You and your fear are fenced in together. Nowhere to run to (Photo: Loesche)

A week after our return to Germany I’m still pretty knackered. Our embed with the Apaches in the dusty country called Afghanistan just lingers there, hasn’t completely sunk in yet. It was a physical and mental challenge, bigger than I had anticipated.

For now, I have found refuge in the microcosm of the work office, where things are orderly and clean and predictable. This is the settling back into “normal” life, the Western world wants the Afghans so desperately to share with us.

I like being back in Germany where people stand for five minutes at the red lights at the pedestrian crossing even though there are no cars to be seen for miles. On the other hand, I hear, the army sends their soldiers to some Mediterranean resorts to decompress for a week. I could have lived through that, no question!

Dust

Kicking up dust. A convoy of MRAPs on the main road from Sar Howza to Urgun in Paktika Province

I still have a cough that comes and goes, which I refer to as my Afghan dust lung. The fine dust is certainly a big challenge, especially for your respiratory system – and all technical equipment. The headquarters team looking after the computer work stations in Sar Howza had their little air spray cans they used to clean the keyboards and fans with.

I spent most of the three weeks with sinusitis and couldn’t sleep for a few nights because of a extremely bad cough. I knew I should have gone to the medic earlier, when one of the private contractors, an electrician living in the next compartment, came knocking with some cough tablets. He probably got woken up by me coughing my loungs out.

Conditioning

I think it’s also down to the challenge of the body having to constantly adapt to the air conditioning. All tents, barracks and vehicles are cooled down – which certainly makes it easier to bear the heat in general, but is very hard on the body as it has to switch from hot to cold all the time.

From what I was told, many soldiers get ill after they arrive in theatre because of those conditions. What certainly didn’t help things was the burning pit right by the perimeter that on a regular basis emitted toxic fumes that clouded the camp.

Altitude

One thing I hadn’t anticipated at all were the effects of altitude, which turn a stroll up the hill into a marathon up the K2 like experience. The area of Sar Howza doesn’t really look like a challenge because it’s more hills than high peaks but the whole plateau is very high up. The air is thin.

It’s utopian to think you could get used to the conditions in less than three weeks. It probably takes more than half a year until your blood produces the needed amount of white blood cells. Next time, if there is one, I would certainly make sure my level of physical fitness is much higher.

Danger

Kicking up dust big time. A Blackhawk helicopter has landed in the COP delivering the brigadecommander Colonel Edward T. Bohnemann

The second major challenge is keeping an even keel mentally. Although I felt pretty safe in the combat outpost behind hescos and riding in the MRAPs behind mine resitant steel, there still was a nagging feeling of danger that I couldn’t escape. There could be a mortar or rocket attack, you could run into an ambush or you could get blown up by an IED.

Thankfully, during the time we visited we had no major incidents. One of the MRAPs of first platoon in the other COP Mata Khan ran onto an IED but nobody was hurt. Only after we had left, two soldiers of the same platoon got hurt in such an incident and were flown back to Germany.

We were very happy we didn’t get into a fire fight – although that’s what many journalists actually want. But the subtle pressure of some uncalculated threat was constantly with us. Along these lines, I think the non imminent threat can be more nerve racking than a threat right before you. It wears you down.

Nowhere to run

And there was nowhere to run, you couldn’t just move around on your own outside the wire. Your and your fear were fenced in together. Somebody in the know explained to me the other day that a perceived threat causes high adrenalin levels, which could be brought down by movement and physical activity, but on an embed in a COP you can’t just go for a long walk to clear your system.

This is probably the reason why the gym in Sar Howza was in the evenings constantly packed with soldiers working out to the sound of Rammstein (all US soldiers no matter where they’re from or what they listen to otherwise seem to have a few Rammstein tunes on their iPod: Next time I will do a survey of the favourite Rammstein titles).

The three weeks as an embedded reporter with the US Army were an unforgettable adventure, even without a major incidents. But it was much more of an exhausting challenge than I though it would be.

A so called MRAP standing just outside Sar Howza on the day we visited the former girls school. I like this one, because it has a somewhat deceptive feel of tranquility to it (Photo: Heimken)

Afghanistan must be one of the most challenged countries in the world, at least the parts we got to see. This is by no means the fault of the general populace, but there are powers hard at work keeping this country down – they’re not just foreigners.

