Through the eyes of a U.S. Marine (Afghanistan, 2002)...
Through the eyes of a U.S. Marine (Afghanistan, 2002)...
A True Story
Part I
I arrived in Afghanistan a little more than two
weeks ago. I landed first at an airbase one hour's
drive outside the city of Kabul. The day was
approaching twilight, the sun dropping behind the
western mountains to give the clouds a pink and purple
tint. The feeling upon arrival was one of uncertainty.
The plane taxied to a stop and we were told to stay
where we were. A soldier came aboard to give us a
quick briefing. This is a combat zone, we were told.
Hostile forces regularly sneak in and lay
anti-personnel mines in off-road areas. Don't step off
the tarmac or established dirt roads. Once you are off
the plane, we were told, expeditiously make your way
to the personnel arrival area.
The airbase was like something out of a war movie.
There were casualties laying about, the victims of
some unknown, unseen enemy. Everyone I saw here was
armed with military issue M-16s, fully loaded and
ready to fire. I had come with a weapon, but no
ammunition, so I was anxious to arm myself. The
buildings that I could see were full of bullet holes
or damaged from some type of explosive. There were
green military issue tents set up everywhere.
Someone asked me for my ID, which I promptly turned
over. An Army sergeant then gathered all of us around
for a more detailed brief of the situation. The enemy
likes to shoot and run. Normally they don't stick
around for a firefight, but they will happily send a
rocket propelled grenade or a few bullets our way.
Engage any Taliban, Al-Qaida, or "other" enemy. Engage
means shoot to kill. Any troops showing hostile intent
may be engaged. Do not walk on any area that has
vegetation as this is a favored place to hide land
mines. Earlier in the week, an Australian soldier
decided to take a shortcut somewhere and stepped on an
anti-personnel mine buried in the ground. The
resulting explosion took one of his lower legs apart.
The shrapnel made it's way into his thigh, which had
to be amputated.
They gave me my ID back and told me that I would be
recieving "imminent danger pay", "hardship duty pay",
and so on. All told, the extra money I earn for
serving in a combat zone for a month could be equalled
by a pimpled teenager working at Mcdonalds for a week.
No one volunteers to serve in a war for the money.
My Marine Corps liason met with me and asked about
the flight and our arrangements. He handed me some
ammunition, which I eagerly loaded into my weapon.
Then together we made our way to a dirty, overcrowed
tent which, amazingly, had the internet connected to a
laptop. I dove into my military ration and set myself
to rest on the visitors cot. I quickly fell into a
silent and dreamless sleep my first night in a combat
zone.
I was awakened in the morning by explosions. BOOM. I
could feel the adrenaline flush through my system and
my heart begin to race. When I opened my eyes,
everyone in the tent was minding there own buisness
and paying no attention to the bass drum in the
distance. BOOM. I asked someone what the explosions
were and was told they were mine clearing teams. BOOM.
I knew this would be an interesting day.
And so it was. Our "convoy" of four men in two
vehicles wouldn't begin the hour's drive to Kabul this
early. The goal was to wait and allow other vehicles
to make the trip first. If hostile forces had planted
land mines in the road, some one else could trigger
them first. We waited a few hours before loading up
and heading out. The trip would take us through open
country, an hour's drive as the enemy's target. Unless
we had no choice, this would be a straight shot, no
stopping to exchange fire if fired upon. Badly
outnumbered in almost any scenario, our best bet was
to get to our destination as fast as possible.
We left the makeshift airbase and began our journey
in the late morning. Surrounding the base is the city
of Bagram. The streets are packed with locals.
Children playing in the street stopped and stared on
our approach. They held out their hands and put them
to their mouths, as if asking for food. Disgustingly
dirty, all they had for clothing was rags. Amputees
were everywhere. They were pushed in wheelchairs,
riding on the handlebars of bicycles, and hobbling
about with prosthetic limbs or canes. Everyone we
drove by stared as if aliens had landed. The look in
their eyes is indescribable. If the eyes are the
window to the soul, I have seen the limit of human
tolerance, suffering, and pain.
Our drive took us out of this city, with it's blown
out buildings and craters, into the countryside.
