FROM THE BOOK "THE WATCH"
CAPTAIN'S DIARY
PAGES 266-271
0545
A little before 0600, I summon the officers for a meeting.
Whalen's first in, followed by Ellison, then Bradford and Tanner,
and, finally, Petrak as the last entrant. I begin by telling them
about the new officers who'll be arriving today. Lieutenant Dan
Lafay ette will be the unit's newly appointed Executive Officer,
Lieutenant Stuart Sutherland will be Lieutenant Frobenius's
replacement as First Platoon's leader, with Staff Sergeant Randy
Mejia in for Staff Sergeant Espinosa, and Corporal Marty
Holmstrom taking over the motor pool.
I pause for questions, then continue:
But that isn't the only reason I called you here this bright and
early. Following up on my promise to the First Sarn't yesterday,
I put in a call to Battalion to ask for more information on our
dead insur gent, and Lieutenant-Colonel Lautenschlager got back
to me this morning. We've learned two things. First, she spoke
the truth about her brother not being allied with the Taliban.
Turns out they come from one of the few Pashtun mountain tribes
who hate the hadjis and were able to keep them at bay during
their glory days. So that part of her story holds up. However,
our local intelligence contacts could come up with nothing to
support her story about whether she did indeed make the trip to
Tarsandan on her own, as she claims, or was brought here by other
parties. What we do know, as a result of the drone that's been
assessing the area, is that there are no-repeat, noAnti-Afghan
Forces visible on the slopes facing us. Based on that evidence,
it would appear that the girl really is on her own.
There's a rush of exhaled air around the circle.
So we can bring her in for a medical examination, Sir? Whalen
asks.
Yes, we can. Have Doc set it up.
Suddenly Ellison leans forward: Is there anything to support her
claims about the drone strike that took out her family?
Not exactly, I reply. There is a report of a Predator strike in
one of the mountain valleys about six months ago, but we've no
information that it struck a wedding party. As far as we're
concerned, we targeted, and successfully eliminated, a band of
insurgents.
Who were our informants in the Predator attack? Whalen asks.
Locals in the Arghandab River Valley with tribal connections to
the governor of Kandahar province. They're part of our extended
intelligence network run out of KAF.
You must mean our big black hole in the sky, Sir, Tanner
wisecracks.
I'll ask you for your opinion when I want it, Sergeant, I say
curtly. Wasn't there a report some time ago about a running feud
between the governor and the mountain tribes? Whalen asks.
There might have been. I don't remember, and I don't think it
particularly matters. If there is a feud, it's business as usual,
because they're always fighting each other. They're all as crazy
But it might be important in this case, Sir. I clear my throat.
What is this, First Sarn't? CSI Kandahar?
I'm just asking, Sir.
Yeah? You going somewhere with your questions?
I'm trying to find out if the governor might have set us up to
conveniently remove an important local rival. It's been known to
happen. Bradford gives a low whistle. Ellison leans back and
bites his lip. In other words, we might have got played, Bradford
says.
No, we didn't get played, I say sharply. Our actions are
determined by the intelligence we have on hand, not on wild
surmises-and that intelligence was provided by the governor who's
part of the present regime. The regime that we support, I might
add. My answer seems to satisfy no one. I notice Bradford
avoiding my eyes. Then Tanner says dolefully: Will someone please
tell me who the good guys are?
I look at him with narrowed eyes for a moment before leaning
abruptly over my desk and letting them all have it. What is this,
I explode, a pity party? What the hell is eating you guys? May I
remind you that, Taliban or not Taliban, the stacked us, and
that's the bottom line!
But don't you think he might have attacked us precisely because
his people got whacked, Sir? Ellison persists.
I don't know, Lieutenant. I think that's a pointless question. I
only ask because that's what the girl alleged, Sir ...
Suddenly, Sergeant Petrak asks: What's the nearest U.S. base to
her tribe?
We are, Ellison replies before I can.
His answer hangs heavily in the air. No one else says anything.
The silence in the but is awkward and prolonged.
Then Whalen says pensively, almost as if he's speaking to
himself: If the guy isn't Taliban, does that mean we can give her
back his body? I fold my arms over my chest. What d'you mean?