As Staff Sergeant Meredith of Apache Company 2-28 said, there are many men in powerful positions, who are not interested in educating their subjects out of fear they might start to want a piece of the pie.

War as a way of life

The role the Westerners are playing in Afghanistan, I’m not sure of. In some cases they might be helping the population, but at the same time the presence of this mighty war machinery is a welcome reason for some to keep fighting.

There are many men for who war has become a way of life and income. The infidel on Afghanistan’s soil is the best excuse for waging war.

The population is sitting on the fence, like onlookers, trying to establish, who will in the long run gain the upper hand. Whoever this will turn out to be, they will follow. Captain Perkins, a wise military man, said that this behaviour, or state of mind, has throughout history prevailed with people in wars.

He brought up the American War of Independence (1775–1783), when in America there was a majority of undecided onlookers, waiting to see, which side was winning.

It’s getting worse

The general impression I got from talking to aid workers, interpreters, locals and soldiers was that the situation in Afghanistan is worsening. Zee the taxi driver, who yesterday drove us to the airport, said he would try to leave.

So far, there is no peace and stability in Afghanistan, as the killing of former President Rabbani on Wednesday has proven graphically. The International Security and Assistance Force can – for whatever reason – not provide for what they intend to do.

On October 7 the war will enter its 11^th year. And I’m with international analysts, the secret service chief Nick Mohammed I spoke to in Mata Khan and Mullah Tuti in Shatowry: There will be no peace in this country as long as the situation in Pakistan is not resolved.

Why should the Taliban and insurgent networks even think of peace and reconciliation, as long as they’re supported in a safe haven across the border?!

Finally, the full V.I.P. treatment on our way back through Sharana (Photo: Loesche)

Meanwhile, Axel and I are back in Kabul. We arrived here yesterday at the military part of the airport. We are scheduled to fly on tomorrow in the morning to Dubai. The further we get from our embed, the more we wind down. Now, that we have some time to gather our thoughts, we slowly realise how exhausting this journey really was.

Three weeks were plenty.

We left the COP Sar Howza late on Saturday after we had the encounter with the mullah and mujahedeen Tuti. We were driven to the 172nd’s headquarters by MRAP convoy to Sharana and got there at around 22.00. The brigade’s PAO Major Buccino was waiting for us. He showed us our rooms. I was lucky to get room V.I.P. 2 this time. (About time. Buccino had been promising us the whole V.I.P. treatment since we first got here!).

In the news

I wrote a news piece for the agency about the mujahedeen getting involved in the peace process. Axel prepared three photos to go with it. We were both really knackered and slept in the next morning. Buccino had us signed up for a C-130 flight on Sunday afternoon.

We rode in his SUV to the terminal building, which in Sharana looks like a wooden saloon and stopped by at Green Beans Coffee, a franchise business that specialises on military bases. Once we got to the air field there were plenty of contractors and soldiers put down their names down for the flight. The roll call was at 16.55, we wouldn’t leave until 19.30. I suspected we wouldn’t make it because of the many passengers with higher priority.

The Game

Before the lights were turned off. The floor of the C-130 taking us from Sharana to Bagram (Photo: Loesche)

The most interesting thing about military air travel is that it’s so different from civilian air travel. First you don’t pay. The downside is that you – especially as a journalist – can get kicked off at any time, or the whole flight is just canceled or delayed. It’s a nerve racking game. There’s only one rule that counts: You know you made the flight when you are well in the air – even then you can just hope the plane won’t turn round.

Well, we made the flight … after standing lined up in two lines on the airfield for half an hour while the C-130 was being relived of it’s cargo it had flown in from wherever it had come from. The specialty about this flight was that we flew in complete darkness. The lights were switched off before the start and didn’t come on until after touch down in Bagram. (Axel was actually signaled to switch off his iPod because of the light from the display).

The glow of lightening

The only light source were the back ends of the night vision goggles of the two crewmen standing at the rear doors looking out the tiny round windows, probably on the look out for enemy on the ground. You could also see the faint glow of the emergency exits on the roof and the glowing of clock’s hands on our fellow passengers wrists.

It was the bumpiest flight so far. I was singing songs I learned when I was with the German paras doing my national service ten years back. At some point the few round windows in the hull lit up. Not to far away there must have been a thunderstorm. The noise of the aircraft was so loud that you surely couldn’t make out any thunder.

