18

AFGHANISTAN, ROUND ONE:
TRUMPING THE CIA

At Christmastime in 1979 the Soviet Union invaded Afghanistan, inadvertently biting off more than they could chew, just like other superpowers before them and since. The ensuing jihad, or holy war, was a confusing mixture of history and present Afghan problems. The war’s general purpose, both the tribal and political factions in Peshwar, Pakistan agreed, was to rid Afghanistan of Russians. Each group seemed to be going in a different direction, however, and Western observers were left confused and frustrated. To understand the complex war fought against the Soviet Union, the Mujahideen who fought it, and why all help from soldiers of fortune, even if offered for free, was steadfastly refused, one must go back more than 2,300 years in Afghan history.

In Afghanistan the basis for fighting is centuries old. Most Afghan dealings with other cultures, particularly since their acceptance of Islam in the 10th century, have centered on war. These wars have included everything from family feuds to repelling various invaders. When there was no “real war” to be found, these fierce people took just as much pleasure in fighting each other. Even without a holy war against the Russians, the Afghans would be happy to fight them because it is good sport.

Because Afghans have spent generations fighting in holy wars, local brush wars and national wars, each family, each generation, has its own history of glory. The jihad, for many of the Afghan men, was a chance to expand that glory. By appealing to their religious devotion, their sense of injustice over the destruction of Korans, mosques, the murder of women and children and the bombing of villages, the groups in Peshawar had a bottomless well of manpower. Their only real shortage was weapons.

There was no death for the Afghan fighters in battle. Because they became Mujahideen, or holy warriors, they already had their Islamic last rites and believed themselves to be dead. When they do die in battle they are accepted into heaven by Muhammad, they live forever and their graves become shrines.

Mului Lalai Up Din, military commander of the largest faction of the Hezbi-Islami of Afghanistan (one of the half-dozen groups operating with political offices in Peshawar, Pakistan) pointed out that for every Mujahideen killed by the Russians, “ten more will rise in his place.” This might sound like spiritual blustering to Westerners until one witnesses the fever pitch of Mujahideen leaving Pakistan’s tribal areas for Afghanistan and listens to the tales of glory surrounding Mujahideen who have fallen in battle. New recruits, when they hear these stories, leave the refugee camps around Peshawar to join the fight.

The seeds of this jihad were first sown two decades before the war when many of the Mujahideen political leaders began to denounce the communists then active in Afghanistan.

Shortly after the coup that led to the first communist regime, these political and spiritual leaders were able to whip up an anti-communist fever among the people, leading to the first phase of the Russo-Afghan war. Though composed of disparate tribes, the Mujahideen had a common bond in their desire to establish an Islamic state.

BRINGING OUT A RUSSIAN AK-74 FOR THE CIA

In late October 1979, I was having dinner in a Chinese restaurant with a successful but low profile international arms dealer after attending a day at the Association of the U.S Army annual meeting in Washington D.C. While shoveling in some tasty Moo Goo Gai Pan, not surprisingly, talk turned to the subject of small arms.

“You know, Brown,” the slightly built, blue-eyed, blond, mysterious arms dealer smiled and spoke in a hushed tone, “Rumors in U.S. Army technical intelligence circles have it that the Russians have developed a new assault rifle to replace the AK-47, along with a new cartridge. Rumor also has it that the Russkies will be, naturally, issuing it to their elite units.”

I pondered this for a moment and said, “Hmm, well, if it’s better than the AK-47, that will be something.”

He went on to say, “I’ll pay $10,000 for one of them. But I’m more curious about the round itself. Rumor Control theorizes that the ammo could include a new flechette, an armor-piercing round, a hollow point and a tracer round. Do you think SOF could get some of the ammo and/or one of the rifles?”

No Western intelligence agency—including the CIA—had been able to procure the weapon, designated the AK-74, or the round, even though the weapon had been issued to elite Russian units four years previously.

“Sounds like a project for SOF” I joked. “But even if we found one, how could we get it out of Pakistan and into the U.S.?” The arms dealer, who is now retired, had prepared himself for the question, “You get one and I’ll send a man to Pakistan who will bring it out and into the U.S.” He didn’t elaborate. I knew enough about the international arms trade to know that international arms dealers, at least the successful ones, developed their own little local underground networks in third world countries that knew which government officials to bribe or pay off.