Surely, now that we know she's here on her own, Sir, there's no
doubting the genuineness of her claim. I mean, all she wants to
do is to bury the damn body. Couldn't we just send Battalion some
photographs and be done with it?
I look at him with exasperation. Battalion isn't calling the
shots on this one, I reply. It goes much higher up the chain of
command. Nor is the issue whether or not the guy's Taliban. What
matters is that he's an insurgent who led an attack on a U.S.
Army base. That's why the regime wants to display the body: they
want to send a clear message of potency to both their
constituents and their opponents. They're saying to the Taliban:
You with us and you end up like this poor bastard-and we won't be
making any more mistaken claims based on fraudulent photographs
from this point on.
But the facts themselves in this case are fraudulent if he isn't
Taliban! Ellison protests.
It doesn't matter, I answer. Besides, for the regime to cancel at
this stage would mean a loss of face. The details are irrelevant
to them.
But are they irrelevant to us? Ellison exclaims. I mean, where's
our integrity? Who the ...! we working for?
Lieutenant! I look at him in surprise.
With all due respect, Sir, he carries on, is the U.S. Army an
independent entity, or are we simply handmaids to a government
that everybody and their mother knows has compromised our mission
from the get-go?
This guy attacked us! I reply heatedly. His people killed our
people. I could hardly care less about what they do with his
corpse!
So we're following the enemy's playbook where that's concerned,
Sir?
I open my mouth and close it again. At length, all I can say is:
I'm going to pretend I didn't hear you, Lieutenant.
Bradford clears his throat and eyes me uneasily. Sorry, Sir, but
I'm with the lieutenant on this, he says.
Let me repeat myself, I say coldly. He's not our problem. He's
dead.
So we're letting the regime's SOP trump ours, Sir? In this case,
it doesn't ...! matter, okay?
I'm not sure I understand why, Sir.
Petrak cuts in: I agree. I don't understand either. Then he
addresses me directly: Why are we here, Sir? Whalen speaks up in
my stead. His voice is curiously flat. He says: We're here
because we have a mission to carry out. All right, Ellison says.
What's the mission?
To support the government in Kabul, I reply.
But we know they're crooks! They stole the election. And they're
as ...! up as the Taliban!
Maybe, but if the Taliban return to power, you can be damn sure
they'll make the present bunch seem like a school of
philosophers.
So that's the standard we're using now, Sir? The Taliban?
We don't make those judgments, Lieutenant, I say icily. They're
made for us. That's why we have diplomats. Our job is to fight
the enemy, clean up, and clear out. I thought that was pretty
clear. Apparently, I was mistaken. We don't do politics, and,
beyond a certain point, we don't get involved in these people's
lives. The boundaries of our actions are clearly defined.
Ellison swivels his entire body in disagreement as he remarks:
With all due respect, Sir, the boundaries of our actions are
leading to our losing good men to save the asses of a bunch of
mofos in Kabul who're making out like they're on Wall Street.
I'm about to respond angrily, when Masood, the interpreter,
bursts in.
I look at him in surprise.
Comandan Saab, he blurts out, Nizam has killed a lamb in your
honor! She would like you to have it. Please come out to the
field to accept it from her.
I try to check myself, but it's no use. What the can't just barge
in like this!
He seems to physically shrivel into himself, but before I
him to clear out, Ellison says calmly, as if there had been no
interruption: If we can't return the body, then what are we to do
with the girl? What ... ? I say, still glaring at Masood.
I was wondering if you had a plan concerning the girl, Sir.
I turn away from the interpreter and force myself to answer the
question calmly: Battalion's received permission from Brigade to
move her out of here. They're gonna shift her to a sanatorium in
Kandahar.
At this point, there's a wordless exclamation from Masood, but
Whalen, to his credit, grasps him firmly by the arm and escorts
him out of the hut. We hear him going ballistic at Masood, and
before long he returns without the interpreter.
What the hell's the matter with him? I ask furiously. Has he
totally lost it? What makes him think he has unfettered access to
my office? And what was that crap about sheep anyway?
I can explain, Sir, Petrak volunteers. The field is covered with
sheep. They seem to have wandered down from the mountains we're
keeping an eye out, but I didn't know the girl had killed a lamb.
What am I supposed to do with a lamb? And how did she kill it?
With her bare teeth?
I don't know, Sir.
......
To be continued
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