cautious Ali once again said he did not think it wise to go farther, now adding the reason that darkness was near.
Zaman, as a further insult to Ali, invited me to ride with him, an offer that I declined. Our convoy crawled south another three hundred meters before Ali decided caution was the better part of valor and stopped his vehicle again. When Zaman saw that in his rearview mirror, he also stopped and came back on foot. Another heated discussion erupted between the two muhj warlords, with Adam Khan refereeing and translating. Ali tried in vain to raise one of his subordinate commanders up ahead over the radio.
“What do you want to do, Dalton?” Adam Khan asked.
Nothing had changed for me. “Tell them I absolutely must get a look at the enemy positions. It’s critical to see what lies ahead. If it will get things going, then I’ll get in with Zaman and link up with you guys later.”
Zaman liked that idea and smiled broadly, which made Ali even more nervous. “The general is deeply worried about getting George and you hurt,” Adam Khan offered. “He believes he will be blamed.”
“Do you
That left Ali as the sole vote against moving up. He didn’t like it, but gave in, and the little convoy headed deeper into the base of the mountains.
Another three hundred meters. Another stop. It was time to ditch those mortar magnets, the vehicles, and continue forward on foot, which neither warlord was keen to do. They finally agreed on something-that it was getting dangerous.
The muhj dismounted and the vehicles were taken around the hill to a position out of the enemy’s view, while we headed for the southern hilltop that overlooked the al Qaeda positions. Zaman and George were to our right and a little below us as Ali, Adam Khan and I climbed on the east side of the approach.
Finally, however, we had reached a worthwhile spot. From a military tactician’s point of view, the terrain to our front was ugly for an attacking force. We had been told that al Qaeda held the advantage of the high ground and assumed they were well positioned to thwart any advance on foot. After seeing it firsthand, all doubts were gone. Numerous positions provided al Qaeda interlocking fields of fire and excellent observation of anyone approaching. For the attackers, plenty of defilade offered respite from direct fire but not from the high angle of mortar rounds. We were about to get proof of that.
As we talked about the enemy dispositions, several of Zaman’s fighters took cover behind some large rocks and others hurried down the hill a bit and went prone. I had heard nothing to warrant such an action, but they had picked up the telltale muffled
Within a few seconds, the mortar rounds came raining down and impacted between our vehicles and where we were standing. The barrage lasted at least two minutes and flung rock, shrapnel, and soil in all directions at blistering speeds. The sound was deafening, and all too personal.
When I looked back, the smack-talking Zaman and all his men had taken cover, but General Ali had not moved. My first inclination was to get my rear end down, but Ali was showing no fear, and stood steady only a few feet from me, which meant I was going to stand firm, too.
A slight smirk was on the general’s face as he stared directly into my eyes. He was at ease, almost as if he had been in this situation many times before. OK, I got it, he was brave, but it seemed crazy not to take cover. We had too much riding on this guy to risk having him shredded by some random mortar round just to show up his rival warlord and the visiting Americans.
Ali heatedly resumed discussing the mortars with Zaman, who was cowering on his knees behind a large rock formation. Several more rounds dropped in and exploded so close by that we were both momentarily knocked off balance, but still remained upright. I couldn’t tell if Ali was still testing me, or if he was simply placing his life in Allah’s hands-a customary gesture expected of a mujahideen commander in battle.
Ali screamed at Zaman, waving his free hand in the air while clutching his radio tightly in the other hand. It was obvious that Ali wanted to leave immediately and probably was telling Zaman that it had been foolish to come this far. Made sense to me.
In beween the impacting of more mortar rounds, the irate general called out, “Look at the vehicles. Who is going to retrieve them?”
Apparently he decided the answer to that question was Adam Khan, who suddenly asked me to hold his AK- 47.
“What the hell are you doing?” I demanded. This was getting silly. Adam Khan, in my mind, was just as important to the mission as General Ali.
“The general asks that I get the vehicle,” he calmly said.
“Whoaaa! Adam Khan, you are way too important to this gig,” I said. “I recommend that you part with a thousand dollars and have one of the muhj go get it.”
Adam Khan shook his head and gave a little smile, knowing better than to take my recommendation. The money was no big deal to me, a Westerner, but offering money to some common soldier to act in a dangerous situation would be regarded as an egregious slight on his courage. Another matter of cultural pride.
General Ali changed his mind and ordered one of his bodyguards to retrieve the vehicle. Deciding to build a little bit on the image that had just been explained, I told the general that I, not Adam Khan, would go along with the young fighter.
We ran around the hilltop toward the vehicles, and two more rounds impacted nearby. I crossed the road and took up an overwatch position with my weapon as the fighter broke for the general’s vehicle. Another round exploded near the trucks, and this blast threw him down like he was sliding into second base to beat the catcher’s throw. Shrapnel had given him a slight wound in the thigh, but he popped back up and hopped forward until he reached the general’s SUV. The explosion had blown out the rear window.
I went back to Adam Khan and Ali and tried to explain the obvious-that it was time to stop arguing and start moving. We were definitely under enemy observation, and they had a bead on our location.
It was crazy. I was talking fast, Adam Khan was translating, mortar rounds were bursting all around, Zaman appeared to be frozen in fear, crouched behind his rock, and General Ali just stood there doing whatever it was that he was doing. The sparring warlords seemed quite content just to yap at each other while the enemy was trying to kill us all. Neither was giving any commands, which left everything at a standstill, not a good move on any active battlefield.
If they would not issue orders, then I would. I told them to move their fighters to the back side of the hill, to our rear, and have them spread out. This would get them out of sight of the al Qaeda OPs. I also said not to worry about the vehicles until it got dark, but as Adam Khan translated this, it was immediately obvious that my suggestion was going to be ignored. Mortars or no mortars, these people wanted their vehicles. They were not walking home.
Having come this far, I decided to get a still better look while the mortars were searching for other targets. As the muhj took off running for safety, General Ali, Adam Khan, and I went the other way, crouched over and moving farther up the hill. We crested it just enough to observe the enemy trenches, and were actually eyeballing the enemy’s forwardmost lines.
We hoped for some signature of a mortar tube firing or to spot any movement of al Qaeda fighters. No luck! Al Qaeda was smart. They didn’t expose themselves. No need to, really, as they knew we were not there to conduct an attack.
Some more mortar rounds looped overhead and impacted behind us and wounded two of Zaman’s fighters, prompting the warlord to shake off his paralysis before pleading with us to leave the battlefield. The idiotic game to see who was the braver of the two was definitely over.
Earlier, Zaman had questioned Ali’s bravery. Now, the shoe was on the other foot. Ali appeared almost comfortable under fire. As Adam Khan translated, I tried to share with the general the concept of creeping mortar fire, but now that Zaman had blinked first, Ali was also ready to leave. We all took off down the hill.
But we were still in range. As soon as we reached the others, another mortar round landed only fifteen meters away with a tremendous roar. This provided good motivation for us to continue another hundred meters or so, when we saw the lime green SUV and the other vehicles, waiting with the engines humming. We jumped into whatever vehicle had room in a classic Keystone Kops free-for-all and the convoy sped north along the narrow dirt road.
In days to come, this area became known as Mortar Hill, because it was a vital piece of terrain that any
