myself up the steep incline. The cold sap under the tree bark stuck to my hands, smelling sweet. In the ravine below, the moon glimmered off the many windshields of the convoy, its light strung like pearls. I continued through the high forest, to the bald summit above still covered in snow. Here, I could see the dark silhouette of the Comanche’s sentry one ridgeline over. He leaned against a pine and stamped his feet to keep warm. The wind howled over the rough-cut peaks. My post had no trees to block it. I huddled against a knee-high rock wall Mortaza had built. I searched to the south, toward Gomal, for any danger. I saw only the unending summits and ravines that spread in all directions, threatening to swallow us. Against the wall I sat, freezing and alone.
My senses dulled. Time passed. How much I couldn’t say. Then a rock slipped below me, and several after it. I scrambled to the crest of the ridge, looking down, to where Yar struggled on all fours to find hisfooting. He called up to me: Good, you are awake and alert. His words fell against the unyielding wind. He climbed the last few steps to join me. He winced at the cold. We built the rock wall a little wider so he could fit behind it. We sat next to each other, and having a warm shoulder against mine was a great improvement. I hoped Yar would stay for a while.
These mountains are tough driving, I said.
Very tough, he answered. He tucked his chin into his jacket. His graying curls fell from under his wool cap, blown back by the wind.
Do you think we’ll arrive in Gomal tomorrow? I asked.
Of course, he muttered into his collar.
What if tomorrow’s driving is worse than today’s?
Yar lifted his head from his jacket: We’ll make it.
How can you be sure?
Yar looked as though I’d asked how he could be certain that the unseen wind whipping across the ridge was real. He gazed south to the carpet of mountains we’d cross tomorrow. I trust Commander Sabir, he said as if in a prayer. He will get us there. Then he pushed himself from the wall and held my eyes with his. He added: This will be my fourth fighting season with him. I know him. It is because I know him that I trust him. I trust him with my life. Yar settled next to the wall again. He leaned heavily against it. His thick arms warmly pushed against mine. He asked: What do you know?
I said nothing.
Commander Sabir’s brother used to lead the Special Lashkar. Did you know this? he asked, wanting an answer.
No, I didn’t.
Yes, many years ago, he said. Only the old hands like me remember. Commander Sabir’s brother was Jazeem, but the Americans called him James. They gave him the money to start the Special Lashkar.
I smiled, thinking of an Afghan commander named James.
Is there something about my friend that amuses you? he asked.
The grin swept from my face.
This one was a fearsome fighter, said Yar. Perhaps too much so. He was killed in an ambush not far from here.
What happened? I asked, my voice solemn.
At that time, he said, the militants fought under the Haqqani banner, led by a man named Hafez, a ruthless spizoe, son of a bitch. In Pirkowti, a half day south of Gomal, the spingaris refused to support Hafez and his fighters with food, water, and shelter. Hafez took his men into the mountains around the village. From there they fired mortar barrage after mortar barrage among the homes. This leveled Pirkowti and killed many. The cowards refused to stop unless the spingaris took a vote in the shura to give them the shelter they wanted. The spingaris understood nang. They wouldn’t hand over their homes to this dog so they asked Commander James for help. Commander James also understood nang and we went to Pirkowti’s defense. But it was a ploy. Along the north road Hafez laid an ambush. First there was a mine. The front truck flipped over and trapped two soldiers inside while it burned. Hafez’s fighters pinned us down, firing from the high ridgelines with rifles and RPGs. Commander James
My senses dulled. Time passed. How much I couldn’t say. Then a rock slipped below me, and several after it. I scrambled to the crest of the ridge, looking down, to where Yar struggled on all fours to find hisfooting. He called up to me: Good, you are awake and alert. His words fell against the unyielding wind. He climbed the last few steps to join me. He winced at the cold. We built the rock wall a little wider so he could fit behind it. We sat next to each other, and having a warm shoulder against mine was a great improvement. I hoped Yar would stay for a while.
These mountains are tough driving, I said.
Very tough, he answered. He tucked his chin into his jacket. His graying curls fell from under his wool cap, blown back by the wind.
Do you think we’ll arrive in Gomal tomorrow? I asked.
Of course, he muttered into his collar.
What if tomorrow’s driving is worse than today’s?
Yar lifted his head from his jacket: We’ll make it.
How can you be sure?
Yar looked as though I’d asked how he could be certain that the unseen wind whipping across the ridge was real. He gazed south to the carpet of mountains we’d cross tomorrow. I trust Commander Sabir, he said as if in a prayer. He will get us there. Then he pushed himself from the wall and held my eyes with his. He added: This will be my fourth fighting season with him. I know him. It is because I know him that I trust him. I trust him with my life. Yar settled next to the wall again. He leaned heavily against it. His thick arms warmly pushed against mine. He asked: What do you know?
I said nothing.
Commander Sabir’s brother used to lead the Special Lashkar. Did you know this? he asked, wanting an answer.
No, I didn’t.
Yes, many years ago, he said. Only the old hands like me remember. Commander Sabir’s brother was Jazeem, but the Americans called him James. They gave him the money to start the Special Lashkar.
I smiled, thinking of an Afghan commander named James.
Is there something about my friend that amuses you? he asked.
The grin swept from my face.
This one was a fearsome fighter, said Yar. Perhaps too much so. He was killed in an ambush not far from here.
What happened? I asked, my voice solemn.
At that time, he said, the militants fought under the Haqqani banner, led by a man named Hafez, a ruthless spizoe, son of a bitch. In Pirkowti, a half day south of Gomal, the spingaris refused to support Hafez and his fighters with food, water, and shelter. Hafez took his men into the mountains around the village. From there they fired mortar barrage after mortar barrage among the homes. This leveled Pirkowti and killed many. The cowards refused to stop unless the spingaris took a vote in the shura to give them the shelter they wanted. The spingaris understood nang. They wouldn’t hand over their homes to this dog so they asked Commander James for help. Commander James also understood nang and we went to Pirkowti’s defense. But it was a ploy. Along the north road Hafez laid an ambush. First there was a mine. The front truck flipped over and trapped two soldiers inside while it burned. Hafez’s fighters pinned us down, firing from the high ridgelines with rifles and RPGs. Commander James
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