slipped him $15 it was all I had but a month’s pay to him.
We ran past the razor wire out back of the city centre compound and scurried 500m up hill to the landing zone. As we walked I yelled to the Governor or what ever he was that he knew how to throw a real party. He just looked at me. We could hear the Chinooks they were coming in fast, the piles of sharp pointy rocks turned I to a hurricane of needles pelting all exposed flesh, I was relieved to be in the big bird and I knew I had captured some compelling stuff, I wanted to scream but realized that as fun as that was for me it really might have been upsetting for those who organized this shura. I would later find out that many of these guys had been out 2 dozen times and never shot at. I am not sure if I am suppose to feel privileged or not?
Daimerdad was a small town nestled in the crux of 2 mountains. The area was rarely visited by ISAF troops and was not known as a hot bed of Taliban action. Our mission was to take several Government Officials, Elders and a small contingent of ANA and U.S. Soldiers to a Shura that was set up with locals to help distribute money for projects. The hope of the Shura was to show transparency and put the money in the hands of the Elders.
We were wheels up from Sayed Abad in the morning, we would fly in 2 Chinook helicopters to FOB Airborne and pick up ANA commandos and a Deputy Governor. Our flight was short, less than half an hour to Daimerdad. We landed in a potato field at the base of the mountains in what they call a “Green Zone,” orchards and forest covered the valley floor that was patterned with irrigation ditches that were fed by one main creek. As the big birds left we were pelted with rocks and stones as usual. Our trek was to the city Centre building that doubled as a ANA base and Police station. We walked past 2 dozen villagers that leisurely hung out in empty market stalls on this main road, they seemed curious but by no means hostile, hell our arrival was nothing short of a volcano eruption and would send most people into a panic. The town was home to maybe 200 people but it had the charm of a Hobit shire, well that was until I saw the bullet riddled police truck and the three destroyed Soviet tanks that were in our path to the City Center building. As we walked past the war relics a yelled to my American friends “ I think this is an ominous sign and a warning that these people might not be so friendly?” One of the officers rebutted my comment and assured me this was a low trouble area.
The City Centre was the same two-story building that I had stayed in Chak but this one was completed and clean, in an Afghan way. Several sandbag gun pits marked the corners of the walled compound. Upstairs we entered a large room where very friendly Afghan Police and 6 met us or so Elders, we would wait on another dozen to show. While we waited for he others lunch was served, naan bread and lamb shank cooked in tasty thin onion gravy. The mood was jovial as we sat on the floor and dined, I was privy to this meeting but the soldiers were not. Lt-Col McFarlane who to my great disappointment didn’t go to West Point (inside joke), was leading this operation in cooperation with the deputy Governor who wore a well fitted Afghan style suit and well groomed beard, he looked about 55 and had a air of power to him, he reminded me of an Iranian Mullah with his glasses and poker face. I was informed by someone there that this guy was high-jacking most of the money coming into the region and he drove a armored Lexus and had several big houses. The other key players were elders from near by towns who during this Shura would decide how they would direct project money and the sheer numbers of them would hopefully insure accountability.
I felt that I should leave the Shura as to give these men privacy and not have a Westerner distract their talks. Out in the hallway ANA and U.S. solders waited. I started talking to 2 ANA soldiers who spoke English well, for some reason just like in Chak the Afghans thought I was some sort of celebrity and insisted I have my picture taken with them, it was a little embarrassing and confusing, who did they think I was? Why did they keep doting over me with food and tea? Was it the beard, my height, the shamang, or being a Canadian Photographer? I always made a point of being engaging to all Afghans regardless of status and offered a respectfully hello all the time. I entered all events like I was on the red carpet at the Grammys, throw in a firm handshake, sudden look in the eyes and easy smile.
Eventually the dealings outside seemed more exciting then the ones inside so I headed to the main road without my vest and helmet. I asked Sgt-Maj Bagby if he thought it was safe not to wear it, he seemed indifferent to my choice. What could go wrong in such a peaceful village? I was among a half dozen U.S. soldiers at the gate of the compound one of the men had given a little 3 yr old a small stuffed tiger, the little boy thought it was a dog having never heard of a tiger before others were envious and wanted one too but our gifts of school bags and school supplies were to be given out later to two Head Masters. I remarked that the simple gift of the tiger to the boy was going to win us more headway then the bombs we dropped, he will remember Americans as being kind and not the monsters of Taliban rumors. We then proceeded to stroll further to a medical clinic that was in short supply of medicine and the troops could make no promises on that and explained to the clinic operators that it would be a while until we return. We continued further with our entourage of curious children in tow I came to a Mosque that looked like any other home, I was warned not to go inside so I didn’t. That was far enough for me and I started to make my way back past the Russian tanks to the gate of the compound.