On 24 December of that year, the Russians invaded Afghanistan. Various news media reported that Russian airborne units were involved in the fighting. I thought about my conversation with the arms dealer, which at that moment seemed like one of those coincidences that proved to be much more than chance. I figured, “If Russian paratroopers are involved, they are probably equipped with this new assault rifle. And no matter how good they are and how bad the Afghans are, sooner or later they are going to lose some of these weapons to their opponents.”

Bob Poos, a type-A personality, small, wiry, veteran foreign correspondent, with sky blue piercing eyes that saw through everything and everyone and who had worked for the AP for fourteen years, was my Managing Editor at the time. Poos had done a tour as a combat correspondent in Vietnam and was known as one of the few reporters who was actually out in the field as opposed to most who got their news in some bar in Saigon. After that he was bureau chief in Tokyo for a year and his next step up the promotion ladder was as bureau chief in New Dehli. His gut told him that he had best fly to India and check it out before he accepted the position, which he did on his own nickel. He flew to India, spent one day, was disgusted by the filth and backwardness, and flew back the next day refusing the assignment. That was the end of his AP career. Poos, hard-driving and full of piss and vinegar, who had first made his bones as a Marine who had walked out of the Chosin Reservoir during the Korean “Police Action,” was always looking for a good story laced with adventure; a scoop. I had just cooked one up for him.

Poos was goose hunting with Galen Geer, a recently discharged Army vet, who had a tour in Nam and Korea under his belt and who had written a couple of articles for SOF.

Poos got in touch with Geer: “Are you interested in going to Afghanistan?” Geer, who jokingly takes great pride in claiming he was the only automotive mechanic in Vietnam, whereas everyone else was with the SEALs, LRRPs, Special Forces, SOG, Marine Recon, saving villages singlehandedly, was taken somewhat aback.

“Huh?” he replied, “Yeah,” Poos continued. “A dual-mission—assess how the war is going and bring out an AK-74 and whatever else is lying about that looks interesting. And it would be cool if you could do it before the CIA does.”

“Yeah, why not. I’ve never been to Afghanistan—another war to cover. Builds my resume,” Geer, so typical of the Vietnam Vets that could not fit into the normal humdrum routine, jumped at the chance.

As I mentioned earlier, I figured that since Russian paratroopers were in action during the overthrow of the Afghan government in December 1979, some of the never before seen AK-74’s would have been lost in combat to the Afghans. The arms dealer refused to advance front money to purchase the new rifle, so once again it was SOF on its own.

THE MYSTERY BULLET OF AFGHANISTAN

Galen Geer’s April 1980 mission was SOF’s first surreptitious jaunt into Afghanistan. His trip paved the way for us to go back.

He set out on an 11-day cross-country trek to track down and bring out the Soviets’ mysterious new AK-74 rifle round. He developed an insightful characterization of the Afghans and met with a lot of freedom fighters, some of whom the U.S. later faced as formidable Taliban enemies after 9-11. Afghanistan at the time was probably the same as it was a thousand years ago and will probably not change much in the next thousand years.

“For 10 days I trudged through the blazing sun,” sad Geer, “my eyes sunburned so badly that they dried up and the crusted film had to be peeled away like a layer of shed skin. I had followed the trail of the mystery bullet of Afghanistan—the ComBloc 5.45x39mm round for the AK-74 assault rifle. I had stumbled across two deserts and climbed two mountain ranges. I had run the gauntlet of Soviet MiGs and helicopter gunships. From one Mujahideen stronghold to the next, I had wandered through Paktia Province trying to find that damned bullet. Now I had it. All I had to do was get it to the United States—half a world away.”

His biggest concern was the KGB. If Ivan got wind of his mission, he would be nailed. So he decided it was too dangerous to stop and best to pull a 3 6-hour marathon walk.

“As I rounded the bend in the canyon, the smell of dead camels, killed by Soviet aircraft earlier that day and already stinking in the desert sun, assaulted my sense. Pulling our shirts up over our noses, my Mujahideen companions and I walked past, reminding me once again of war’s trail of death and decay,” Galen said.

The Mujahideen are skilled fighting men, acclimated to the nomadic life in the unforgiving mountainous terrain. They somehow manage to hydrate from one carefully hidden water hole to the next, or to a village that could provide grub.

