A Battlefield Tourist

A Walk in the Desert

Feb 13 at 3:03am by David Tate

Marines from 1st Squad, 3rd Platoon, India Co., 3/8 take a break during a presence patrol in Bakwa district, Farah Province

February 10, 2009

After sleeping a solid twelve hours following the all day operation that netted two suspected IED facilitators, I punched out from the Combat Outpost (COP) with 1st Squad, 3rd Platoon for an afternoon/evening patrol scheduled to cover 9 km and last at least six hours.

Getting to Know the Neighbors

These presence patrols are designed to gather information on the surrounding villages that will help the Americans understand what, and who, they’re dealing with in regards to the locals that live in relative close proximity to the COPs. In all, 20 of us, including myself, an interpreter and a combat correspondent left COP Barrow around 1400, straight out of the base toward the first of three objectives, which were small settlements no more than three miles out.

The terrain is relatively flat, desert plain that is cut through by dry river beds and the occasional dirt road. Abandoned settlements are also prevalent as people may have moved on once the land is unable to sustain life.  Like everywhere else in this high desert environment, these crafty people have figured out a way to get water to certain areas that are a lush early spring crop of wheat, a type of hay and, of course, poppy plants. While the poppy is not as extensive in this region of Afghanistan as it is in neighboring Helmand Province, it is still grown here and is an important crop for the survival of most villages.

As we move out across the plain, kids emerge from the settlements we pass; sometimes coming out toward the Marines, but more often just following the progress with a certain curiosity from the safety of their walled compounds. After some time, we encounter our first adult male; an old frail man that emerges from his home and makes his way to a wall where he sits down and waits for us. I sit next to him and after I respectfully greet him, I take his picture. Before long a young Marine joins us and they begin to talk together, sometimes with an interpreter and sometimes on his own. What is so impressive about this young Marine is that he has taught himself a fair amount of Pashto and is able to communicate quite well with the old man.

The Marine is looking to record names, ages, village proximity and the other usual intelligence stuff, but is also interested in how the man is doing and what can be done for him. Of course by the end of the conversation the Taliban is raised. I didn’t hear the rest of the conversation because I went off taking pictures and after a few minutes, we were all off again toward another settlement.

The Marines patrol in two long lines separated by some 50m with the squad leader, engineer and myself taking up the middle space. My orders were simple: Stay within the protection zone and don’t wander off. That doesn’t bother me in the least. The most risk I tend to take is always staying toward the front because in the event something happens, that is where I would need to be.

A little while later we cam upon another small settlement, this one spread out a bit more than the last. There we find a young man of 16 and a small boy working with a grown man who was bagging wheat kernels. Here the same thing: Get to know the people, find out what they’re doing, get names of people and villages, then move on. In this case, the young man owns the wheat machine and the older man is using it. In return, the boy is paid in wheat. Barter seems to be a common form of currency out here where people trade goods and services to others for their goods and services.

We continue on through the wadis and over berms. The Marines avoid the green fields because, they say, early on in their tour they drove through fields wrecking havoc on the crop and their public image. Now, and I heard it a dozen times, they try to avoid that scenario, even if it’s the little poppies that are starting to grow. 

A Lesson in Culture

As the sun started going down we arrived at our third objective, which appeared to be a mosque. Unlike any other building in the area, this one had a nice, thick cement footer and real windows. A very nice building compared to the round roofed straw and mud adobe homes that dot this landscape. I really didn’t think it was a mosque because it wasn’t slanted and facing west, but a mosque it turned out to be. As we approached, four men peered at us from a field where they were working and another emerged from the mosque area and waited for us.

Before long he was fetching tea and nan for us… certainly a good sign that danger was not near. We stayed at this location for more than an hour and as they time grew, so did the crowd of men and boys. At one point as I watched three men approach, I got scared and quickly moved toward the side of the mosque. Suicide bombers are the current Taliban strategy underway in Afghanistan and I was taking no chances. Something just didn’t seem right so I followed my gut. My gut was wrong and everything turned out fine as a handful of Americans conversed with the twenty of so men and boys that were now gathered.

There were smiles, pictures and of course plenty of questions from both sides. According to the locals, the Taliban do not maintain a presence here, but there are still issues with the ultra-conservative Islamists. Our host relayed a story of how one evening he had company over and they were playing music and enjoying conversation when there was a knock at the door. It turns out the Taliban were there to pay him a visit, beating him severely for playing said music. Other than that, the men all seemed to agree that they do not allow Taliban in their area. However when asked about the weapons they would use to defend themselves, they didn’t confess to having any, so one has to wonder.

Then, as the sun was setting, one of the men stepped out alone and began calling into the fields. Clearly it was the call to prayer and this man must be the local Imam. As we all watched, the men gathered at the front of the mosque, and together, began praying. It was a very intimate and incredible sight that most westerners rarely get a chance to see in this type of setting. I took it as a privilege as did the Marines.

After the praying was complete, we came together again for final good byes with this same Lance Corporal pleading with the men to understand the Marines were there as friends and not enemies. It took some time to break away from the conversation and when we did, we stepped off into the pitch black of night. I can only imagine the dinnertime conversation these men had among themselves when we left.

The Long Walk Back

It was now dark as it gets with no moon to guide ourselves by for the first 30 minutes before the large reddish-orange disc appeared on the horizon. I was very glad to see the moon as I do not have night vision and the hard bumpy terrain could prove devastating to one’s ankles. Step after step we plodded through the fields in the direction we thought the the COP was in; silhouettes of houses and trees slowly forming as we moved forward. Finally, off in the distance you could see the dull glow of the base’s fie pit starting to form. I never thought I’d be so glad to see a burning pile of crap, but I was.

Exhausted, we made it back into camp where we ate some pre-made military rations before turning in for the night. Another successful trip out of the wire where everyone came back more educated and most importantly, in one piece.