on the ground. I point my weapon at the ground, but brace my right hand on the pistol grip. I hope the door stays closed.
I hear a faint rustling on the other side, and suddenly the door opens violently. I feel each hair on my neck stand up and I raise my weapon, take off the safety, and flash my Maglite. This movement takes less than a second. I need to decide instantly if the man who is now illuminated is a threat.
“
Wadraga!
Stop!” I yell.
The man in my sights is old. He wears baby-blue man jammies (I’m not even sure what else to call them; they look like pyjamas) and a white turban. He has a look of utter terror on his face. Baby-blue is a good thing; different tribes wear different colours, almost like a uniform. Blue clothing is usually worn by a tribe that seems relatively friendly to us. Baby-blue, white, and brown are good; black is bad. The terrified look on his face and the fact that he recoiled from me instantly are also good signs. Luckily our terp, Peter, is standing right behind me. He says a few words in Pashto, and the man quickly closes the door. I can hear the metal bolt slam shut.
“What did he say?” I ask.
“He say he is going for ablutions for prayers. I tell him, Go back inside and stay for the rest of night.”
I haven’t encountered a Taliban suicide bomber; I’ve encountered an old man who didn’t hear us moving through his village andpicked a poor time to walk out his front door. The Maglite attached to my weapon is the brightest flashlight I have ever seen. When he opened the door, it must have looked like the afterlife was waiting for him.
I turn off my Maglite and take my finger off the trigger. I am surprised at how close I was to killing this man. In that brief, terrifying second I felt reassured by the unaccustomed feeling of hard metal on my forefinger. From my first day in the army, I have been trained never to put my finger on the trigger unless I intend to clear or fire the weapon. Overseas, I carry my weapon almost everywhere; it is never farther than 10 metres away from me. In Sperwan Ghar, I often go whole weeks without putting my finger on the trigger. For the most part it is a weighty burden; but in one second it metamorphosed into the weapon that it was designed to be. I feel powerful, and nervous. I am glad we are moving on.
I feel bad for that man and the few more grey hairs I’ve given him. I also feel better about how I might respond in a stressful situation. I had been 100 percent prepared to pull the trigger if he had been armed. I walk with my head held a little higher.
The adrenalin surge engendered by my little encounter stays with me as I continue to walk. I feel attuned to the night; I feel that I can do anything. We stop beside the wadi and sit down while our lead call sign figures out the best route. From across the wadi I hear a sound that makes me bring my weapon up again.
“
Allahu Akbar! Allahu Akbar!
”
Men are yelling “God is great!” from the other side of the wadi. I flip down my NVG and turn it on. I see a few guys lying prostrate on the ground.
It’s on now
, I think. I watch them further; nothing happens. I don’t see any weapons.
“Peter, what the fuck is going on?”
“They’re praying; it’s that time of day.”
Christ! That’s two separate groups of people I’ve almost lit upin the span of 15 minutes. My hands shake; I’ve got to get better control of my nerves.
Afghanistan is an eerie place at night. It is pitch dark and perfectly silent now; the only sound comes from the flowing wadi. We try to avoid using our NVG, as it is better to preserve good night vision. The patrol is beginning to take on a quixotic quality.
We are on our feet and walking again, faster now as the patrol hits its stride. We stick to the road until we are outside the village, and I struggle to keep up. The weight on my back is more noticeable now, and sweat begins to drip from under my helmet. We have left the hard pack and are following
I hear a faint rustling on the other side, and suddenly the door opens violently. I feel each hair on my neck stand up and I raise my weapon, take off the safety, and flash my Maglite. This movement takes less than a second. I need to decide instantly if the man who is now illuminated is a threat.
“
Wadraga!
Stop!” I yell.
The man in my sights is old. He wears baby-blue man jammies (I’m not even sure what else to call them; they look like pyjamas) and a white turban. He has a look of utter terror on his face. Baby-blue is a good thing; different tribes wear different colours, almost like a uniform. Blue clothing is usually worn by a tribe that seems relatively friendly to us. Baby-blue, white, and brown are good; black is bad. The terrified look on his face and the fact that he recoiled from me instantly are also good signs. Luckily our terp, Peter, is standing right behind me. He says a few words in Pashto, and the man quickly closes the door. I can hear the metal bolt slam shut.
“What did he say?” I ask.
“He say he is going for ablutions for prayers. I tell him, Go back inside and stay for the rest of night.”
I haven’t encountered a Taliban suicide bomber; I’ve encountered an old man who didn’t hear us moving through his village andpicked a poor time to walk out his front door. The Maglite attached to my weapon is the brightest flashlight I have ever seen. When he opened the door, it must have looked like the afterlife was waiting for him.
I turn off my Maglite and take my finger off the trigger. I am surprised at how close I was to killing this man. In that brief, terrifying second I felt reassured by the unaccustomed feeling of hard metal on my forefinger. From my first day in the army, I have been trained never to put my finger on the trigger unless I intend to clear or fire the weapon. Overseas, I carry my weapon almost everywhere; it is never farther than 10 metres away from me. In Sperwan Ghar, I often go whole weeks without putting my finger on the trigger. For the most part it is a weighty burden; but in one second it metamorphosed into the weapon that it was designed to be. I feel powerful, and nervous. I am glad we are moving on.
I feel bad for that man and the few more grey hairs I’ve given him. I also feel better about how I might respond in a stressful situation. I had been 100 percent prepared to pull the trigger if he had been armed. I walk with my head held a little higher.
The adrenalin surge engendered by my little encounter stays with me as I continue to walk. I feel attuned to the night; I feel that I can do anything. We stop beside the wadi and sit down while our lead call sign figures out the best route. From across the wadi I hear a sound that makes me bring my weapon up again.
“
Allahu Akbar! Allahu Akbar!
”
Men are yelling “God is great!” from the other side of the wadi. I flip down my NVG and turn it on. I see a few guys lying prostrate on the ground.
It’s on now
, I think. I watch them further; nothing happens. I don’t see any weapons.
“Peter, what the fuck is going on?”
“They’re praying; it’s that time of day.”
Christ! That’s two separate groups of people I’ve almost lit upin the span of 15 minutes. My hands shake; I’ve got to get better control of my nerves.
Afghanistan is an eerie place at night. It is pitch dark and perfectly silent now; the only sound comes from the flowing wadi. We try to avoid using our NVG, as it is better to preserve good night vision. The patrol is beginning to take on a quixotic quality.
We are on our feet and walking again, faster now as the patrol hits its stride. We stick to the road until we are outside the village, and I struggle to keep up. The weight on my back is more noticeable now, and sweat begins to drip from under my helmet. We have left the hard pack and are following
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