Bad ideas make for good photos! On the pick up next to the Afghan police gunner (Photo: Heimken)

Our embed with Alpha Company 2-28 in Sar Howza ended with a highlight. On Friday afternoon we found ourselves riding a green Afghan police Ford pickup truck with one of the most respected – and probably feared – mujahedeen of Eastern Afghanistan.

In the early afternoon a convoy of MRAPs left the base in Sar Howza heading down the main road to Orgun. I for the first time was riding in the armoured lorry the soldier’s call a LMTV. It’s more spacious and you have a much better sight out the windows than sitting in an MRAP. The downside is: you have much less protection against IEDs or RPGs.

Our mission was to deliver a metal dam gate to a remote village to the southeast of Sar Howza called Shatowry, not that far from Paktika’s biggest city Orgun. The unit that had been manning the COP Sar Howza before 2-28 took over in July got into a heavy fire fight with insurgents when they attempted to do the same in June.

Welcome to Shangri-La

An elder walks through an orchard in the village of Shatowry, home of mullah Tuti. We actually were given some apples. They were tasty (Photo: Heimken)

The village we delivered the gate to was more like a spread out hamlet along a river carrying only little water at this time of the year. The guys and I in the lorry drove up all the way along a winding path not built for the huge machines to a square building with loudspeakers on top, which turned out to be a mosque.

This little village seemed like a green refuge on the slope of the mountains hidden away from the dusty road to Orgun. This place was a bit like I imagine Shangri-La, the mysterious place from the novel of the same title, would be like. There was a certain calm about it. It seemed untouched by the war. The men and boys that gathered around us were very welcoming.

At that point just one MRAP and our lorry were parked in front of the mosque. The other soldiers had dismounted down by the river. We were being escorted by a translator and cultural adviser we had picked up from the brigade headquarters in Sharana the previous day.

Meet the Mullah

We hadn’t been parking up there for long when a relatively old man with a long beard, a turban and sunglasses came walking up the road towards where we were waiting. From his aura it was immediately clear that this was the man Captain Perkins had referred to as the big don nobody messes with – Mullah Tuti.

This man who is closing in on eighty and already has had a quadruple bypass made his name in the 1980s fighting the Russians. He is accredited with having captured a whole Russian convoy of Tanks and armoured vehicles.

Once earning his respect as a military commander, he still is one of the most respected religious and moral authorities in this region today. He has been approached by the head of the Taliban Mullah Omar and he has been invited by the Afghan President Hamid Karzai – both seeking his support.

Take a ride

Mullah Tuti up at the dam above Shatowry with Captain Perkins in the background (Photo: Heimken)

This rather short man is the guy you want to have on your side if you want to get anything done in this region. Apart from delivering the flood gate, this mission was to garner the Mullah’s support for the peace process with the Taliban.

If somebody can give instant weight to a peace shura where all the elders of the region meet then it is this man. So, after Captain Perkins and the Mullah had a chat in front of the mosque and the villagers had taken the metal flood gate from the back of the lorry the Mullah invited us to go and see the dam, higher up in the mountains.

Some sort of strange euphoria was in the air. In a minutes time Axel and me were sitting on in the back of the Afghan police pickup truck. I was holding on to specialist and army photographer Jacob Cohrs, racing up the hill on a seriously treacherous stretch mountain path.

With us in the open truck bed we had two deputies of the Mullah, one agricultural adviser and a young Afghan police officer standing up clinging on to a heavy Russian built machine gun mounted on the roof of the truck. The cultural adviser, Captain Perkins and the Mullah had taken their seats in the front cabin alongside the driver and two police officers.

Stupid idea

We were literally clinging on to each other for our lives. The police driver was heading up the narrow washed out slope like a berserker to the sound of tires losing their grip on the steep dusty slope filled with potholes. I was sitting on the side of the truck.

At some point the vehicle was bouncing so violently I thought I was going to fly over board. It was a good thing I had my helmet and body armour on. If I went flying off the truck I would break some bones but probably wouldn’t be fatally injured.

