2RHPZ
05-06-2004, 06:37 AM
Speak softly, carry a big gun
Into the hinterland with the Special Forces
By Mark Mazzetti
KANDAY, AFGHANISTAN--The elders arrive at the shura shortly after 9 a.m., from
villages that don't appear on any military map. Taking seats on the wool carpet,
they sip tea, stroke their beards, and work prayer beads through scarred
fingers. They have come to see the two men in pakul hats sitting cross-legged at
the end of the mud-brick room, their M-4 rifles leaned against the crumbling
windowsill.
After the local district chief convenes the meeting with a flowery introduction,
the Special Forces soldier with the red beard stands and addresses the elders.
"A long time ago, we worked together to fight the Russians, and a short time ago
we worked together to fight the Taliban," begins Ron, the commander of
Operational Detachment Alpha 936. Speaking for 10 minutes through an
interpreter, he talks about the American mission to bring security to this
untamed region of northeastern Afghanistan. Then: "We are looking for a few
people who come through this valley from time to time. You guys know we are
looking for Osama. If any of you has information about him, I will pay good
money for it." The old men with the long beards and tired faces close their
eyes, smile, and nod their heads slowly.
"Little Big Horn. "Yet if the hunt for the world's most-wanted man were all that
the soldiers of ODA 936 needed to worry about, their job would be far more
simple. Instead, the Special Forces team was inserted into the Pesch Valley in
northeastern Afghanistan in December with only the vaguest of orders to carry
out a complex mission: Develop an intelligence network, earn the trust of the
locals, track down terrorists, and build an army of Afghan men who for decades
have known nothing but war. The team's area of operations is a laboratory of the
type of counterinsurgency that hasn't been tried since Vietnam, and U.S. News
was granted rare access to its work. If the larger U.S. counterinsurgency
strategy in Afghanistan is to bear fruit, it will depend in no small part on the
quiet accumulation of victories in places like the hardscrabble Pesch Valley.
Nestled in the foothills of the Hindu Kush mountains just 20 miles from the
Pakistani border in Kunar province, ODA 936's base in the town of Nangalam is
equal parts listening post and training camp in one of the world's most
inhospitable places. Unlike the more fortified firebases elsewhere along the
border, Camp Blessing is far removed from the safety of artillery and helicopter
support. Known as an "A Camp," it is the first of its kind in hostile territory
that U.S. Special Forces have built in more than 30 years. Only 14 soldiers live
in camp, along with a platoon of marines beefing up security. "This place is
pretty hard to defend," says Jim (no last names of ODA 936 members allowed),
looking out at the steep mountain bluffs encircling the compound. "It's kind of
like Little Big Horn."
This is perhaps an unfortunate analogy, given that the Special Forces commander
for Kunar province is a man with the last name Custer. At the same time, being
in "Indian country" is a fact of life around Camp Blessing, especially as ODA
936 builds up its network of local informants to track the movement of the al
Qaeda cells that periodically attack the base. While the CIA believes men like
Osama bin Laden and his deputy, Ayman al-Zawahiri, spend most of their time on
the Pakistan side of the border, places like the lawless Pesch make a natural
safe haven for al Qaeda operatives. "As this war changes, the enemy goes deeper
into the hinterlands," says Col. Walter Herd, the top special operations
commander in Afghanistan. "And that's where we need to be."
Operating in a region effectively beyond the reach of Hamid Karzai's fragile
government, the Green Beret team is "the law" in a valley that has never been
particularly friendly to foreigners. It was here that the mujahideen resistance
against the Soviet Union began, and even the Taliban had difficulty maintaining
control over the local tribes. Before their mission began, ODA 936's members
were informed by the CIA that the valley was "the West Virginia of Afghanistan,"
a place where deep-seated clan loyalties make promoting a central government a
tough sell. Residents make their living from the endless acres of opium poppies
cultivated on the valley floor and bristle at edicts from Karzai's government
forbidding poppy harvesting after this year. For now, this is one battle the
Special Forces plan not to get in the thick of.
Since December, the goal has been to secure the villages closest to Camp
Blessing, then gradually expand the U.S. sphere of influence outward. It is a
counterinsurgency strategy the British employed with great success in Malaysia
during the 1950s, and U.S. Special Forces are taking the same approach in
similar bases along the Pakistani border and in central Afghanistan. To build
trust, the Green Berets try to keep the door-kicking to a minimum, and ODA 936
has very purposefully used different tactics from the Army Rangers and 10th
Mountain Division soldiers ("the men with helmets," the locals call them) who
swept through the Pesch in force in November.
Of course, Al Capone's adage that you can go further with a kind word and a gun
than with a kind word alone certainly applies here, and the Special Forces unit
ensures that its presence is felt. The soldiers constantly run armed patrols
through the valley alongside the Afghan special-forces soldiers they trained,
through villages where the smell of burning wood mixes with the sweet scent of
opium poppies ripening for the harvest. Each night, marines in mountain
observation posts fire mortars and .50-caliber machine guns into the distance, a
not-so-subtle message that can be heard for miles.