“We learned the same survival techniques, but with a lot of guidance from our toughened guides. After a few hours of steady, uphill trudging, we would find a small mountain teahouse where we took a break and drank their re-hydration concoction of choice: super sweetened tea, sometimes with naan—a dry wheat bread. The teahouses, like rest stops along our highways, have served countless caravans plodding through the deserts and mountains for centuries,” Galen recalled.

“A full day’s march begins before dawn. As soon as the morning’s prayers are over, the Afghans drink a few cups of tea, tear off a few hunks of bread, then gather together their weapons and what little equipment might be carried on camels or donkeys. Then they move out.

“The Mujahideen took small, slow, methodical steps in an unchanging rhythm to conserve energy and moisture in the blazing sun. Unless we learned to match our steps to theirs we would either lag behind or lose them. Through rain or snow, mountains or hills or on flatland, they wore leather sandals, baggy pants cinched up with a rope, a loose-fitting shirt and turban, and carried a blanket over their shoulder that served as a bedroll at night and camouflage during the day when Soviet choppers passed overhead. Each man carried his own weapon—anything from a World War II Russian pistol to a captured AK-74. The most ammunition carried by a single man was 50 rounds. Most had from 20 to 30 rounds at any one time. Their range of weapons included shotguns, ancient Chinese machine guns and British Enfields. A standard weapon was the Afghan dagger, a wicked-looking blade with camel-bone handle that is curled at the end.

“These same men who cherish the small things in life and demand little by way of physical luxury, ferociously and mercilessly executed all Russians they captured, then chopped up their bodies with hatchets and knives. In their simple, unassuming way, the Mujahideen held the Russian bear at bay,” Galen observed.

GALEN GETS HIS ROUNDS

After Geer spent 11 days in Afghanistan, going for longer and farther than any Western reporter could boast at that time, he called SOF with an update: “Yes I’ve got the ammo but the gun is going to cost $25,000—$ 5,000 to buy three AK-47s to use to trade for the weapon . . . and $10,000 for the guy to bring it out.” SOF wasn’t about to front the money as we didn’t know this Afghan from Adam. We made a frantic call to the arms dealer who at that time was in Santiago, Chile. The wily bastard agreed only to front $2,500 and another $7,500 when the weapon was delivered. Since we sure as hell weren’t going to come up with the additional funds, we decided to keep in touch with the contact in Pakistan, who would attempt to get the weapon out of Afghanistan. If he did, then we would decide what course of action to follow.

By this time, we had developed a full-blown case of SOF paranoia. We’d been having a lot of international phone and cable traffic, which was by no means secure. What if the CIA found out that SOF could do what they could not? Humiliated, would they confiscate the ammo at U.S. Customs? We would have photos but no hard evidence.

Solution? Have Geer smuggle the ammo to Seoul, Korea, to await further instructions. Poos would link up with Geer, take some of the ammo and stand by to see if Geer got through U.S. Customs. It is illegal to bring ammunition into the U.S. even if you declare it, so it’d be confiscated. So they give you a receipt, big deal! The likelihood of getting it back was between zero and nil.

Either customs was waiting for Geer or he fit a “stop” profile. His luggage was thoroughly searched and 23 rounds were confiscated and a receipt was given. Incidentally, we never did find out what customs did with those rounds, though we speculate they had no idea what they had, and therefore made no attempt to forward them to the CIA or the Pentagon. No doubt they were thrown into some “confiscated items” dust bin where they may well remain today. Poos returned a couple of days later and received the same treatment. But somehow he managed to get two of the rounds past customs.

Along with the ammo, Geer and a former British paratrooper, whom he had hooked up with in Peshawar, brought out an NBC filter from the latest-model Russian BMP-2 armored personnel carrier. Western intelligence had also not seen this before. They turned the filter over to the American Consul in Peshawar who in turn forwarded it to the Foreign Science and Technology Center (FSTC), a secret agency of the army. This item did not get the public attention that the ammo did but was of value as it was suspected that it might contain residue from some type of Russian gas.

The same day Geer arrived in the States, he and I flew to the east coast carrying the two precious rounds of ammunition and turned it over to the FSTC. The mission of this agency was to produce technical intelligence concerning the ground forces weapons and equipment of enemies and potential enemies of the United States. Bill Askins, at the time Director of Publications for the NRA, provided contact with the FSTC. Askins, a Vietnam vet, had flown choppers for the Marine Corps and had worked for the CIA for a number of years.