After we had gotten hold of the situation and what we were doing a second worry popped up in our minds. Axel asked me: “Do you think what we are doing here is a good idea?”. I gave it a brief moments thought:

We were somewhere in the remotest region of Eastern Afghanistan. We had jumped onto a pickup truck with one of the most feared Mullahs of the region and were driving at break neck speed up a steep mountain trail to an unknown destination …

“I’m not quite sure”, I answered back to Axel. I was contemplating how big a chance we had of winning a fire fight against determined Taliban. If I counted correctly, we had the firepower of two M4 assault rifles and Perkins pistol.

The Afghan police surely had their AK-47 rifles and the big ass machine gun. But would they be willing to defend these infidels against the Taliban with their lives? We had no means of communicating with the convoy and soldiers we left behind in the village.

Protected guests

Mullah Tuti standing on the dam above the village of Shatowry (Photo: Heimken)

This seemed to be a very stupid thing to do. Then I thought: “We are with the single most respected guy in this area, even the most rogue of Taliban respected, or rather feared. No Talib would be bold enough to try and harm the guests of this man.

We got to the stone dam a couple of hundred feet uphill in the mountains above the village surrounded by a beautiful mountain landscape. We inspected the 30 by 5 meters structure for which the flood gate had been constructed. Down below, only a trickle of water was flowing downstream.

Standing on the dam the Mullah was telling anecdotes to Captain Perkins and the cultural adviser. Axel and I were so taken by the whole experience we shot the occasional photo but seemed like in trance breathing the thin mountain air  – just hoping we would get back to the village unharmed.

After 15 minutes we made our way back to the pickup truck. The Mullah was joking that he had at his disposal some bounty that surely was worth a few million dollars – laughing all the way to the truck. Racing down hill the driver switched on his blue light.

An MRAP roling through the river bed in the village of Shatowry. I always wonder whether the litle boys get exited by the huge vehicles like I used to when I saw a fire engine or tank when I was a boy (Phot: Heimken)

Tea at the mosque

The Mullah invited us to the mosque for a glass of tea and a chat. He and his men went in to the two room building with high ceilings and red carpets. We took off our body armour and helmets and sat down on the floor in the first room, while in the adjacent room the Mullah and his men were praying.

A short while later, they came over and to my surprise the Mullah sat down right between me and the Captain. The cultural adviser sat down in front of us and started explaining that the Axel and I had come from Germany and we would like to ask him some questions.

I fingered the side pockets of my trousers. To my dismay I realised I had lost my voice recorder somewhere along the way. I got my notebook out and started off by thanking the Mullah for having us as his guests today.

Abraham and Reagan

Axel was told that actually nobody was allowed to take photos, but he could take one or two. Axel winds me up calling me Peter Scholl-Latour (Photo: Heimken)

The Mullah replied, he hadn’t even slaughtered a goat for us yet. And he went on to explain that the Pashtunwali, the Pashtun social code, commanded him to respect his guests. And also, Abraham had set the example for Muslims to treat their guests well and share.

I said: “Thanks anyway”. I dared to ask the first question and wanted to know whether he would come to the shura to be held the next day in Sar Howza. “Okay. Even if I don’t have a car, I will walk”, he answered jokingly.

You would imagine one of the fiercest former Mujahedeen in the country to be a grave and serious man. Instead this fellow sitting next to me was in high spirits cracking jokes all the time having a laugh with his guests.

He went on to tell us the story of how he as a military commander with one of the seven big mujahedeen organisations fighting the Russians was invited by former President Ronald Reagan to Washington in the 1980s. He said that one of them, Mohammed Yunus Khalis, was a very simple fellow.

The other fighters though of it as a bad idea and advised against it but Khalis actually went on to ask Reagan, who he thought of as an honourable man: “Why don’t you just become a Muslim?” The president replied: “You just keep your religion and I keep mine”.

The tee served was sweet. At one point the Mullah made a big old burp. One of the elders who had taken seats on the other side of the room spoke up. “You should definitely hold on to the man in your middle. He is the greatest of all Taliban”. The whole room cracked up in laughter.

No sleepover

The Mullah went on to tell more stories. One was about how the Taliban had taken prisoners and acted like “animals”.  And how he stepped in to free the 50 or so prisoners they had taken just before the holy month of Ramadan. Even the government of Afghanistan treated their prisoners with more respect the Mullah said, indicating contempt for both sides.