Hearts and minds. Those villages that turn in weapons caches and provide
intelligence about enemy movements get something in return: clinics, schools,
and footbridges paid for with U.S. funds now being spread liberally throughout
eastern Afghanistan. Even the Special Forces unit chaplain, a Mormon who in
civilian life teaches folklore at Brigham Young University, is part of the
hearts- and-minds effort. He meets with the mullahs in Pesch Valley villages to
renovate dilapidated mosques and prods them to use their moral authority to turn
locals against the insurgency.
In their more relaxed moments--sporting beards, baseball caps, and sandals--the
soldiers of the Utah-based unit might be easily mistaken for heavily armed ski
bums. The unit has only minimal contact with its superiors at Bagram Air Base,
near Kabul, and even less contact with the world outside Afghanistan. (The
soldiers learned of the recent bloody fighting in central Iraq only when two
journalists visited the base.) The daily rhythms of their camp bear little
resemblance to those of a normal American military base. Friday, rather than
Sunday, is the day of rest, when calls to prayer from the local mosques echo
across the ancient valley, amplified by new speaker systems paid for by the U.S.
government.
Of course, nobody in ODA 936 believes that digging a well or building a school
will automatically win the populace over. As the soldiers see it, maybe 10
percent of the locals embrace their presence, and 5 percent despise it. The rest
want simply to be left alone. Yet in counterinsurgency work, mere "presence" is
an enormous part of the mission, and presence is what Special Forces soldiers in
Afghanistan believe will make the difference in nabbing targets like bin Laden.
As Scott, the team intelligence sergeant, explains while driving a 4x4 over a
washed-out road on the way back from the shura in Kanday: "For us to finally
catch [bin Laden], it won't be like in movies. It will take somebody like one of
the elders we just met who comes forward and leads us to him."
Which is why keeping a promise to attend a meeting of old men in a far-flung
village is worth the effort. On the way to the shura, one of the two pickup
trucks loaded with Special Forces and Afghan soldiers blew out two tires,
breaking down in a mountain village two hours from Kanday. The Americans paid a
villager 500 Pakistani rupees ($8.65) for the use of his truck for the day, and
everyone piled in. Hours later, as the gathering in Kanday dragged on, the two
soldiers in the mud-brick room stayed to hear the concerns of the elders,
nervously checking their watches and thinking about the four-star general on a
courtesy visit who was probably back at Camp Blessing cooling his heels. Too
bad, the general would have to wait. The shura was more important.
Copyright © 2004 U.S.News & World Report
Into the hinterland with the Special Forces
By Mark Mazzetti
KANDAY, AFGHANISTAN--The elders arrive at the shura shortly after 9 a.m., from
villages that don't appear on any military map. Taking seats on the wool carpet,
they sip tea, stroke their beards, and work prayer beads through scarred
fingers. They have come to see the two men in pakul hats sitting cross-legged at
the end of the mud-brick room, their M-4 rifles leaned against the crumbling
windowsill.
After the local district chief convenes the meeting with a flowery introduction,
the Special Forces soldier with the red beard stands and addresses the elders.
"A long time ago, we worked together to fight the Russians, and a short time ago
we worked together to fight the Taliban," begins Ron, the commander of
Operational Detachment Alpha 936. Speaking for 10 minutes through an
interpreter, he talks about the American mission to bring security to this
untamed region of northeastern Afghanistan. Then: "We are looking for a few
people who come through this valley from time to time. You guys know we are
looking for Osama. If any of you has information about him, I will pay good
money for it." The old men with the long beards and tired faces close their
eyes, smile, and nod their heads slowly.
"Little Big Horn. "Yet if the hunt for the world's most-wanted man were all that
the soldiers of ODA 936 needed to worry about, their job would be far more
simple. Instead, the Special Forces team was inserted into the Pesch Valley in
northeastern Afghanistan in December with only the vaguest of orders to carry
out a complex mission: Develop an intelligence network, earn the trust of the
locals, track down terrorists, and build an army of Afghan men who for decades
have known nothing but war. The team's area of operations is a laboratory of the
type of counterinsurgency that hasn't been tried since Vietnam, and U.S. News
was granted rare access to its work. If the larger U.S. counterinsurgency
strategy in Afghanistan is to bear fruit, it will depend in no small part on the
quiet accumulation of victories in places like the hardscrabble Pesch Valley.
Nestled in the foothills of the Hindu Kush mountains just 20 miles from the
Pakistani border in Kunar province, ODA 936's base in the town of Nangalam is
equal parts listening post and training camp in one of the world's most
inhospitable places. Unlike the more fortified firebases elsewhere along the
border, Camp Blessing is far removed from the safety of artillery and helicopter
support. Known as an "A Camp," it is the first of its kind in hostile territory
that U.S. Special Forces have built in more than 30 years. Only 14 soldiers live
in camp, along with a platoon of marines beefing up security. "This place is
pretty hard to defend," says Jim (no last names of ODA 936 members allowed),
looking out at the steep mountain bluffs encircling the compound. "It's kind of
like Little Big Horn."