Galen was in my office when I called the FSTC. I told the voice on the other end of the line that Geer had the ammo and some other stuff. The voice replied, “Don’t you know that is against the law?” I retorted, “What the devil are you going to do . . . put him in jail?”

There was a silence and then he said, “No.”

The FSTC representatives met us at the airport and immediately began their “smoke and mirrors” game. They put us in a small plane and flew us somewhere. Then they put us in a Mercedes and drove us around in circles, obviously not wanting us to know where we were going. They were playing spook to the hilt. We were not overly impressed with this amateurish game.

Finally, they took us to a motel. I walked over to the window, pulled back the curtains, looked out and saw a sign with the name of the motel and the city. So much for our not knowing where these knuckleheads had brought us. For the next couple of days they brought in spooks and a bunch of other assholes and pumped us for all the information we could give them. Fed up with their bullshit, I packed up to leave but they wanted to screw around some more.

They were trying to pump some more information but we had no more to give them. They were trying to determine if the Soviet forces were fighting the way they thought they were. They were dying of curiosity. At one point there were four people in the room during debriefing. They bought in maps and photographs of aircraft, vehicles and various weapons. They had a couple of maps of Afghanistan they had taped together. We spent hours going over the route Galen and his guides had walked, trying to get it all pieced together. I would say they covered between 150 and 200 miles. And I was starting to get cabin fever.

I’d had it. “I’ll fix those assholes.” On the third morning, when they came into the motel, I was sitting in a chair, stark naked, smoking a cigarette (even though I didn’t smoke I figured it would add to the intrigue), waiting for them. After about half an hour in which Galen and I were trying to stifle our laughter, getting great pleasure out of watching them squirm and stare at the walls and ceiling while I sat there buck naked, they picked up their maps and said, “Well, I guess we’ve got all we can use for now.” I stood up, still stark naked and said, “Well, when can we leave?” We were gone before noon. However, that was not the end of it.

Later in the summer, I called Geer and told him to come to Boulder; that I had some CIA guys that I wanted to talk to him. He showed up, but the bean-counting spooks were “financial experts.” They weren’t interested in operations. All they wanted to know about was the currency that was being used in Afghanistan because they were getting ready to dump, I guess, some counterfeit money in the country. We went to our after-hours office, the Hungry Farmer, for lunch. During the very long conversation one of the two identified himself with some sort of law enforcement credentials.

They told us that the Russians were pretty pissed off about Geer’s visit and they advised Geer to stay in the U.S. and not go anywhere. They wanted to know what coinage was used, gold or silver, Pakistani rupees, etc. They asked quite a few questions, then left and I never heard from them again.

The NRA arranged for the bullet to be tested on the Aberdeen proving grounds. They paid Geer’s expenses and put him up in a hotel across from their headquarters. Galen was dealing with Bill Askins, the former CIA agent, and they built a barrel to test the ammo. Where they got the specs to build the barrel we never found out, but they published the story.

I RETURN TO FSTC AND RECEIVE INSTRUCTIONS

I returned to the Foreign Science and Technology Center later that summer, before leading a team of SOF advisors to Pakistan in September of 1980, to discuss what specific items of Russian equipment the FSTC might be seeking. I met with Rodney Van Ausdall, who was in charge of the equipment procurement. He penciled out a list of items and what the Army would pay for each. A container of nerve gas would be worth $250,000; $125,000 for a container of incapacitating gas; $65,000 for an AGS-17 grenade launcher and so on.

“Also, we want another 10,000 rounds of the AK-74 ammo. We’ll pay $1.00 per round,” Van Ausdall said. I took the list with me, but in London I got concerned that if the list was found in my possession, it could cause me serious problems. I mailed it back to my SOF office, but it never arrived. Whether it was intercepted by some government agency or went astray because of a postal mess up, I do not know.

Running around Pakistan with a suitcase full of greenbacks also did not seem wise and I didn’t have tens of thousands in any case. So I asked Van Ausdall, “Look, will you pay me in cash or gold for each item as I turn it in? That way, I can pay for a desired item with funds from a previous sale.”

Van Ausdall, paused and replied, “We can do that, but make sure you check in with the Defense Attache’s Office [DAO] in the American Embassy to let them know you have arrived.”

“Furthermore,” he continued, “under no circumstances have any dealings with the State Department, as those weenies tried to take credit for obtaining the NBC filter that Geer brought out of Afghanistan.” “I have no problem with that,” I responded. Or, that’s what I thought at the time.