After half an hour our the talk slowed. The Mullah looked over to me and said something smiling. I found myself smiling back and nodding. The interpreter said: “The Mullah invites us for a meal for which he would have goats slaughtered and we could stay the night as his guests”. Would we accept?

Captain Perkins saved the day by diplomatically pointing out that there was still some urgent business for him to take care of back at the outpost. The Mullah accepted the excuse and we all rose to our feet. I had severe pins and needles having sat with crossed legs for the whole meeting.

The deserted compound of a girls school in Sar Howza (Photo: Heimken)

After we went on patrol to the bazaar on the outskirts of Sar Howza on Monday, 3^rd Platoon took us out to what used to be a girls school today. We got the usual briefing by the mortar pit before leaving. The school is infamous for having Taliban graffiti sprawled over the inside.

Apart from being told to watch out for IEDs by the graveyard the guys were warned by Lieutenant Wood and Staff Sergeant Nuñez not to get pissed off if the kids started pelting them with rocks again.

If the Afghan police who were to join the parade started firing in the air to scare off the youngsters, then so be it. This was there country. The soldiers were told not to hand out any presents. It hadn’t worked out last time, added Wood.

The Graveyard

The armored vehicles climbed up the slope to Sar Howza and passed the graveyard that stretched on both sides of the road. It seemed a spooky place, but in a fascinating way – very different from our grave yards.

Some of the graves had tall masts next to them, some with fluttering flags. Stones lay on most graves and brush was growing through out the huge field. The whole atmosphere was strange. For the first time since we got here, the sky was overcast. It seemed that summer is beginning to loose its grip.

The local workers were making head way paving the street into the city. However, the asphalt ended just before the graveyard began. Captain Perkins said the insurgency starts where the paved road ends.

Red Adobe

War graffiti drawn by children on the walls of the school compiled by Axel

Soon after, we passed the typical red adobe buildings the typical wooden ladders leading up to the roofs. At the end of the streets we dismounted. Together with the Afghan police we made our way through alley ways towards the school.

At one point a bunch of kids ran off into an open gate leading into one of the bigger Qalats, compounds, once Axel started taking photos. His long lenses could be mistaken for gun barrels. They seemed genuinely scared.

Some of the kids were dressed in amazing colors. It seemed as if some wealthier families were living here on the outskirts. But you can’t really tell, because all is hidden behind the red adobe walls of the compounds.

Problem Area

One of the classrooms

The school lay right at the edge of town, a steep and rocky ridge rising up behind it. Because there were caves in the ridge some of the soldiers went up to check them for any traces of the insurgency. “This is a problem area”, Staff Sergeant Nuñez let me know.

Next to one on the caves they found a firing position made of rocks. The strangest thing about this war is that the enemy is almost like a ghost. This cliff on the edge of town is where the low intensity insurgency begins. Behind it lies Talibanland, an area so remote and inaccessible, that the soldiers would only seriously venture into it by helicopter.

To choose such a site for a girls school seemed pretty thoughtless – with the benefit of hindsight. The school was built in 2008 by the local Provincial Reconstruction Team. It operated for two months, before it was shut down.

The inside of the school was indeed sprawled with graffiti. Most of the ones I picked out for the interpreter to translate, he said were poems. Anything that could be removed had been taken away. Windows and doors had all been removed. It almost seemed as ghostly a place as the graveyard.

It would be interesting to find out if it really were the hard line Taliban who closed the school down. Perhaps the ultra conservative ways of the people of this town stood in the way of this project too.

Once again nothing much happened on this patrol – we didn’t get pelted with rocks – but there is a strange feel of enigma to this country. To a Westerner it seems unreal. To grasp it’s reality it probably would take more than dismounting from our armored spacecrafts and just dipping into the world outside the gated community of the cop.

Mortars

A mortar round exploding on target on the mountain ridge

In the afternoon we drove back out with three MRAPs and did some military stuff closer to home. This time we just drove a few hundred meters off road to secure the target area for a Mortar rehearsal.

They were shooting live mortar ammo half way up the mountain ridge in some kilometers distance to the west of the COP. The 120 and 81 grenades were close on target and sent out detonations echoing through the whole area.

We just sat in the desert near a wadi on some rocks chatted and watched.

