CHAPTER 15
Kandahar Air Field, Afghanistan
Monday 10 Jul 06 0800 hrs AFT
Behind them, on the tarmac, the last of the big plane’s turbofans was spooling down. The smell of combusted kerosene mingled with the flinty smell of the ever pervasive dust that choked the base. As a small blessing there was a complete absence of the smell of the shit pit, the base’s sewage treatment pond. The sky was clear blue; the rising sun glinting off the white arches of the civilian terminal on the other side of the runway. The ultimate heat of the day was already apparent and oppressive.
Ahead of them, on the edge of the tarmac, sat three Ground Mobility Vehicles–GMVs, the Special Forces’ variant of the ubiquitous HMMWV. A bearded trooper left the vehicles and walked over in their direction.
“Colonel Sambrook, I presume?”
Sambrook nodded.
Kurt noted that the soldier wore no rank identifier on the chest of his ACUs, nor any unit identifier on his sleeve other than an American flag IR recognition patch.
“I’m Master Sergeant Paulsen, Sir. The CO sent me down to drive you and your people up to GECKO.”
“Good. We’re good to go and just have the kit we’re carrying. How do you want to distribute us?” said Phil.
“If you plus one will join me in the second vehicle then the other two can mount up in the third.”
Kurt saw Phil’s nod to join him. “Sure,” he said. “Sergeant Major, you ride with Mister O’Donnell in the third vehicle.”
“Roger that, Sir,” he said.
Kurt’s vehicle was crowded even though there was an adequate cargo area in the back for all their equipment. The restriction came from the fact that the vehicle had a hatch in the center of its roof with a .50 caliber machine gun mount, smoke launchers and several extra boxes of ammunition and several AT4 one-shot rocket launcher tubes. As a result, the center line of the vehicle was taken up in the front by a rack of radios and computers and in the middle and rear with a platform for the gunner. Kurt’s seat was squeezed over to the far left of the vehicle, behind the driver and barely adequate for himself, his body armor, magazine and grenade-stuffed tactical vest and weapons.
The good news, if you could call it that, was that there were no doors. To the right front, Paulson nonchalantly lounged in his seat, his right foot resting on the edge of the rocker panel, his right hand resting on the butt of an M249 light machine gun mounted on a pintle on the fender just to the side of the windscreen. Kurt’s M4 rested on his left thigh pointing outward; his eyes scanned the passing scenery looking for warning signs in a landscape full of them. Blessedly the roads were mostly paved and the dust stayed down to a minimum.
Their route took them quickly up Highway A75 and through a pass in the ridgeline just beyond De Akbar Karuna. To their right the ridge rose just over a hundred meters, on Kurt’s side almost two hundred. A perfect place for observation of all traffic running between the city, the airfield and for that matter for all of that coming up from Pakistan via the crossing at Spin Boldak.
Six kilometers further on, heading towards the city, just after crossing the Shorab River, they turned north, following a dirt trail running between two massive truck loading facilities. All around them were hundreds upon hundreds of the twin axle or semi trailer jingle trucks that moved cargo all across Afghanistan and between Pakistan and Iran. Kurt felt a nudge on his right arm and looked across the vehicle to see Phil pointing out the spires of the Blue Mosque.
From here they crossed Highway A1, Afghanistan’s ring road connecting Kabul to Kandahar to Herat and back to Kabul, and then continued northward through the city’s eastern suburbs for several kilometers before again turning west just after they had crossed the Arghandab River Canal. Much of this area was new to Kurt whose prior trips here had generally kept him south of the canal and more to the west of the city. The area abounded in small single-storey compounds, and just east of Camp NATHAN SMITH, a massive cemetery.
Traffic was light and they traveled fast to stay ahead of any possible ambush being set up along their route. From time to time they turned off for a block or two and then drove a kilometer or so along a side street. Everywhere were the sights, sounds and smells of the city; children playing in the dirt; storefront butcher shops with goat and sheep carcasses hanging from the porch rafters; vegetable stands; motorcycle dealers; ubiquitous utility poles and wires crisscrossing everywhere. There were no signs here of the abundant fields that filled the lands to the south and west of Kandahar, or even those adjacent to the Arghandab River to the northwest. All that they encountered were smallish residential compounds or shops or empty sandy lots or graveyards; barren land with row upon row of low six by three-foot mounds of either rocks or in some cases concrete slabs, some with marker slabs but many more with fluttering pennants.
FOB GECKO stood like the last rampart of the desert-like terrain which made up the northwestern fringe of the city. Beyond, to the north, a long line of ridges a few hundred meters high ran diagonally. Immediately on their other side and off their southern tip ran the lush fields of the Arghandab River valley.
From here the roads followed the river northward to the mountains and the province of Uruzgan or west through the troubled region of Panjwaii and on to Helmand.
From here special operations for southern Afghanistan, both white and black, were planned, launched and controlled.
— § —
Phil’s plans had to be changed.
Originally the intent was to start the investigation with Price and the other members of the ODA who had been present at Patrol Base DAGGER on the night of the April 3rd incident. Their deployment on Op ZAHAR had added two complications: a need to get Canadian cooperation in wandering around their battlespace, and a different place to start until such time as it was reasonably possible to meet with Price.