25 Minutes later we landed safely in Bagram. Axel an I shoved our luggage into the 24-hour holding area and made our way to the DEFAC. We had only had breakfast late in the morning. We were relieved to have made the first part of our air travel.

Hotel California

Bagram airfield before we left for Kabul. The white plane is unmarked. It wasn't a UN plane (Photo: Loesche)

Whilst we were eating chocolate ice cream sitting outside the DEFAC I told Axel that I wasn’t in favour of sleeping at “Warrior” again. On our first visit I saw a sign for a hotel on Disney Boulevard, the main road in Bagram. And, if I remembered correctly I had heard Major Buccino say something along the lines of: “Don’t all journalists stay at Hotel Such-and-Such in Bagram?” – after we had told him the story about our adventurous stay at “Camp Warrior” on our way out.

We walked for twenty minutes and were about to give up, after we had passed the Polish compound and the Egyptian field hospital, then finally we read the sign “Media Support Centre” and under it: “Hotel California”. We knocked on the door of a smallish wooden hut. We stepped inside and were greeted by a sergeant who said he had been expecting us.

At first, I though he was playing the “I’lI-pretend-I-now-what’s-going-on-even-if-I-don’t”-game. Then he showed us our names written on a white board and told us our flight for tomorrow had been booked. We were astonished. Another incident of following some instinct that leads you straight to your goal. We hadn’t known the media were so well catered for here.

Afghanistan from above

The pilot of the two propeller STOL flight took a sharp right turn and steep dive into Kabul airport. STOL stands for Short Take-Off and Landing - nuff said! (Photo: Loesche)

We slept in our own room with a bunk bed – a major improvement to the huge and crowded tent in “Camp Warrior”. It seemed befitting that the sergeant drove us all the way to the terminal the next morning. Where we were listed for a so called STOL flight (a regular scheduled flight) to Kabul.

At 13.30 we boarded a small two propeller air force plane with regular passenger seats and plenty of foot room. We clung to the windows for all of the 15 minute flight to Kabul, made some photos. It was the first flight that we could actually see where we were flying. We got billeted and put into a tent at KAIA. One step closer to home!

How to sell agricultural lessons. Teachers at Mata Khan boys highschool (Photo: Heimken)

Today, we first drove to Sharana and then on to Mata Khan, a much smaller combat outpost than Sar Howsa. I had fun listening to Frank Sinatra, Black Sabbath and some country tunes on our way over via an iPod connected to the intercom.

Mata Khan is home to the 1^st Platoon of Captain Perkins Apache Company 2-28. The country side surrounding it is completely flat, unlike the Sar Howza region. Although it’s only about 15 to 20 kilometers away, the climate feels different too. It’s much warmer, at least 15 degrees Celsius more.

There’s much more arable land here. We drove past some really impressive castle like Qalats, big square compounds with high mud walls and small turrets on each corner. I guess they reflect the mentality of the people living in this region. Everybody who is wealthy enough protects their fortunes out of sight. Their home really is their castle here.

It might be a testament to the fact that there is no centralised authority, called the nation state that has vowed to protect private property and enforce sanctions against people who don’t respect that right. By now there are such institutions in place in Afghanistan, but they are young and not welcome by everyone. The province of Paktika is known for being stubbornly anti-government.

Hate the state

Even in mainstream US politics there are prominent political strands that hate the idea of a powerful centralised state and love the individual’s right to fend for himself. And, in the US you find gated communities of wealthy people who rather opt to protect their wealth by private security than to trust the state to do that for them.

I don’t have a clue what the people here really want (That’s the downside of being embedded, you don’t get to meet the common people a lot). Perhaps many of them would be very happy to have a functioning state that will protect their citizen’ rights. Perhaps they would love an independent judiciary along Western lines that doesn’t know any family, clan, or tribal affiliations.

Shortly after we got here to Mata Khan we visited a boy’s school right next to the compound. Here a Lieutenant Colonel of the reserve Air Force, who is an agricultural adviser based in Sharana, met with the police chief and the governor of Mata Khan district and representatives from the school, the headmaster and some teachers.