This is perhaps an unfortunate analogy, given that the Special Forces commander
for Kunar province is a man with the last name Custer. At the same time, being
in "Indian country" is a fact of life around Camp Blessing, especially as ODA
936 builds up its network of local informants to track the movement of the al
Qaeda cells that periodically attack the base. While the CIA believes men like
Osama bin Laden and his deputy, Ayman al-Zawahiri, spend most of their time on
the Pakistan side of the border, places like the lawless Pesch make a natural
safe haven for al Qaeda operatives. "As this war changes, the enemy goes deeper
into the hinterlands," says Col. Walter Herd, the top special operations
commander in Afghanistan. "And that's where we need to be."
Operating in a region effectively beyond the reach of Hamid Karzai's fragile
government, the Green Beret team is "the law" in a valley that has never been
particularly friendly to foreigners. It was here that the mujahideen resistance
against the Soviet Union began, and even the Taliban had difficulty maintaining
control over the local tribes. Before their mission began, ODA 936's members
were informed by the CIA that the valley was "the West Virginia of Afghanistan,"
a place where deep-seated clan loyalties make promoting a central government a
tough sell. Residents make their living from the endless acres of opium poppies
cultivated on the valley floor and bristle at edicts from Karzai's government
forbidding poppy harvesting after this year. For now, this is one battle the
Special Forces plan not to get in the thick of.
Since December, the goal has been to secure the villages closest to Camp
Blessing, then gradually expand the U.S. sphere of influence outward. It is a
counterinsurgency strategy the British employed with great success in Malaysia
during the 1950s, and U.S. Special Forces are taking the same approach in
similar bases along the Pakistani border and in central Afghanistan. To build
trust, the Green Berets try to keep the door-kicking to a minimum, and ODA 936
has very purposefully used different tactics from the Army Rangers and 10th
Mountain Division soldiers ("the men with helmets," the locals call them) who
swept through the Pesch in force in November.
Of course, Al Capone's adage that you can go further with a kind word and a gun
than with a kind word alone certainly applies here, and the Special Forces unit
ensures that its presence is felt. The soldiers constantly run armed patrols
through the valley alongside the Afghan special-forces soldiers they trained,
through villages where the smell of burning wood mixes with the sweet scent of
opium poppies ripening for the harvest. Each night, marines in mountain
observation posts fire mortars and .50-caliber machine guns into the distance, a
not-so-subtle message that can be heard for miles.
Hearts and minds. Those villages that turn in weapons caches and provide
intelligence about enemy movements get something in return: clinics, schools,
and footbridges paid for with U.S. funds now being spread liberally throughout
eastern Afghanistan. Even the Special Forces unit chaplain, a Mormon who in
civilian life teaches folklore at Brigham Young University, is part of the
hearts- and-minds effort. He meets with the mullahs in Pesch Valley villages to
renovate dilapidated mosques and prods them to use their moral authority to turn
locals against the insurgency.
In their more relaxed moments--sporting beards, baseball caps, and sandals--the
soldiers of the Utah-based unit might be easily mistaken for heavily armed ski
bums. The unit has only minimal contact with its superiors at Bagram Air Base,
near Kabul, and even less contact with the world outside Afghanistan. (The
soldiers learned of the recent bloody fighting in central Iraq only when two
journalists visited the base.) The daily rhythms of their camp bear little
resemblance to those of a normal American military base. Friday, rather than
Sunday, is the day of rest, when calls to prayer from the local mosques echo
across the ancient valley, amplified by new speaker systems paid for by the U.S.
government.
Of course, nobody in ODA 936 believes that digging a well or building a school
will automatically win the populace over. As the soldiers see it, maybe 10
percent of the locals embrace their presence, and 5 percent despise it. The rest
want simply to be left alone. Yet in counterinsurgency work, mere "presence" is
an enormous part of the mission, and presence is what Special Forces soldiers in
Afghanistan believe will make the difference in nabbing targets like bin Laden.
As Scott, the team intelligence sergeant, explains while driving a 4x4 over a
washed-out road on the way back from the shura in Kanday: "For us to finally
catch [bin Laden], it won't be like in movies. It will take somebody like one of
the elders we just met who comes forward and leads us to him."
Which is why keeping a promise to attend a meeting of old men in a far-flung
village is worth the effort. On the way to the shura, one of the two pickup
trucks loaded with Special Forces and Afghan soldiers blew out two tires,
breaking down in a mountain village two hours from Kanday. The Americans paid a
villager 500 Pakistani rupees ($8.65) for the use of his truck for the day, and
everyone piled in. Hours later, as the gathering in Kanday dragged on, the two
soldiers in the mud-brick room stayed to hear the concerns of the elders,
nervously checking their watches and thinking about the four-star general on a
courtesy visit who was probably back at Camp Blessing cooling his heels. Too
bad, the general would have to wait. The shura was more important.
Copyright © 2004 U.S.News & World Report