The Taliban Don't Wave (12 page)

The LAVs did eighteen-point turns and then flew past us on their way back in, again kicking up a hellacious amount of dust.
What is it with these guys? Hasn't that one gotten old by now?

Our two columns joined up just before the gate, then we marched single file through the barricade. I waited until we were past the ANA and Canadians at the watchtower and behind the blast wall for cover before I radioed the CP that call sign 72A was complete, back in Sperwhan Ghar, and had nothing further to report.

We marched up the hill, and I thanked Lieutenant Aziz for coming to help and for his excellent work on the ground. He swelled a bit when Ali finished translating. I had been told that stroking ANA egos was a big part of the job. Unpleasant, but necessary. I told him I would like to come over to his HQ tonight to plan tomorrow's patrol and he said to turn up after supper. We shook hands and parted ways.

As we walked over to our building and began clearing our weapons, I called the boys in for a huddle. “Really good job, guys; nicely done. Good teamwork, good communication. High-fives all around!” I said as we slapped hands in the air. I'd told them at the start of the tour that I was going to bring the high-five back to Afghanistan, and thereby speed up our ultimate victory. I asked the team if they had any points for me to add to the patrol report that, as the officer, it was my job to write.

Hetsa reminded the warrant and me not to stand around too much together, for fear of one RPG killing both of us, and then he and Fourneau would have no comms (communications) with higher headquarters. I thought it was a valid point. Sometimes though, I explained, it was necessary to have a face to face.

“Like when you're betting money on smoke shells or not?” Fourneau cheekily asked.

“Exactly,” I said back. He was right, so there was no getting away from it. The warrant shot him a look that could easily kill, but I let it pass. I was happy we were all okay and had done some good. They had no other points, so we took off our gear to let it dry out on the little wooden crucifixes, and as per, my kit was absolutely soaked. They all looked at me as I stripped off my vest, to see my shirt drenched all the way down to the sleeves.

“Fear will do that to a man,” I smirked. “That, and hyperhidrosis! I'm going over to say hi to the PPCLI muppets and tell 'em how awesome we are!”

I knocked on their door but didn't hear a “C'mon in.”
Odd.
But I had to go in to write my patrol report on the encrypted computer and send it to Masum. So I let myself in, and saw all of Stephens's team in the middle of the room, drinking Coke and iced tea, and just sitting at the table in soft chairs, staring into space.

I was a bit giddy because I still had some adrenalin monkeys riding on my back. I was happy to be alive after my first patrol, instead of dead, like in so many of the training scenarios, so I said, “We made it,” with a big grin on my face. “We're all alive.” But my smile quickly faded as I realized something was terribly wrong. No one laughed; no one had even looked up.

“Some of our friends
didn't
make it,” Stephens quietly said, not with a reproachful tone, but with a heartfelt sadness to his words. “We know three were killed for sure and a bunch more wounded. We're on comms lockdown, so no calls home, no e-mails. You'll have to tell your guys.”

I felt sick to my stomach, especially after what I'd just said. “Guys, I'm sorry—we hadn't heard. I'm really sorry. I'll come back later to write my report.” I quietly walked out the way I'd come in, cursing myself for being such an ass. What the hell did I think was going on to the north, with chopper gunships and artillery firing over our heads? When I was making that comment—
we're in the war now
—my fellow soldiers had probably already been killed.

I walked into my building where the boys were still on a high, but one look at my face and their mood became sombre. I let them know as gently as possible, and we all slumped down on our beds, not really saying anything.

A
good
leader would've known what to say, but I was numb. Our country was at war: we had already lost soldiers and, sadly, I knew we would lose more. But when you're there, in that place, and you got the news that someone was killed, whether you knew them personally or not, it still hurt. You felt terrible for the soldier's family, you felt bad for his or her friends. We had such a small military, where so many people knew each other by name, that these weren't faceless soldiers. Warrant Longview probably knew all of them.

And as strange as it may sound, I felt bad for my country. Everyone back home was so supportive, constantly encouraging us, and backing us all the way, so I knew these soldiers' deaths would deal the whole country a devastating blow.

And no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't help but wonder:
When is it going to be my turn?
Am I going to die here? Like that?