Active mine fields are marked by red paint on the side
of the road, cleared mine fields with white paint. The
sides of the road were red for countless miles. These
fields of death are a relic of the soviet invasion of
afghanistan. Millions of mines remain, and as I have
mentioned before, will continue to remain untill the
mine clearing teams make there way across the country.
For now, however, the mines remain. The people of this
country have accepted the risk of death to use this
land to feed their wandering bands of goats and sheep.
Shepards are more common than vehicles in this
wasteland. One particular image has been burned into
my mind on this trip. A girl who could not have been
older then five, traveling alone, 20 miles outside of
Bagram, leading a camel standing eight feet tall and
500 pounds with at least another 200 pounds of gear
strapped atop his back.
As we begun our approach into the capital of
Afghanistan, the same images of Bagram were repeated.
Starving children, amputees, and more suffering. The
streets were teeming with activity, however. Cars
everywhere. Bicycles everywhere. People everywhere.
Women in burkas with young girls in burkas. There are
no traffic laws in Kabul, or so I'm told. Who would
enforce them anyway? This country doesn't yet have a
functioning government. Cars are jockeying for
position any way they can. The road is total chaos.
Eventually we make our way to our destination. The
Embassy is an impenetrable fortress. Military barb
wire called "razor wire" mounts the walls. This razor
wire is essentially barb wire except with razor blades
every three inches, so sharp they could penetrate your
flesh a half inch deep. It is everywhere and it
consumes the compound like ivy. I can say no more due
to security reasons, but I can tell you that this
building is well prepared to counter any form of
attack.
Even in this castle we are still at risk. Landmines
and grenades have been thrown over the wall. Rounds
occasionally are fired at or over the building. I've
heard machine gun fire outside the compound and there
are reports of vehicles full of explosives driving
around the city.
Part II
Last night a figure appeared on the outermost wall
of our compound and flashed a light into our LZ. When
Marines lit the figure up with spotlights, several men
with Soviet assault rifles (Kalashnikovs, better known
as the AK-47) dropped back and ran into the cover of
darkness.
I lay in bed just a few moments ago, drifting into
sleep. The night is cool and clear tonight. The silent
air is shattered with the screaming siren of the
Embassy alert. I am jolted awake by running troops and
the piercing wail of the attack warning. The siren
breaks off and a voice yells over the PA system:
"BATTLE STATIONS! BATTLE STATIONS! ALL EMBASSY
PERSONNEL TAKE COVER!" The voice disappears and the
wailing of the siren begins again. The adrenaline
dumped into my system like a car accident. I jumped
out of the bed and fumbled for my body armor and
helmet. The siren stopped and the PA came alive again
"BATTLE STATIONS! BATTLE STATIONS! ALL EMBASSY
PERSONNEL TAKE COVER!" Having suited up in seconds, I
grabbed my pistol and ran out of the room to my
designated position as the siren again told me of the
impending fire fight. This is no drill. It's the real
thing. I was ready. Scared to death, but ready.
It is truly amazing what thoughts can fill your head
in a time span of seconds. Everything and nothing all
at once. My mind was a whirlwind of silent screaming
emotion. My training gripped me like an iron fist. I
was in total control despite the reality that, at 22
years old, I was about to start killing people.
Arriving at my position inside the hallway with my
fellow Marines, I heard cussing, shouting and the PA
come alive once more: "BATTLE STATIONS! THIS IS A
DRILL..." It cut off. A drill? A damn drill? The
announcer had forgotten to say it was a drill in the
beginning and now he was getting his a** chewed.
Normally the drill is announced IMMEDIATELY so people
don't get hurt in the mad dash to react. Somebody
screwed up and we all thought the inevitable had
finally happened. Wow.
The tension is high here as the Loya Jirga is
beginning. The press is reporting an imminent attack
on the building, and it appears we are being probed.
I am not aware of any intelligence confirming or
denying such an assault, however, we are definitely
expecting the worst.