On the way back Bagby posed with curious children and I showed them their photos on my camera. Sgt-Maj Bagby was a man of few words but you didn’t want to cross him, he had busted down some guys in Attack Company just for allowing Afghan scarves to be worn by troops, he was in the Army for 30 plus years and was now the head NCO for the 1st 503rd Battalion. As grey and hardened as he was he had a soft side and he felt for the kids, he turned to me out of the blue and said “I agree with what you said back there,” I was surprised that he listened to any of my jibber jabber I was shocked. He felt strong about a soldier’s impressions on the public and knew that when that boy hit 15 and was asked to join the Taliban to kill evil Americans that he would know different. I was concerned that we show these kids how real men act and that we were not like the boy molesting shit heads that they had to deal with at home. Many of these kids would be abused and become abusers in a sexually distorted society.
Back at the gate more kids were gathering, along came a black bearded man on a motor bike who yelled at the kids to leave he then told us he was a teacher and was coming to pick up the bags, we told him he could have half not all and he hastily grabbed them and left on his motor bike and showed little to no thanks. There was something wrong with him, his greeting was dishonest and he was mean looking, I told the troops something was wrong with him and he was trying to shoe the kids because he knew of an attack. No body seemed concerned but I can read people this guy was not right. Meanwhile Bagby had pointed out a tiny boy he wanted to give a backpack to, the boy surrounded by envious peers came over to accept the gift, tough old Bagby knelt down and like some gruff Grandfather with a secret soft side handed the boy his gift, the boy’s eyes lit up his face read of stunned disbelief as did mine 2 seconds later when the whiz and crack of bullets flew over the heads of the children, Sgt-Maj Bagby and I. No questions were asked I knew he and I were being shot at, I ran quick behind the compound wall, the old Sgt-Major turned and glared at the Hill’s with daggers in his eyes. The ANA instantly returned fire with their belt fed machine gun, then another soldier breaks out the window on the second floor so they can also shoot back. Men scramble and a mortar station is setup. I yell to a near by Yank if I should have my vest on Bagby replied, “I don’t know what do you think.”
I made a break for a sandbag tower and sat with some troops on the supposed safe side, just then someone brings me my vest and helmet. We are informed that there are Taliban in the Green Zone which is in plain view of where I am sitting, I couldn’t figure out why no one was moving so I said fuck it and took cover where I thought it was safe. I come around the corner of the second building on the property to find a group of Afghan Commandos standing around their Colonel who is sitting on what looks like a throne. I was shocked, he was sitting there as guns roared picking his nails, I couldn’t bring myself to take his picture because I know he would freak out if anyone saw his slack jaw posture. Americans took charge and hit back with mortars thus silencing the Taliban guns.
Our ride was on the way and with chaos still on the menu we rallied what elders didn’t flee and prepared them for ex-filtration. Just then an old man carrying a one-year-old baby appears at the front gate, his eyes filled with sheer terror. Shrapnel from a Taliban bullet had hit the baby. Her head was bleeding. The old man was brought into a safe doorway medics worked fast to bandage her head and put ointment on. Somebody yelled, “We gotta go now!” The old man was starting to cry and that almost made me cry, as he left I slipped him $15 it was all I had but a month’s pay to him.
We ran past the razor wire out back of the city centre compound and scurried 500m up hill to the landing zone. As we walked I yelled to the Governor or what ever he was that he knew how to throw a real party. He just looked at me. We could hear the Chinooks they were coming in fast, the piles of sharp pointy rocks turned I to a hurricane of needles pelting all exposed flesh, I was relieved to be in the big bird and I knew I had captured some compelling stuff, I wanted to scream but realized that as fun as that was for me it really might have been upsetting for those who organized this shura. I would later find out that many of these guys had been out 2 dozen times and never shot at. I am not sure if I am suppose to feel privileged or not?
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Crazy shoot out. Video and story to come.
Guys I was in a crazy shoot out, I am fine, plenty of pics and video to come.
Friday, October 1, 2010
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