I looked at the guys, sitting on their beds, probably with the same thoughts running through their heads. I wanted them to know something.

“Guys,” I quietly said, and waited until they were looking at me. “After something like this, I'm supposed to set up chairs in a circle and give everyone a chance to talk about their feelings, but I'm not going to do that. All of you guys know that if you want to talk—about anything—I'm available, any time. But I will say this: we will honour their memory the best way that we can, and that's by going outside the wire tomorrow. That's how we'll honour them: by carrying on with the mission.”

Their deaths brought it all home to us. And the feeling was a little too real.

Chapter 5

At the next morning's BUB, Major Bane told us that Corporal Seggie, Private Horn, and Corporal Grenon, all from 2 PPCLI, had been killed the day before, during a patrol. In the ensuing firefight, five other Canadians were also wounded.

Major Bane then apologized to the sniper sergeant because the major had forgotten to get the different types of authorization (called 421, 422, and 429) from the lieutenant colonel the other day, and that's why he couldn't let the snipers kill the IED planters yesterday. The lieutenant colonel in charge of the battle group had to make the call about killing or not killing suspected Taliban in situations like we experienced yesterday. He could keep the 421/422/429 authorization in his own back pocket, or he could give it to his majors, who in turn could give the shoot/don't shoot authorization down to their platoon commanders, snipers, whomever. Or like Major Bane was doing, he could keep the authorization all to himself and make everyone ask for it. But the major, as part of his duties, had to request it daily from his lieutenant colonel. And since the major forgot, he wasn't allowed to let the snipers shoot until he got the permission from higher up. His little
oopsy-pie
could've cost all of us our lives—especially when the ANA soldiers liked to walk right up to the IEDs.

Then, as though reading my mind, he said, “Oops. My bad,” smiled, and quickly changed the subject.

The voice of my inner drill sergeant (which sounded remarkably like my nemesis from 2 Para, Sergeant MacVitty) shouted his less-than-kind opinion of the good major inside my head. Sometimes, when something terribly idiotic or stressful happened in my life, the sergeant's cruel voice would make a guest appearance.

The major then explained some more things, and finally the sniper sergeant couldn't take it anymore and said, “And what about the IED on the haystack now, sir?” The way he pronounced
sir
, it sounded more like
cur.
Wait a minute . . . what IED?

“Well, Captain Simran and his ANA can get out there and cordon it off,” the major flippantly replied, mispronouncing my name.
What the hell?

I rudely interrupted to explain that no one had told me anything about an IED, and I had no idea what they were talking about. Major Bane then patiently explained that an IED had been planted in the haystack at around 0500 hours, just this morning, and someone would now have to go and cordon it off and wait for the Canadian engineers. I said I was very curious as to why I was just finding out about this now, and equally curious as to why our snipers hadn't shaved off the top three inches of Timothy's head when he tried to plant the IED. A painfully awkward silence followed my question. No one spoke, someone nervously coughed, and Warrant Longview saved me from losing my temper and flat out demanding an answer by letting himself into the briefing room and whispering into my ear, “I just heard. Fuck me! But now there are kids playing on the IED. We gotta go.”

I stood up and told the group of officers and senior NCOs that children were now playing on the IED. I said we would finish this talk later, but right now, I had to go. I didn't wait for approval or further discussion.

“Holy crap, sir!” the warrant said as we jogged back to our building.

“Tell me about it.
Unbelievable
! Okay, same drill as yesterday. Assemble the Avengers, and I'll go muckle onto the Justice League.
”

Again, just like yesterday, I found Ali, together we found Aziz, and he graciously agreed, again, to go and cordon off an IED, which again (in my opinion) should never have been planted in the first place. I ran into my bed space, shouted, “Dress me, Hetsa,” and spun around so he could help with my tac vest.

I spoke quickly to my group of like-minded individuals, “It's Groundhog Day boys, but not the funny movie variety. Same drill; snipers will have eyes on; they'll talk us near it; we'll cordon and watch for wires and come-ons; and more importantly, make good and sure the ANA standing next to you don't go up to the device for a look-see! Questions?” The boys were professionals; they had none and knew the drill, so we left our building on the double. I knocked on Stephens's door to tell his guys we were going out again for the same drill as yesterday. They all said “Give 'em hell!” and wished us luck.