Specialist Gloria from Michigan looking out towards One Tree Hill near the village of Gulridin (Foto: Loesche)

Today, we went out on a mission for the first time since we got here. Lieutenant Chad Christian, 24, from Alabama took us with him in his MRAP to see for ourselves what Captain Perkins and his two platoons had accomplished on a previous five day mission.

A convoy of MRAPs and some Afghan National Police vehicles drove down the asphalted street to Gulridin where a check point by the street and two observation posts high above up in the hills had been set up.

Half way we stopped.

Suddenly the gunner in the turret fired a volley of shots from his machine gun. Empty cartridges tumbled into the air conditioned armoured truck. Shots were going off in front and behind us. The Police had dismounted from their pickup trucks and shot their AKs.

It was a test firing exercise, shortly before we reached the end of the asphalted road. Perkins told me yesterday: “The insurgency starts where the asphalted road ends”. Todsay’s mission was to further fortify the check point to be manned by the ANP – to build a shelter for the police.

While some of the guys started unloading building materials from the cargo truck Axel and I followed Lieutenant Christian up the hill. On the way, we met Staff Sergeant Neal Nuñez, 33, from Los Angeles of 3^rd platoon 2-28.

One Tree Hill

He had a whole case of energy drinks. We grabbed some cans, Nuñez explained where we could find the mortar team securing the area from one of the opposite hills. We started first down through a dry wadi and then up the hill to where the soldiers had set up their position to secure the works.

At this altitude (2500 metres) and carrying a vest and a helmed a minor hike turns into a major mountain climbing exercise. Completely out of breath and sweating we reached the mortar team who had trained their tube on an elevation dubbed “One Tree Hill” (no, not this one).

Staff Sergeant Arias and Private First Class Gloria at an elevation of 2528 meters in the district of Sar Howza

We stayed long enough to catch our breath and then made our way further up the hill, where we were greeted by Staff Sergeant Marciel Arias, 29, from California and Private First Class Carlos Gloria, 26, from Michigan.

The 360 degrees view from the top was breath taking. Axel and I stayed up there chatting to the soldiers for three hours. They explained to us the complex relation ship between a platoon Lieutenant and his non commissioned officers.

Basically all platoon sergeants by definition are more experienced than their officer counter part who never the less outrank them. A good platoon lieutenant will always heed his sergeants advice. Sergeants can make or break lieutenants.

Check point

At 4.00 p.m. we went back down the hill because we heard that down below they were now stopping cars together with the ANP and doing iris scans and taking finger prints with the HIDE-System. When we got there, they just stopped a red Mitsubishi pickup truck with four guys in it.

They seemed understandably less than elated to have to go through with the procedure, especially because the machine wasn’t working properly, not recognising the iris. Slowly a queue of lorries and cars was forming.

One pair of guys who had a the whole car full of loose grapes seemed outright scared by the soldiers and the police. At the end, the procedure seemed useless as the ANP, who were in charge, waved through many cars and lorries or just searched them sporadically.

Cars with women were a no go. Anybody smuggling goods or weapons would be well advised to take a female passenger with them.

The Kuchis

The most interesting and intriguing people of all are the Kuchis, Pashtun nomads. They travel with colorful tractors pulling carts, full with elderly passengers, women and children, stuffed with goods of all kinds, dogs and goats.

All women hid their faces with scarves from us some of the very young children seemed frightened. At least five of such vehicles past the check point. The police stopped none of them, because of the women on the open trailers.

It was a truly astonishing and intriguing sight. I would like to know much more about these people, who seem like from another planet, whose rights are guaranteed by the central government in Kabul.

I had first heard about the Kuchis from an analyst from Human Terrain System I interviewed two days ago in the COP. The nomads stand accused of smuggling weapons for the Taliban, which they apparently hide among their herds of camels and goats.

We saw one of those flocks from the peak where we had stayed. Some of the Kuchis, who live in tents, must shepherd the herds and others then follow in their tractors and carts.

Combat Medic Badge

In the evening we witnessed how the platoon’s medic was awarded the Combat Medic Badge for saving three Afghan police’s lives at the end of Juli, after their pick-up truck was shredded by a roadside bomb.

We passed the truck on the ANP’s compound on our way into the base twice today, where it sits as a reminder that this still is a war, in which people are killed and maimed. I was totally knackered after nine hours outside in the mountains.