Fisherman’s Friend

The plan was to have agricultural classes set up to teach the teachers in giving classes on how to improve agricultural techniques in the area. The simple equation being, that if farmers here improved their yield, they would become more prosperous and less susceptible to the insurgency. Peace through prosperity.

The basic idea is sound. The Western led or financed reconstruction efforts have moved on from just setting up projects like the girls school we visited yesterday without really checking sustainability, to going out and asking what the locals want to be done and then teaching them to help themselves. They shall own their projects.

However, as we witnessed today the problem with this is that the locals are still more interested in having concrete infrastructure projects financed by the Westerners than having contractors teaching them intangible knowledge that doesn’t bear immediate gains.

The officials who had gathered in the boys school either didn’t quite grasp the concept of teaching a man to fish or they simply wanted fast and tangible aid. I have now often heard or read that Afghans after 30 years of war cherish the short term over the long term gain. It sounds simplistic but actually would be quite understandable, because in Afghanistan there still is no peace and security.

This might show in the Afghan’s thinking, especially in the run up to the pull out of foreign troops. If tomorrow isn’t promised you tend to get what you can lay your hands as long as you can. Why plant trees whose fruit might take decades to harvest.

I was wondering yesterday when I saw some unkempt trees that could have been olive plants, why they weren’t growing this fruit in this country. I’m not an agricultural expert, olive trees might just not grow in this climate – or they indeed take to long to carry fruit.

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.

Dinner at the police chief"s compound (Photo: Heimken)

“I’m so full, I can’t breathe when sitting down“. That was my commentary after our first adventure outside the wire.

I had just finished my last blog entry when Axel turned up behind me at the computer booth with a piece of news: He had talked to Captain Perkins and we were invited to join him and two of his lieutenants for a meal with the local police chief in an hours time!

The problem was that we only just had dinner. Two man size burritos with loads of meat and sauce and rice. My first thought was that I couldn’t possibly go have a meal with Afghan dignitaries with the imminent danger of throwing up.

I went back to our hut and lay down to digest the burritos and prepare for some goats meat.

At 7.00 p.m. we met the by the TOC. Axel said Lieutenant Martin had tried to bottle out of the soiree, but Perkins had then directly ordered him to tag along. We picked up the interpreter from his shack and walked with headlamps lighting the way through the concertina wire out to the pretty banged up and run down police building.

We walked in took of our boots off and walked into the little dining room.

The police chief had two visitors himself, from Orgun to the South West from here. Two pretty wild looking guys, who held some sort of official positions in that city. A little TV set was running in one corner in the other stood an AK-47 assault rifle. We all took a seat on the cushions on the floor along the walls.

A guy with a silver pot and a water can came in we washed our hands one after the other.

One of the chief’s deputies came in with a plastic table cloth with Naan bread in it that was spread out in front of us. Then they served rice with raisins, self made French fries and bits of goats meat. Each of us got a can of 7 Up to go with it.

We started eating with our fingers trying our best not to loose half the pay load of rice between tray and mouth, trying hard for it to somehow look natural. Through the interpreter Perkins and the chief started firing off one compliment after the other.

We started feeling like one big family.

The police chief was adamant he would like to invite his friends over for dinner every night if he could. To top things Perkins invited the police chief and his men for a big BBQ with flares in some days time.

Our engagement ended after an hour and some glasses of heavily sugared green tea, served with extremely hard nuts. Our first intercultural encounter was a lot of fun actually.

The Afghan DJ in his studio in the combat outpost Sar Howza (Photo: Heimken)

Today, we did an interesting story on an Afghan DJ who runs a radio station on camp, for the population outside the wire. The station was set up by ISAF. Interestingly Iranian music seems to be all the hype. It’s what the 20-year-old plays a lot.

Apart from playing music he also reads out news he gets from the 3-66 Battalion headquarters in Sharana and he reads out jokes every now and then. It must be hard for him living on base with all the Americans, the only company he has are the interpreters working for the unit.

Lobster and Steak

Captain Perkins and his two platoons came back inside the wire, the outpost, from their five day mission yesterday evening. The company’s cook made them a special welcome meal – lobster and steak – to greet the men that were living without showers and good food for almost a week.

When the MRAPs and armoured transporters came rolling through the gate and the soldiers started dismounting we met a couple of familiar faces. Some greeted us recognizing us from when we last met them at the casing of the colours ceremony in Grafenwöhr in Bavaria at beginning of June.

