Read Online The Dogs Are Eating Them Now: Our War in Afghanistan by Graeme Smith - Free Book Online
Authors: Graeme Smith
Ads: Link
didn’t show up to fight, so I literally spent two days playing rummy, eating rations, listening to BBC podcasts and challenging the guys to rock-throwing contests where we tried to hit a cardboard box from thirty metres away. I got pretty good after, oh, five or six hours of practice. One thing I’ve learned about soldiers is they make boredom into an art.
This was the first battle group of Canadian soldiers to arrive in southern Afghanistan, and most of the soldiers remained upbeat even as they realized their task was going to be harder than expected. It was only as we drove back to Kandahar Air Field that I heard the first whispers of skepticism. I was riding in a G Wagon jeep for the first time since I visited in April; commanders had declared the jeeps too dangerous for civilians but we were breaking the rules because the soldiers were tired and battle-jaded. I was chatting with the driver, talking about how the fighting seemed to be unrelenting. He compared the situation to a Bugs Bunny cartoon: “You know, the ones with the coyote and the sheep dog, and it’s always the same thing in the end: ‘See you tomorrow, Sam.’ ” We both stared out into the night, watching mud compounds flash past, driving at maximum speed in hopes that whoever was watching our vehicle wouldn’trecognize us as a convoy, and wouldn’t have time to attack until we’d already passed. I couldn’t see the driver’s eyes but his voice sounded far away. “See you tomorrow, Sam,” he said.
Panjwai district lost its status as a success story, but many officers still pointed to the nearby province of Zabul as a sign of hope. It had been considered a Taliban stronghold just two years earlier, and was the first province where insurgents felt confident enough to formally declare a shadow government. (Shadow administrations would later emerge across the country, as the Taliban influence grew.) By the time I arrived in 2006, the Americans believed they had rolled back the insurgents. Diplomats talked about the province as a place that had clearly benefitted from the presence of US troops, and military intelligence considered it the most secure province in southern Afghanistan. Some NATO officers pushed the idea of Zabul as a model because the American operations involved putting millions of dollars in the hands of military units in the field to spend on development and aid projects. This was different from the British and Canadian approach, which funnelled most aid money through notoriously slow-moving civilian agencies. The military was eager to show off its prized accomplishment; days after I mentioned an interest, the press officers arranged a US helicopter to whisk me off to Zabul. I almost got stranded in the desert when the big aircraft dumped a load of supplies at a remote outpost, but I scrambled back aboard in time to catch the second leg of the journey to the capital city, Qalat. Soon after arriving at the small Provincial Reconstruction Team headquarters, I bumped into an energetic man named Lieutenant-Colonel Kevin McGlaughlin, who insisted I call him “Beev.” He was commander of the PRT, but seemed to treat everybody like a drinking buddy. “Throw your stuff in a corner and jump in,” he yelled, and I found myself being chauffeured around in a Humvee by the man most responsible for Qalat’s recent make-over. It’s an ancient city near a crumbling fortress, but the recent American presence had graced the settlement with modern updates: roads, wells, schools,bridges, and buildings. Beev was a whirlwind, jogging through half-finished structures and construction sites while keeping up a patter of commentary. He cheerfully admitted that he was trained as a B-52 bomber pilot—more qualified to destroy cities than build them—but he had embraced the urban planning aspect of his new job with the charming can-do attitude of military officers. He was the sort of character who horrified those versed in development studies, who were
This was the first battle group of Canadian soldiers to arrive in southern Afghanistan, and most of the soldiers remained upbeat even as they realized their task was going to be harder than expected. It was only as we drove back to Kandahar Air Field that I heard the first whispers of skepticism. I was riding in a G Wagon jeep for the first time since I visited in April; commanders had declared the jeeps too dangerous for civilians but we were breaking the rules because the soldiers were tired and battle-jaded. I was chatting with the driver, talking about how the fighting seemed to be unrelenting. He compared the situation to a Bugs Bunny cartoon: “You know, the ones with the coyote and the sheep dog, and it’s always the same thing in the end: ‘See you tomorrow, Sam.’ ” We both stared out into the night, watching mud compounds flash past, driving at maximum speed in hopes that whoever was watching our vehicle wouldn’trecognize us as a convoy, and wouldn’t have time to attack until we’d already passed. I couldn’t see the driver’s eyes but his voice sounded far away. “See you tomorrow, Sam,” he said.
Panjwai district lost its status as a success story, but many officers still pointed to the nearby province of Zabul as a sign of hope. It had been considered a Taliban stronghold just two years earlier, and was the first province where insurgents felt confident enough to formally declare a shadow government. (Shadow administrations would later emerge across the country, as the Taliban influence grew.) By the time I arrived in 2006, the Americans believed they had rolled back the insurgents. Diplomats talked about the province as a place that had clearly benefitted from the presence of US troops, and military intelligence considered it the most secure province in southern Afghanistan. Some NATO officers pushed the idea of Zabul as a model because the American operations involved putting millions of dollars in the hands of military units in the field to spend on development and aid projects. This was different from the British and Canadian approach, which funnelled most aid money through notoriously slow-moving civilian agencies. The military was eager to show off its prized accomplishment; days after I mentioned an interest, the press officers arranged a US helicopter to whisk me off to Zabul. I almost got stranded in the desert when the big aircraft dumped a load of supplies at a remote outpost, but I scrambled back aboard in time to catch the second leg of the journey to the capital city, Qalat. Soon after arriving at the small Provincial Reconstruction Team headquarters, I bumped into an energetic man named Lieutenant-Colonel Kevin McGlaughlin, who insisted I call him “Beev.” He was commander of the PRT, but seemed to treat everybody like a drinking buddy. “Throw your stuff in a corner and jump in,” he yelled, and I found myself being chauffeured around in a Humvee by the man most responsible for Qalat’s recent make-over. It’s an ancient city near a crumbling fortress, but the recent American presence had graced the settlement with modern updates: roads, wells, schools,bridges, and buildings. Beev was a whirlwind, jogging through half-finished structures and construction sites while keeping up a patter of commentary. He cheerfully admitted that he was trained as a B-52 bomber pilot—more qualified to destroy cities than build them—but he had embraced the urban planning aspect of his new job with the charming can-do attitude of military officers. He was the sort of character who horrified those versed in development studies, who were
Similar Books
