I posted some photos from Iraq yesterday and explained why in the piece here. Below, is the second set I wanted to post. These six photos were all taken during Operation Anaconda in March 2002, from the high ground overlooking Afghanistan’s Shah-e-Kot Valley. It’s been nearly seven years since it happened, so if you’re not immediately familiar with the battle, this is the one where Navy SEAL Neil Roberts fell out of the helicopter, and where seven other Americans were also killed in action. It was the first major ground engagement involving conventional forces after 9/11.
Because there were a number of post-9/11 "firsts" in the Shah-e-Kot Valley, operationally speaking, nothing went right during the first three days of fighting. And it became only marginally better over the next week. Aside from run-of-the-mill miscommunications (or non-communications) between the Army, Navy, Air Force, and Marines, units inserted into wrong locations, friendly fire incidents were happening like it was cool, and no one could breathe at 9,500 feet above sea level (or feel their hands in the sub-freezing temperatures). And to top it all off, it started snowing. What saved the U.S.-led operation from utter catastrophe were the efforts of individual combatants and leaders--something that's not very new in the history of fighting.
"A man's got to know his limitations."
I was 23 years old when I led a rifle platoon into the Shah-e-Kot Valley. And while I was prepared for combat to some extent, no one ever tells you what massive bombing several hundred yards away looks or feels like. And that’s what we were witnessing when we first approached our blocking position. The photo above, captured by Specialist James Taylor (I photoshopped this one, but took the rest) depicts one of my soldiers watching one of the strikes. This is how I later described our first night during the fighting:
My first thought was: That’s a big fucking mountain. My second was: It’s on fire. There were trees with branches burning all along the north face of Takhur Gar. I’m not sure if Captain K. consciously decided to stop, was ordered to stop, or just did it instinctively, but we did. I took a knee with Taylor at my side. Just then a bomb hit the side of the mountain, lighting up the entire sky.
I had never before seen anything like that. I had never witnessed a shot fired in anger, much less, a bomb fall on people. When the bomb hit, the sound was deafening. It made the air vibrate. For the split second in which the mountainside was alight from the explosion, I could see trees swaying from the shockwave. I could see embers blowing off branches and into the snow. Kneeling, I watched as two more bombs struck the mountain in quick succession, causing the same set of effects. It was then that I noticed Sergeant Collins had moved forward from the back of the column. He was kneeling next to me. When he saw me looking at him through my night vision, he pointed to the mountain. Then he whispered, measuring out each word carefully, "A man’s got to know his limitations."
Incoming
This is my platoon taking up positions on our first full day in the valley. The cloud you see is actually a bomb exploding. And, like I said, there was an overabundance of friendly fire during Operation Anaconda which, fortunately, resulted in only one death. By "overabundance," I mean that only minutes after I took the photo above, we took a direct hit from a 2,000-lb. bomb dropped by an American F-16. I heard it coming in first, and then saw it falling in the split-second before it hit. By the grace of God or sheer dumb luck, the bomb malfunctioned and failed to detonate on impact. It was a pretty significant emotional event for me and everybody else in the platoon.
Whale's Back
It might be hard to distinguish, but in this photo, you can see two of my soldiers in an observation post overlooking the Shah-e-Kot Valley below. At the instant I snapped the photo, across the valley, on the ridgeline known as the "Whale" or the "Whale’s Back," a U.S. bomb impacted and detonated. Taliban and al Qaeda fighters were in the valley, dug into the Whale, and just to our south, dug in on the big mountain, Takhur Gar.
Laying Low
For the first few days we were involved in the operation, the aerial attacks were non-stop. And when they did stop, we filled the gap by launching mortar rounds ourselves. This is two of my guys watching yet another strike.
Afghan Winter
Like the sandstorm that eventually ground the Iraq invasion to a halt in March 2003, Operation Anaconda took a tactical pause when snow blanketed the battlefield. It got really uncomfortable, really fast. That's a handful of my soldiers shifting positions.
By dusk it was snowing on our own ridgeline. It started with big, fat flakes, before turning to the more plentiful small ones. It snowed without respite for the duration of the night. The guys on watch had it the worst--they had to sit up on the high ground with no cover against the wind. Those of us in the low ground fared little better, with no shelter and few sleeping bags.
Chattering Teeth
Miserably cold.
Around three in the morning, with teeth working like little off-white jackhammers, I give up on trying to rest. I start pacing in small circles on the rocky, snow-covered, and now muddy ground. I notice that this has become the first quiet night of the operation. There is no crackle of machine-gun fire in the distance; there is no Spectre gunship on station searching for enemy positions with its infrared beam. All has gone silent in the snowfall.
A few minutes later Sergeant Pascoe joins me. He is doing the same thing. It is simply too cold to sleep or even to sit still. We stand there conversing in whispers until the sky begins to lighten. We talk for several hours, though now I can’t recall a word that was said.
We are technically in combat, but in reality we are just two shivering guys standing on a mountain, talking about life and wondering if it will end soon.
This all seems like a dream to me now.
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