The Burning Pit

The burning pit (Photo: Heimken)

We’ve been in the combat outpost for three full days now. On a normal day it’s already hard to breathe at 2700 meters above sea level. Today it’s almost impossible. Thick toxic fumes billow through the outpost.

It’s trash burning day. All waste goes into a pitch by the perimeter of the outpost. A sergeant pours fuel onto the black plastic bags that have been collected from all over the post. The wind carries the fumes of burnt waste through the base.

Southerner

Earlier in the day, I had long chat with mechanic and shop foreman Sergeant Bruce Anderson, sitting on the wooden veranda just outside the tactical operations centre. Here the soldiers congregate to smoke and have a chat. They even built a rocking chair. They’ve got a big black plastic box with a frog and a pet tortoise called “Little Mac”.

Sergeant Bruce Anderson, mechanic in the combat outpost Sar Howza (Photo: Heimken)

Anderson is 37 and has a broad southerner drawl, he likes beer and rides dirt bikes in his past time. He joined the army in 2004 and was first deployed to an unusual area of operations – the 2005 debacle in New Orleans caused by hurricane Katrina.

He says the hardest thing about being deployed is being away from the family, or rather making your loved ones worry for such a long time. He’s got two kids and a wife. He, likes most of the other soldiers here, have been very welcoming.

Beyond the Wire

We feel pretty safe on the combat outpost. It doesn’t really feel like a war zone here. The world behind the barbed wire seems remote. We haven’t left the wire, the COP, since we got here. But company commander Perkins has promised to take us out, to see the village of Sar Howza and the outposts, they have set up during their mission.

In the evening the sub-governor of Sar Howza, the local police chief and the deputy chief of the afghan intelligence agency in the district came to visit and exchange some courtesies on the veranda in front of the TOC.

Veranda in the Foward Operating Base Sharana (Photo: Loesche)

We slept in. I got up at 8.30 a.m. Axel and I had breakfast and prepared for our over land travel to Sar Howza. We were driven to the headquarter barracks of 3-66 Battalion and met the commander Lieutenant Colonel Curtis Taylor from Texas in charge of the western part of Paktika province.

We were briefed on the activity in our area and how the war was going in general. The most interesting point he made was that the structure or make-up of the insurgent force was changing. Taylor said that there was a split occurring within the movement.

The older generation of fighters who had joined the mujahedin in the 1980s to fight the Russians was retiring. Incoming were young more radical fighters from Pakistan who Taylor described as a more thuggish type of insurgent who unlike the older generation had less respect for the general populous and wouldn’t care for civilian casualties.

Just after we had our chat in Taylor’s office we met Lieutenant Wolfsley who was going to take us with him to the combat outpost some 10 kilometres from Sharana. The drive would take us 30 minutes.

We were relieved to hear that the threat of an attack wasn’t that great. The road to Sar Howza was paved, which means the insurgents couldn’t bury pressure plates to set off roadside bombs. All the military vehicles also have so called jamming devices which block any attempt to detonate explosive devices via mobile phones.

MRAPs

Four huge Mine Resistant Ambush Protected Vehicles (MRAPs) were waiting for us. Axel got into one, I into another. I drove in the last vehicle under the command of Staff Sergeant Travis Colter, 26, from South Carolina and three other soldiers.
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In those vehicles you feel like driving in a submarine with wheels. They are stuffed full of electronic equipment from radios to fire extinguishers. The armour that protects the passengers from anything from gun rounds, rocket propelled grenades to roadside bombs is probably more than 10 cm thick.

Beef Jerky

I handed out some beef jerky to break the ice. We rolled past a rugged semi-desert landscape. All traffic that came our way from motor cycles with men with black turbans to battered cars and colourfully painted trucks loaded with firewood stopped ahead of the convoy pulling up by the roadside to let the MRAPs pass.

Somehow the trip was less nerve racking than I thought it would be. After 35 minutes we reached Sar Howza without any incident. When we entered the home of Apache Company 2-28 we had after four days of travel reached our final destination for the trip – some 8300 feet (2700 meters) above sea level.