Settling into their transient accommodations at GECKO had taken all of fifteen minutes. A series of telephone calls had quickly established that rather than needing to go back to Kandahar to meet General Fraser, Fraser would be coming to GECKO that afternoon to coordinate several missions with several different special forces teams. He would give them some of his time to deal with the investigation. The British liaison staff in Kandahar would reluctantly meet with them the next morning, and they could meet with the leader of the ETT that was involved in the incident late the next day.
With nothing else left to do, Phil decided that zeroing the stock weapons that they had been issued would be a profitable use of their time. O’Donnell had quickly arranged some range time, ammunition and the loan of some armorer’s tools and they had spent several enjoyable hours adjusting sights and other SOPMOD kit weapon accessories on their M4A1s and putting some lead down range. In Kurt’s words, A bad day on the ranges is better than a good day in the office. Thus far the day had been an excellent one.
The ODB commander had arranged a room for their late-afternoon meeting with Fraser. The room was generic: a conference table and chairs, unmarked maps of Afghanistan, the South, and the southern provinces adorned the bare plywood walls, three large flat screen computer monitors—currently displaying blank screens—hung on the room’s front wall, a coffee jug and fixings and mugs sat in the center of the table. Austere but functional.
Kurt had known of General Fraser but their paths had rarely crossed notwithstanding they had served in the same infantry battalion. Kurt had been a junior officer in the 2nd Patricias from the summer of 1987 to the summer of 1990 after which his career had gravitated to the field of intelligence and special operations which kept him away from the battalion. Fraser had started his regimental service with the Patricias prior to that in 1980. He had culminated it with taking command of the 2nd Battalion in 1996, in time to take it to Bosnia to serve with SFOR. He’d recently, as a colonel, taken command of the 1st Canadian Mechanized Brigade Group in Western Canada. While there, and upon being promoted to Brigadier General, he was given the reins of the Multinational Brigade now known as Task Force AEGIS.
Kurt and Phil were already seated and talking over a cup of coffee—O’Donnell and Shirazi had been left to their own devices to arrange transport and security for the next day—when the General and two of his staff entered the room.
Fraser wore arid CADPAT with a shoulder holster but no body armor. Of average height and build and at forty-eight already slightly balding, he left Kurt with an impression that was more university professor than warrior but one with a reputation as a steady and deliberate military commander.
Kurt and Phil both rose to their feet.
“Kurt. It’s good to see you again,” said the general as he held out his hand. Kurt took it.
“You too, Sir,” said Kurt desperately trying to remember when last they had met in person.
“You must be Colonel Sambrook,” said the general reaching across the table again. “I’ve heard a lot of good things about you.”
“Thank you, Sir,” replied Phil as he too took the general’s hand.
“Sit down guys, sit down.
“I gather from the CDS’s email that you’re going to need to interview a number of people while you’re down here. Is this going to be a formal board with court reporters? It seems like a small group just for that.”
Kurt took the lead. “No, Sir. This is a limited Article 15-6 investigation directed by the commander USSOCOM. General Peters wants an understanding of the circumstances of this latest incident and he doesn’t want to wait a year to get the final outcome of the various official investigations.”
“By latest I presume you’re alluding to the earlier March 29th shooting at FOB WOLF?” the general commented.
“Yes, Sir. With that one I think everyone is already on page with the fact that it was a friendly fire incident but it looks like the respective boards are going to be many more months before they are finished.”
“Our guess is ours won’t be complete for the better part of a year,” interjected Phil. “We don’t know when the Canadian Board of Inquiry will be done.”
“I doubt if it will be any earlier and I’d guess it will take longer than yours,” the general replied. “All of which doesn’t help me to understand as to why there’s a need to rush an informal investigation into this latest incident but, having said that, when your four-star says he wants one and my four-star says help them out then it isn’t up to this one-star to question it. What do you need?”
“In short, Sir we need to travel throughout your AOR to meet with and interview folks; one of the ODAs we need to talk to is with TF ORION. Also, we need to visit the Brits and, if possible, we want to visit the incident site,” said Kurt.
“Traveling isn’t that easy right now. We’re in the middle of several major ops and helicopters and security personnel are few and far between. The latter though is virtually impossible.
“What was then Patrol Base DAGGER and, notwithstanding the incident you’re investigating, what was then a relatively peaceful area is now a fortified base for a good part of a Brit para company under siege by a superior Taliban force. They get attacked about a half dozen times a day. They’re constantly short of ammunition, food and water and would be pretty much incapable of assisting you in visiting the site. That area is going to be the subject of a reinforced battalion sized operation within a few days and with luck we may be able to clear the pressure there but until then it’s pretty hairy.
“If FOB 73 can get you transport and security you’re more than welcome to see whatever and whoever you need but make sure you coordinate your plans with my ops center. That’s especially necessary for visiting the Brits. I’ve got some on my staff and you’ll need their help in order to get in touch with whoever in Helmand you need to see.”