For the first time in a long while, Jan Bundgaard had to draw on the entire range of professional skills that had won him the prestigious Cavling Prize. After having won the prize so coveted by Danish journalists, his career had only gone in one direction: down. For almost a year afterwards, he had basked in the glory of his new celebrity status on the paper. Many a night was passed in bars where colleagues and wannabes had served him with endless free drinks in the hope that he could give them the formula for a successful career in journalism. Evenings that had slowly turned into nights where he was left alone with the bar tab. Or accompanied only by other regulars – who had played Perudo with each other for decades as a fig-leaf for their excessive consumption of Carlsberg. To thoroughly research a story was an adrenaline rush he had almost forgotten. Something he had unwittingly missed for years without really being able to identify it. The morning at the Royal Library had been very fruitful. He had gathered details on the Jaeger Corps and the Danish military involvement in Afghanistan. He had found a treasure trove of information; he was surprised by how much documentation existed about a Special Forces unit he had thought to be top secret. But in particular, the information 322about the political debate leading up to Parliament deciding to send Danish Special Forces to Afghanistan was breathtaking. The deployment of the Jaeger Corps in Afghanistan had been entirely based on the desire to contribute to the Americans’ war on terror. This subject had entered the political agenda throughout political circles after the September eleventh attacks on the USA in 2001.
Jan Bundgaard had forgotten the feeling of being onto something big. However, the amount of information was so overwhelming that he struggled to see exactly what he was onto. He quickly abandoned the idea of finishing his article at the library and instead started copying all the articles he had gleaned from Danish and foreign newspapers and websites. Then he could study their contents thoroughly once he got home. He was in no doubt that what he searched for was buried within the documents in front of him. He just had to find it.
As he pored over the pages once more, he was gradually transported into a new world. He read reports and articles from American news media about the secret tasks of the Allied Special Operations Forces in Afghanistan. The Danish Jaegers and frogmen were part of these intertwined, opaque operations. Operation Anaconda was one such operation that caught his attention. Allied Special Forces had been inserted into a 150 square kilometre wide, mountainous area southeast of Kabul where two hundred Al-Qaeda soldiers had allegedly fortified a cave complex. That number quickly turned out to be way too low. Within the first forty-eight hours, the Allied Special Operation Forces were engulfed in fierce fighting with around seven hundred and fifty Al-Qaeda fighters, killing five hundred. Jan Bundgaard could almost smell the cold mountain air and the sweat of the soldiers who had fought for 323several days in the high-altitudes. An environment that was on the side of the Al-Qaeda fighters and so hostile that attacking on foot in this terrain was, in itself, posing a massive risk to the forces. Large amounts of ammunition and many litres of water were needed to avoid dehydration – it had to be carried through the ferocious battles. Air support was unreasonably challenged in the remote mountains, and the brutal fighting required the highest level of courage and stamina. Slowly but surely, his admiration grew for these young men who had selflessly put their lives on the line. And for what? Not for the defence of Denmark or their loved ones. Was it in defence of our values and standards? Or was it simply a token of what Carl von Clausewitz called ‘an extension of politicians’ ambitions through military means?’ He found it bizarre to think that young men had risked their lives and limbs because it gave some politicians more weight in the international arena.
Jan Bundgaard began to see the contours of the story. The material on the political debate that led up to the Danish Parliament’s decision to support the war on terror was fascinating. The overwhelming majority being in favour of the deployment of the Danish Special Operations troops obscured the quagmire of conflicting views and motives amongst the politicians. Those views and motives were channelled into party political consensus, enforced by the party whips. Almost as if coordinated across party-political divides. The read-through of parliamentary debates recorded in the parliamentary records, combined with the statements by individual politicians in several newspapers, was mindboggling. Many prominent politicians – from both the government and the opposition alike – had expressed severe reservations about participating in the American-led war. Some had apparently even been 324in direct opposition to it. But all had been brought to heel by the consensual demands of the party whips. It was like a giant chaotic jigsaw puzzle where the interrelationship of the pieces seemed non-existent at first, but a constant rearranging of the pieces all of a sudden revealed correlating patterns. And slowly, more extensive and significant areas came to light in a way that allowed the entire picture emerged. Initially, as an image on a screen, lighting up and then darkening again in a manner that requires you to focus hard to fully decode the image. Then slowly, it became a recognisable image that became recognisable every time it was lit on the screen.
As he delved deeper and deeper into his research, Jan Bundgaard began to see the bonds forged between people whose work required them to sacrifice the greatest thing of all: their lives. And all for a cause defined by politicians who never risked anything themselves. Apart from when they ventured into the Copenhagen traffic. A bond, most likely so strong that no colleague would ever be let down. And strong enough to not accept just staying passive when a colleague was taken hostage. In complete contrast were political interests in the international arena, where everything was constantly up for negotiation in a game of might and influence. A gigantic chess game where every move made was without importance. The only thing that bore significance was the move that had yet to be played. Under the surface of cultural division were nuances, especially on the political side. Or were they really distinctions? Were they, in reality, just part of a political chess match – where overreaching politicians believing themselves to be infallible and saw everyone as pawns that could be sacrificed for a higher purpose? Supreme power and influence seasoned with a heavy pinch of vanity?
The Prime Minister’s zealous commitment to the war against 325terror was fuelled by a desire to be on good terms with the US President. The aim: to have a more significant sway in the international arena. The PM was ultimately a power-driven politician. The way he repeatedly brought members of his own party to heel showed his relentless fixation with securing himself ultimate power, in every respect. A leadership style that had earned him many enemies – amongst his own ranks and the opposition alike.
Jan Bundgaard grew ever more confident that he had found his story: a story with ingredients such as loyalty to the death, absolute power and a political play for power after the election. He was sure he had decoded that the Foreign Office were opposed to the PM’s Office in this matter. All these factors must indeed be determining in what the government did in the hostage situation. Suddenly, it felt as if an ice-cold wind gusted through his study. One thought pressed into his mind with a disturbing force: what if the government has actually chosen to do nothing, sacrificing a pawn on the political chessboard to protect its own policy in an election where the opposition was chasing a case that could discredit the government’s policies?
Jan Bundgaard stood and feverishly lit another cigarette.
‘This is too fucking rich!’ He swore out loud and started plodding restlessly around the living room.
He would not let this story lie hidden under the cover of politics. But he knew he needed more supporting facts to get the editor-in-chief to publish an article that would devastate the Prime Minister. Energetically, he began to scribble research angles onto his pad. The first step must be to contact the Jaeger soldier’s wife and align her with his story against the Prime Minister. She’s one they can’t just dismiss, he thought with satisfaction as he reached for the phone book.