Just then a sniper from the top of the hill sprinted down to us and quickly handed me a small map he'd made on a piece of paper. It was a great sketch. It had the culverts, the haystack just off to the right of culvert one, and the ever-present, critical “north-pointer” arrow. Angrily he started to cast blame for it all, but I wasn't going to get into that now, and certainly not with him.

Officer issues are meant to travel
up
the chain of command, not
down.
He told me that I would have to hurry, there were now six kids playing on the haystack. I thanked him and he took off again, sprinting back up the hill. I handed Longview the map, telling him to make sure the dirty Hungo and the Fornicator got to see it too.

We found Aziz and Ali, who had remembered to wear his armour and helmet, and we took off at a quick march, heading down the slope, toward the main gate. I told Ali to tell Aziz everything that I knew about the situation so far. Aziz had only two questions: “Why are your snipers not killing them?” and “Why are they just watching the Taliban as they plant IEDs?”

“I don't know,” was all I could come back with, “but I'm going to find out.” As we marched, I gave the command post our patrol composition and ETA to the site. Aziz had roped about thirty men into today's rescue op. I looked at the sketch again: the IED was almost perfectly in line with the smoke IED from yesterday. Someone had said Timothy was a creature of habit, and that could be both good
and
bad for us.

“Where you off to today, sir?” one of the young guys on the gate asked as we stormed past him.

“Another IED, same spot as yesterday. Same ol', same ol'.”

“I hear that! Stay safe.”

Just as we were about to exit the concrete barriers, Major Bane's voice came over the radio. He ordered my call sign to “go firm,” so I called the patrol to a quick halt and we found some cover around the barriers. I wasn't sure why he stopped us, but I gave him the benefit of the doubt; surely he understood we were now in a life-and-death race to save the children.
They must've seen something . . . .

“Seven Two Alpha, this is Two-niner. We think we've got eyes on the triggerman, about fifty metres to the west of the device, wait . . .”
West? Didn't he mean east? But more importantly, does he really think I'm going to be able to catch this FAM? Does he have a blocking force set up behind the triggerman, one I haven't been told about?

“
Two, we think we've got him spotted; suspicious FAM to the
east.
You will divert your group from the haystack and capture him, over.”
What? Had he lost his freaking mind?

“Seven Two Alpha, how do you suggest I capture a FAM wearing only man-jammies when I'm carrying almost a hundred pounds of gear, in fifty-degree heat? Every second we waste talking, the kids who are
playing
on an IED-infested haystack get closer to being killed, over!”

I couldn't believe it—some guy in an air-conditioned office was telling me what to do out on the ground, and he
actually
thought somehow I could capture the FAM? We didn't have enough men, we had no element of surprise, we had no one waiting behind him to capture him, and we were debating this as kids were playing on an IED haystack!
Absolutely insane!

Major Bane's voice came back over the net, “Two, uh . . . you will . . . use the element of surprise and flank him, and then you will . . .” His voice trailed off.

“Seven Two Alpha, we have NO element of surprise! The second we crested that slope down Sper to the west, every Taliban and his dog knew we were coming! They have dickers, correction, spotters, all of the time, just watching us. That's what they do! There is no element of surprise, and I can't catch a guy wearing pajamas who's got a fifty-metre head start on me! I'm not that fast! There are children,
children
, playing on a haystack with a big, fuck-off IED
right in the middle of it
! I'm the commander on the ground, it's my call, and I'm going after the children! Seven Two Alpha, out!”

Over my PRR, I angrily ordered, “MOVE OUT, double time! Get to those kids and get them off that haystack! NOW!”

The warrant and Hetsa were already up in front of the ANA, and with that order, they cut loose and took off at a dead sprint. It was one of the bravest things I would see during the entire war. They knew, as I did, that they were covering the ground first, and the Taliban easily could've planted IEDs to try and kill anyone attempting to save the children. The children were being used as live bait. We all knew that, but the lecture I gave them both the day before about “letting the Afghans go first to clear the route” was thrown to the wind because now there were children's lives at stake, and they cared more about the children than they cared about themselves.