We boarded the C-130 Hercules at around 4.30 a.m. Our first military flight in Afghanistan. The palette with our luggage had just been loaded into the plane (Photo: Heimken)

The flight yesterday to Bagram – well, we didn’t make it. It didn’t take passengers after all – cargo only. The flight after that one – well we weren’t that lucky, they couldn’t take the usual pay load – it was too hot (I don’t know how the correlation works out). So we dropped off the low priority list for the flight: It’s all persons military first, then contractors, then journalists.

At the end of the day we were able to sign up for a 9:40 p.m. flight. We checked our luggage in and were sitting in the terminal watching the Boston Red Sox play on a flat screen. The lady from behind the check-in desk came into the waiting area and announced that due to maintenance work on the runway the flight was going to be delayed six hours.

We grabbed our sleeping bags out of our luggage which already had been put on a pallet ready for transport. Although this is a military airfield the terminal works in principle like any other airport, everybody still has to put their luggage through scanning, which seems a bit strange, because most soldiers travel with their guns at their side.

Sleep

On the up side of things, we had the first three hours of sleep since the beginning of our journey 25 hours earlier. Then at 3:30 a.m. we were once again sitting in the terminal building, now watching the Animal Planet about mammals going out of control.

We, a bunch of journalists and a few soldiers, got on a bus at 4:30 a.m. rolled to the waiting C-130 Hercules Air Force transporter. It was still dark when we walked up the ramp and took up our seats. Then after us, the palette with our luggage got heaved into the plane by a fork lifter.

Full Throttle

The ramp closed. The hall like inside went dark. We taxied across the runway, taking sharp turns. Once the pilot pulled back the throttle the sound of the four propellers rose to a deafening level, we mimicked the soldiers across from us and held on to the netting behind us.

Military transporters from the inside look as if those assembling them weren’t quite finished attaching the interior panels – you can see all the wiring and cables. After 15 minutes we were at our next stop – Bagram Airfield (BAF), the central US transport hub for Afghanistan. It was light when we got of the plane. We had made our first mil flight.

Palette

Once again we though we had gotten lucky in Bagram. We were already checked in, our luggage on the pallet for a flight to Forward Operating Base (FOB) Sharana; all systems go, waiting in the holding area, when our names were called up over the loudspeakers.

We were taken off the flight to Sharana at the last minute. We went down to the loading area and collected our bags from the pallet. The provincial capital of Paktika province, where the brigade headquarters of the 172^nd Separate Infantry Brigade is located would have to wait.

Action

I called the brigades Public Affairs Officer, Major Joseph Buccino from an internet café of sorts. He said, him and the brigade commanders, Colonel Edward T. Bohnemann, were looking forward to seeing us. Buccino added that there was expected to be a lot of “action” in Paktika, especially after Ramadan had just ended on Friday. The fight was going to pick up.

We took the bus that drives around the Bagram Airfield and rode it for half an hour. We checked into Camp Warrior on the other side of the airfield with the huge runway behind us. We both had our first shower since arriving in Afghanistan.

After getting some good food at the so called DEFAC dining facility we spent the night in a huge tent holding approximately 80 bunk beds, most of them occupied by civilian employees, contractors. Every now and then, we awoke to the sound of a pair of fighter jets roaring down the runway and taking off.

At 09:00 p.m. we rode the bus back to the terminal and were told there were going to be three flights for Sharana tomorrow. One at 1.35 a.m. the next at 5.30 a.m. and the last one at 7:30 a.m. check-in time. We decided to try and get a night’s sleep and opted for the latest flight, taking the risk that if we didn’t get on the passenger list, we wouldn’t make it to Sharana.

Angst

Axel and I had a long talk about whether this trip actually made sense at all. Why take the risk and put up with the dangers of a war zone. No picture or story will ever be worth dying for. We left that question unanswered. We turned to fear itself.

Former US-President Franklin D. Roosevelt once said something along the lines that nothing had to be feared but fear itself. That’s not true. Fear shouldn’t be feared because it’s an important indicator that you might be in danger.

We both had our spouts of anxiety and subsequent doubts about our mission. I’m glad I didn’t venture out into this adventure on my own, like I had planned to do at the beginning. Now having somebody to confine tp is extremely important.

We’ve both agreed that we will venture out to the Combat Outpost (COP). We’ll go through to our actual area of operation and then decide what to do or not to do. We have agreed that if one of us doesn’t feel comfortable with either staying on or going on a specific patrol, we both abort mission.