It WAS THE 22ND of November and we were up well before light. The rest of the ODA had arrived by helicopter during the night, an event I had witnessed from afar with the aid of night vision goggles. Standing on a hillside I could see the helicopter descend into the valley, the sound of its rotors low but audible and its dim silhouette visible despite the green and grainy visual effect of the goggles. With the ODA team members’ safe arrival, our complement was complete, and everyone was anticipating our imminent departure from the base camp. It was our next big step.
Our means of transport would be an odd mix of vehicles. Shirzai had his big Land Cruiser for himself, Khalil, and a couple of his security guys. The Americans and some of the fighters were to ride in dual cab Hi-Lux Toyota four-wheel drive pickups. These vehicles were “thin-skinned,” meaning they had no armor protection. A few fighters would be mounted on scrawny-looking motorcycles, but the bulk of the force would ride in stake-bodied trucks. A final unfortunate few were consigned to make the journey riding on flatbed trailers pulled by farm tractors. When the convoy finally got underway, which proved to be highly problematic, it was a spectacle to behold.
The plan that morning called for everyone to take their vehicle to the fuel supply point to top off their gas tanks, and then form into a convoy heading south down the valley. A gas truck-trailer rig parked at the edge of the dry riverbed served as the fuel supply point.
Very quickly we discovered that there was no gas in the gas trailer. Left unguarded during the previous couple of days, the gas had been stolen. This put a huge dent in our departure plans. Shirzai sent for another gas truck but it took many hours to arrive. Additional organizational problems ensued one after the other, and the confused situation quickly moved beyond a “herding cats” scenario to the level of a stampede. We did not break camp until mid-afternoon.
Our convoy route took us south down the Shin Naray Valley for several kilometers. We passed the landing zone where we had arrived, and then came upon the site of the firefight, but there were no Taliban around. We were driving on what barely qualified as a dirt road, more like a faint track in the dry riverbed, and were forced to move slowly. As we turned westerly and began our ascent out of the valley, one of the big trucks almost overturned trying to traverse an eroded part of the steep road. The occupants spilled out of the sharply angled truck, and it took some time to get it righted and on its way.
Once clear of the valley, we found ourselves on an open plain. Vast and featureless, it offered us unobstructed views. It seemed that if our binoculars had been just a bit more powerful we would have been able to see Kandahar in the faint distance.
My place in the convoy was directly behind Shirzai’s Land Cruiser. As the day progressed its dust caked image became burned into my visual cortex like a television test pattern. Every hour or two, at least one vehicle broke down, requiring that we stop until the repair was made.
Day turned to night and we drove until around 1:00 a.m., finally reaching our overnight bivouac, a large, walled compound that belonged to a friend of Shirzai. We slept indoors in our sleeping bags in small alcove-like rooms along a hallway lit by candles burning on the floor. Like the first night we spent in the Shin Naray Valley, the atmosphere was almost romantic if you overlooked the guns, gear, and bearded, smelly men, not to mention the total absence of women.
We pulled out of the compound before light the next morning and resumed our dirt road trek. Not long after the sun rose we reached a tiny village, and Shirzai stopped to get some face time with prospective constituents. While we waited we stomped our insulated, boot-clad feet in vain attempts to keep them warm while the village children walked around laughing and smiling, wearing nothing on their feet but plastic flip-flops. As a crowd of villagers pressed around Shirzai, he handed out money to them like candy at Halloween in hopes of winning their allegiance. It was really no different from politics anywhere else, just more honest and direct. We continued on.
Our speed was a little faster than the day before, but vehicle breakdowns continued to plague the convoy. We were in Taliban territory, and as a general rule we did not want to leave anyone behind to fix a vehicle for fear they would be captured or killed. Accordingly, a lot of valuable time was lost waiting for vehicles to be repaired. Of necessity, exceptions were occasionally made, but when a vehicle had to be left behind for repairs, a security element of fighters remained with it.
During one repair stop, Khalil came back from Shirzai’s vehicle and offered up a big bag of little, round nuts for a snack. I grabbed a handful. They were tasty so I ate some more.
“What are these things?”
“Opium seeds.”
I guess Khalil could tell by the look on my face that I was concerned.
“Don’t worry. It’s the leaves of the plant that can mess you up; the seeds don’t do anything.”
Fortunately this turned out to be true, and I relaxed in the knowledge that I would not have to sweat the drug use question on my next polygraph.
Early in the afternoon the advance element of Shirzai’s fighters encountered Taliban—two guys napping in a pickup. Under questioning, they said they were from the local area and were supposed to be guarding the road. They appeared to be low-level members with little information to tell us. The only things of value they had were their pickup truck and guns, which we took. They were given some water and turned loose, and our convoy pushed on in the direction of Takhteh-Pol.