A Battlefield Tourist

Four Hours With Brits and Afghans

Feb 24 at 3:03am by David Tate

A British Officer Mentoring Liason Team (OMLT) mentors Afghan counterparts in Musa Qala district, Helmand Province, Afghanistan.

February 20, 2009 – Southern FLET, Musa Qala, Helmand Province

With as much as I could do with 3/8 LMT, I found myself with a number of idle days waiting for extraction. That left me checking into the possibility of getting out with the British Officer Mentoring Liason Team (OMLT), which mentors 3rd Kandak, 3rd Brigade, 205 Corps of the Afghan National Army headquartered out of the base I was currently on . The OMLeT is made up of soldiers from 1st Battalion, Rifles.

Now Zad

Part of my mission on this trip is to set up the unfolding story of coalition forces escalating their presence in Afghanistan to numbers of foreign troops to some 70,000 personnel.  To fully capture this story, I desperately needed to get to one FLET or another.  FLET stands for Forward Line of Enemy Troops.  In other words, I needed to get to the front line.

In USMC 3/8′s area of operations, the only defined FLET is in an area of western Helmand called, Now Zad.  While not promised to me, I did make it known that was one of the areas I wanted to go. Unfortunately once here, I was told (and other journalists as well), “That’s not the story we want to push.”  While I did put up a bit of an argument because of the ethical issues involved with such a statement, I was repeatedly denied an embed in this area and I finally dropped the subject until my debrief, when I once again stressed my issue with their decision.

Since journalists aren’t allowed in Now Zad, I can only paint a picture from the stories I have heard. Basically the town has been abandoned for three years now, with the villagers living displaced around a nearby village.  The town’s infrastructure is crumbling and it is a virtual “free fire” zone in the sense that the only people left in it are Taliban.

The FLET in this area is a wadi (most likely due to the fact that wadi’s are large flat areas with no cover) that is not crossed, due to the understanding that you will be fired on.  With a company of Marines operating there, it isn’t enough to take control of the area, but is enough to hold until more coalition soldiers/Marines can come.  I expect that to be the case sometime in the near future.

In the meantime, Marines do some presence patrols, have encountered IEDs and the occasional direct contact, but for the most part life in Now Zad is austere and boring.  This entire assessment is made based on dozens of first hand accounts from the Marines who have served there at one time or another or who have access to the reports Marines file from there.

 Adapt and Overcome

With no chance of visiting a FLET within the Marines’ AO, I started to try to achieve this goal through the British  Army once I made it to Musa Qala.  I went to Musa Qala to see Marines training and mentoring Afghan Police, but  ended up only getting the mentoring part because the police were dispersed throughout the area for pre-election  security.  Because of this, as mentioned before, I was left with a number of idle days that needed to be as productive  as possible.

When I mentioned my desire to hook up for a bit with the Brits, the Marines told me that would end my embed with  them and the Brits would have to be in charge of feeding and housing me. Since I was already living on a British  base, eating British food, that didn’t seem to be that big of an issue.  Unfortunately, as my luck would have it, the  British PAO at Musa Qala was on leave, and to make matters worse, TF Helmand (Brit HQ) would not return my  emails that would give me direction.  Frustration was again starting to set in.

Finally, one day, news came that the British PAO was back from leave, so we set up a meeting.  Very little good news  came out of the meeting except for the possibility of getting, at the most, an overnight patrol/experience with the  OMLeT team.  Had I had more time, had the PAO been at Musa Qala and had the British returned my months worth of emails, I would have gotten time with the Ghurkas as well as the OMLeT.  The cards just did not fall right for anything prolonged, so I accepted an invitation for a joint Afghan/Brit patrol that would at least allow me the ability to get some imagery.

Field Trip, of Sorts

I met up with the British at 0800 for the 7km trip down to USPB (United States Patrol Base).  It is called that because at one time it was a US base; it is now the southern most Afghan base in Musa Qala.

I climbed into a Vector, dubbed “The Death Trap” by the guys I was riding with.  The vehicle is a medium-sized troop carrier, which on this trip, held seven of us.  The ride was slow, bumpy and crammed with me having the ass of a British soldier in my face the entire trip (he was the top gunner).  The trip lasted less than 30 minutes in all before we rolled into the PB.

The plan called for the team that brought me to wait for me and the OMLeT/Afghans to conduct a patrol, we would then load back up and head to the District Center.  In and out, quick and simple.