Part III
There are several languages here in Kabul, the
predominate two being Farsi and Dari. The man I'm
speaking with is fluent in both. His name is Waheed,
and he is one of many translators working with the
U.S. Embassy in Kabul. A middle-aged Afghani national,
Waheed is a good looking man that could easily pass
for an American. His hair is clean, short, and well
groomed. He wears a moustache and has abandoned the
long coarse beard that has saturated American media.
He wears pressed slacks, dress shoes, and a clean
collared shirt. He looks nothing like the bearded,
turban-wearing, dirt-covered Afghani that has come to
symbolize this part of the middle east.
It wasn't always this way. Until the crushing defeat
of the Mullah Omar and the oppressive Taliban, Waheed
would be indistinguishable from the rest of the
citizens of this country. And Waheed knows first hand
just how oppressive the Taliban were. He has seen
women beaten with wire for failing to follow the
regime's strict laws of female modesty. And he has
felt the pain personally. Waheed has been imprisoned
by the Taliban for seven days and seven nights,
enduring countless beating during his stay. What
horrible crime had this man done to deserve such a
punishment? His beard was not long enough.
He tells me that the Taliban and it's "Islamic"
state was all a lie. The Taliban were nothing more
than thugs forcing their citizens into submission
under the banner of Islam. Fear, threats, violence.
Ruthless oppression of those who would live as they
saw fit.
But the Taliban are gone and for the first time in
22 years, there is peace in Kabul. Many women still
wear the traditional "Burka", but many have uncovered
their face, allowing themselves to be seen as much as
their interpretation of Islam allows. Many men have
shaven their beards and begun wearing western
clothing. The citizens of Kabul, Waheed tells me, are
happy that the Americans are here. They are grateful
for the international peace-keeping force that patrols
Kabul. But most of all, they are grateful for the
safety that the world has provided them for the time
being.
Kabul is by no means a prospering nation. The
economy is in ruins. Poverty is rampant and the people
are visibly suffering from unsafe living conditions,
lack of fresh food, and the absence of universal
medical care. The lucky few who are considered
middle-class earn $300-$400 monthly. The jobless men
wander about aimlessly. They seem to have lost all
hope.
This country, after two decades of war, is desperate
for education, desperate for social order, and
desperate for restored hope in the future. Amputees
are a common sight, the victims of land-mines left by
the Soviet-Afghan war. This country has, according to
one estimate, no less than six million mines littering
it's landscape. International mine-clearing teams work
to clear the mine fields, but this daunting task will
take many years to finish.
Afghanistan is actually a beautiful country.
Snow-capped mountains overlook the rolling green
pastures below. Shepherds tend to their flock as if
nothing had changed in the last thousand years.
Amazingly, they pay no heed to the mine fields
surrounding them, accepting the risk of death or
dismemberment in order to feed their flock fresh
grass. Camel roam the countryside here and there, and
the air is fresh and clean. If it weren't for the bomb
craters in the ground, bullet holes in every building,
and the visual aftermath of a country destroyed by
war, not to mention daily machine-gun fire and
explosions, this would be a nice place to visit.
Part IV
I was in my room when the rockets flew. One landed
short and exploded about 800 meters in front of the
building from where they were fired. The second one
was long, but barely. Marines everywhere dove for
cover. You could hear it and see it fly over from
outside the building. That one landed 100 meters
behind us but didn't explode. About a football field
away. How many more were launched is unconfirmed but
there was at least two more.
The Chinese made rockets can be launched from
virtually anywhere. They have no guidance systems and
are extremely inaccurate. The impact on a building
would probably take out an area the size of a small
room.
We believe that the enemy launched them with the
intention of 'bracketing'.That means firing one a little
further then the target and one a little shorter in order
to find the exact impact area you want.
To give you an idea how this country tolerates war:
The second rocket bounced off a wall and broke down a
door, landing in someone’s house. The homeowner was
having a party at the time. He went to see what the
noise was and discovered the rocket laying in his
living room. Upon inspection he saw that the fuse had
burned out. He picked up the rocket, put it outside, and went
back to his party.
We can expect more. This morning the officers passed
out atropine and adrenaline. Intelligence tells us that the
next attack will be chemical.
Originally Posted by Pannonian
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I 'll be posting photos for the 'Stan here and there.
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