Read Online The Taliban Don't Wave by Robert Semrau - Free Book Online

there: a section of engineers and snipers, some intelligence (int) types, loggies (logistics), sigs (signals), at least four 155mm howitzer cannons with some mortars thrown in for fun, and a full-time doctor and medical team. Also, there was an American civilian from Florida and his bomb-sniffing dog. They went out on patrols and were on call twenty-four/seven. All in all, not a bad little outpost stuck in the middle of bandit country. It was currently owned and operated by the PPCLI battle group, but the battle group I would be working with, Task Force 3-08, would be taking over in the next couple of weeks. So far, the base had never been overrun, but the barbarians had definitely turned up at the gates from time to time.
    â€œSperwhan Ghar,” the vehicle commander said. “Welcome to the Suck!”

Chapter 3
    We passed through the concrete serpentine barriers and went by a wooden two-storey watchtower next to the barbed-wire emplacements by the gate. I could see two very disinterested Afghan National Army soldiers pulling back the wire to let us through and an equally bored Canadian watching us from the tower.
    We slowly climbed up a twenty-metre slope until we were on a long plateau, now facing to the east. I could see several long, low concrete buildings, which I assumed were barracks for the Afghans, and a few sandbag emplacements dug into the hill along the sides of the road, facing back toward the west. That was the general direction most of the attacks had come from. Immediately off to the left, I could see two large Russian howitzer cannons, D-30s, nestled up close to a couple of the concrete buildings.
    Our RG convoy again came to a dust-shrouded halt and our vehicles began quickly disgorging passengers. I clicked my voice pressel, or button, on the radio and thanked the RG crew for the lift.
    â€œYou can thank us by getting the fuck out! We gotta get goin'!” the commander snapped. Fair enough.
    I got out and climbed up the side of the vehicle and grabbed my boxes, then carefully handed them down to Fourneau. I found his and passed them down to him; there was no point in both of us risking our necks. Everyone quickly stripped their boxes off the sides of the RGs. Clearly the RG convoy was manned by reverse vampires who had to get back to Masum before dusk. As it said in the American Ranger handbook, that's when the French and Indians liked to attack during colonial times; apparently Timothy had read the manual, took it to heart, and put the fear of God back into these soldiers.
    I found the Wizard and Hetsa “the dirty Hungo” lugging their boxes in our general direction as several Afghan soldiers came out of their barracks to check out the newbies. Stephens walked up to us and said, “Welcome to your new home. We've left it in good shape for you, besides a few rocket holes, mortar holes, RPG [rocket-propelled grenade] holes—well, you know.”
    â€œThanks for having us,” I said with a smug grin. “It's a real pleasure to be here.” I looked around and soaked up my new environs. Immediately to my front there were four more of those barracks-looking buildings, and another five or six farther down the road. The a/c in the RGs had done a good job; I'd forgotten for a few minutes how hot it was outside. My shirt started to get slick with sweat. Lugging two forty-pound boxes didn't help. Thankfully, I'd been on Op Massive, my PT (physical training) regimen for the last twenty years, to get ready for this moment.
    â€œ Ah salaam ah'laikum .” I said the traditional Muslim greeting to some Afghans who were watching us.
    â€œ Wa ah'laikum salaam ,” several replied, in perfect unison.
    Stephens led us past some ANA barracks and over to our building, right across from the OMLT HQ, where he and his boys hung their cowboy hats. We would be in a makeshift storage room until his crew moved out of their much nicer accommodation in a couple of days. Until then, we had