The mission itself involved the joint patrol moving up to the frontline and pushing through that line so the troops could recon a potential site for a frontline Afghan patrol base.

We left in two columns, maybe 30 men in all, with me near the front with the Afghans and the British in back mentoring from the rear.  The British officer was very accommodating to me and my request to be up front, with no hassles whatsoever.

We moved quickly across the fields and past farmers managing their poppy crop who would just sit there and stare at us.  Greetings in Pashtun were answered with silence.  The area we were moving toward had turned into a no man’s land where villagers did not dare to go anymore, putting these farmers literally on the frontline.  

There was a little confusion on this point, however, because local leaders had brokered some sort of agreement that would allow villagers to come and get their belongings. However, in this war, the enemy looks just like civilians, making such a deal quite the grey area for troops operating here.

Once we made it to the large red container that marks the frontline, the soldiers began disbursing and taking cover.  At this point you realize how serious things are and the adrenaline really starts to flow.

Several figures could be seen across the field looking back at us, which prompted the Afghans to reposition themselves for better vantage points.  I ran with my squad around a building and down an alley as we started flanking left for better position.

We made our way to the last building before it opens up into a field to our left and front.  Across the field to the left, we could see the southern most British base where elements of the 2nd Royal Ghurka Regiment is located, which protected that flank and offered us superior cover fire in the event we pushed forward, as expected.

From our position, a British sniper and machine gunner set up to recon and cover any advance, which at this point, was strictly up to the Afghans. The Afghan commander of the patrol, a sergeant major, told the British that his commander authorized them to only go as far as they had.

“I see a man picking up a sack and running…,” called out the sniper.  The man was one of three the sniper was tracking as the debate continued.

Over the next few minutes, the Afghans and British mentors would discuss the situation.  The Brits wanted to push for the objective and the Afghans didn’t. Eventually the Afghan commander offered the Brits one squad of men if the Brits wanted to lead the assault, which they did, but couldn’t.

“That would defeat the purpose of us being here,” said the British captain.  ”We’re here to mentor, not to lead.”

While the discussion continued from the cover of the house, I found a relatively concealed spot between the sniper and machine gunner so I could actually get video of the “front line”.  I set my camera, hit record and laid as flat as I could, waiting for the impact of a round or the crack of a rifle or something.  Nothing came.  I got two good images of the line, including a man about 200m away watching us watch him, before dashing back to the safety of the house everyone else was hiding behind.

Shortly after that, the decision became final and we started to withdraw in a different direction from which we came.

The direction we took was toward the enormous wadi that ran along the western portion of the AO.  This too was a FLET, with coalition forces often receiving harassment fire from the other side.  Nonetheless, we made our way along “our side” of the wadi; again just waiting for plumes of dust and the report of rifles, indicating we were under fire.  None came.  

As we continued, I stopped a few times to get some clips, one of which included a former Taliban trench line.  Each time I stopped, an Afghan soldier would stop with me until I finished and then we would run to catch up to our squad (we were not last, the British were trailing behind us to the right).

Once back at USPB, I watched the ANA test fire their heavy “Dishka” machine gun, which they did into the mud wall of their base.  The Afghans were amused at my form of ear plugs which were two cigarettes sticking out of my head.

After a quick interview with the British captain, I was offered a chance to stay the night.  I knew that my chopper wasn’t coming for another two days, but I was concerned about the Marines having a tizzy since I was technically out of their care at the moment.  I decided to head back, content with the days’ clips, and convinced that by not staying the night, the Marines wouldn’t be too pissed.  I can’t imagine a four hour jaunt could be construed as “embedding” and I never heard otherwise.

Where I am, the Action is Not

As I write this, I have spent roughly 275 days in various war zones in Turkey, Iraq and Afghanistan. Not once have I seen a firefight, and God knows, I have tried (I have actually seen a firefight, from afar, just never been in one).  I have been under sniper fire, almost hit with indirect rocket fire and almost electrocuted by a falling wire after an IED detonation, but never in a firefight.

Figures that as soon as the sun went down, I watched from the roof of the White House as artillery and illumination flares lit up the southern sky. Turns out the place I had been just hours before, was taking fire from multiple firing points and answered with said artillery fire, small arms and a Javelin missile. The worst part about it was there were two British journalists in the middle of it on their very first day in the field.

I’ve always worn my Red Wings hat for good luck when I go out.  I’m seriously considering retiring it.