No officer could've been more proud of his men. I would have put them both in for medals later on, but little did I know that my time in Afghanistan would be cut short. And afterwards, well, who would take any medal recommendations I made seriously? It was a terrible injustice to these men.

We all knew (well, everyone on the
ground
knew) that it was now a race to see if we would get the children off of the haystack in time, or if the Taliban knew the jig was up and would decide to kill the kids just out of pure spite—a common situation in Afghanistan.

Our column strung out as the faster ones amongst us overtook the slower in the ditch, everyone racing toward the haystack. I could see it now, with the kids still on it, and I was terrified we wouldn't get there in time. I was sprinting with everything I had; I knew I would never forgive myself if anything happened to those kids.

Longview and Hetsa began shouting as they sprinted, and made sweeping motions with their arms in the air, getting the kids' attention, and then terrifying them as the Canadians ran at them, shouting and hollering. The kids leaped off the haystack and ran into the village.
Better scared than ripped to shreds!

“They're off the haystack!” Longview said breathlessly into the PRR.

“Thank God, Warrant. Good work! You boys got some damn wheels on ya! Start to get a cordon set up; I'm right behind you.” I pressed the battle group pressel. “Two, Seven Two Alpha, we've secured the IED, the children are safe. We're setting up a cordon now, over.” I looked to the east to see if I could catch a glimpse of the alleged triggerman. High walls and village huts completely obscured my view of the spot where he was
supposed
to be hiding. How could he be the triggerman if he couldn't see his IED? How would he know when to detonate it?
With remote viewing?
The CP acknowledged my transmission, but that was it; they failed to mention if the Canadian engineers were en route to the IED.
Strange.

The ANA began to filter in and Lieutenant Aziz put up a loose cordon, but somehow managed to cover both ends of the roads and major pathways leading up to the haystack. It was a marked, noticeable improvement from yesterday's cordon.
Baby steps.

I radioed the snipers to ask if they had eyes on anyone suspicious: FAMs, people a little too interested, whatever. They came back with a negative and told me they'd continue to observe. I got out my FMP and, using a cheat sheet, I quickly wrote up the IED contact report and sent it over the net to the CP.

I advised Aziz that he should get his men to pull back from the IED, with cover from a blast and access to the paths and roads, and once everyone was in as good a position as they'd ever get, I suggested that we head east to see if we could find the FAMs. He agreed, so the lieutenant, around fifteen ANA, Fourneau, and I marched off between the village walls to try to find them. And there they were—two teenagers, bearded and in man-jammies, hanging out on a rooftop, watching our every move.

But were they really
the
triggermen or just bored kids? I asked Aziz if we could give them a GSR test and he thought it was a good idea, so he shouted at the kids to come down off the roof. They were casually searched but the ANA found nothing, certainly no incriminating detonators. I gave them both the GSR test. Both tests came back negative, but Aziz still felt they might be the triggermen, so he took them into his custody and sent them back to Sperwhan with a few of his soldiers acting as guards. I didn't recall this scenario coming up with Captain Stephens, so I wasn't sure how the Canadians would take to ANA bringing suspects in to
their
base. I felt a courtesy radio call to the CP couldn't hurt.

I called it in and said the ANA had taken a few detainees suspected of involvement with the IED, but they were Afghan detainees and the Canadian OMLT team had nothing to do with them. I suddenly realized I'd said the D-word—
detainees
—and the CP immediately came back with, “Detainees, or persons of interest?” I sheepishly responded, “Persons of interest; not, I say again, NOT detainees.” Our radio traffic was monitored in KAF, and I'm sure the moment I said the D-word, alarm bells went off all the way to my nation's capital.

Canada did not take detainees. There had recently been a political uproar about whether or not Canadian soldiers had handed suspected Taliban detainees over to the Afghan government, who then allegedly tortured them for information. So we were no longer allowed to say “detainees.” We now only took “person(s) of interest.”

We rejoined the ANA and the rest of 72A by the haystack, got behind some cover, and hunkered down in the hot sun to wait. And wait. And wait some more.