A Journey (63 page)

Roberts gave one incredible account of how, as they prepared to storm a redoubt of the mutiny, there was a fierce argument among the soldiers, as to who should have the honour of going first into the breach that the artillery would make in the city wall. To go first was certain death. But the competition to do it was, for all that, intense. Eventually, to their great delight, the argument was won by Scots Highlanders. Duly they went in first; duly they died. But how the pride of their regiment swelled at the endeavour.

In these diaries, Afghanistan was regarded differently: more bleak, more savage, more ungovernable. As the Russians discovered a hundred years later, the country had its own way.

So I had committed us; but I did so knowing that war is unpredictable, and in Afghanistan especially so. Partly as a result of this, I thought it essential that the battle we were about to embark upon was not simply a war to punish. It had to liberate. Yes, the cause was the attack on the Twin Towers, but once the engagement began, it couldn’t just be a retaliation, a reprisal, a redress of a wrong done to us. It had to be of bigger reach, intent and purport. Precisely because this struggle was connected with an ideology that was not confined to Afghanistan – indeed had been imported into Afghanistan – the ambition had to be greater. All this would add to the weight of it and the responsibility to see it through.

Overnight on 20 September we flew into Brussels for an emergency European Council the next day. I had deliberately decided to go to the US before the Council met, so that when I arrived I could speak directly of what I had seen and experienced in New York and Washington. Europe had stayed very strongly behind the US, but now when we came to the point of action, you could never be sure. In the event the Council went well, and came out with a satisfactory statement unifying people in condemnation and recognising the need for action. The memory of the events was still uppermost in the minds of politicians and public alike; the news was more or less given over to it and would remain so for several weeks as more details emerged, the human stories of tragedy, sacrifice, suffering and heroism became clear, and the implications were analysed and sunk in.

Those implications were vast. If the terrorists could have killed more, they would have. If instead of 3,000 it had been 30,000, they would have rejoiced. For world leaders wondering and worrying where the next hostility would come from, the contemplation not only of what had happened but what might happen was continuous, urgent and nerve-racking.

In those initial days, even before the war began, and long before Iraq was on the agenda, certain thoughts crystallised and became decisions. One I have described: that this could not be a battle fought on the ideological low ground; it had to be fought on the high ground – our values versus theirs. The goal was not simply to remove the Taliban but to replace them with democracy, to rebuild the country. This was not just a matter of idealism, it was also about understanding why Afghanistan had become a failed state, why it had become a breeding ground for terror, why it had descended into this horrible, cruel mix of anarchy and despotism. Like it or not, from then on, we were in the business of nation-building.

Second, the prospect of any such group, or a state which sympathised with them or shared a similar outlook, obtaining nuclear, chemical or biological weapons – the so-called WMD trinity – was unthinkable. If they got hold of them, there could be little doubt on the evidence of September 11 that they would use them. Indeed, in the days following the attack, anthrax was sent to top Congress, White House and other officials, and the news was full of alarm at the possibility of some form of chemical attack. It was obvious to me that our attitude towards the trade, transfer and development of such weapons had to be of a wholly different kind. A new signal had to be sent out, a new urgency established in order to make it clear that such a possibility constituted a direct threat to our society.

This was immediately plain, not least out in the Middle East. The issue of Saddam and his ten-year obstruction of weapons inspection was not upfront, but from then on, it was there in the background. There was no decision at that point as to how to deal with him; nevertheless, that he had to be confronted, brought into line or removed was, on any deeper analysis, fairly obvious.

Third, how could such an attack have been planned, developed, supervised and executed without a hint of anyone knowing? If such a plot could be hatched in the USA, where else could similar plots be taking place? From this point on, it seemed to me that the balance in civil liberties between protecting the rights of the suspect and protecting the rights of the citizen had changed. Of course care had to be exercised, and as a lawyer I was only too well aware of the risks of jeopardising our way of life in the name of safeguarding it; but once September 11 had demonstrated this terrorism’s capacity and intent, governments round the world – especially those closely allied to the US – saw the need to take new measures of security and perhaps a new approach to it.

All of these decisions – taken certainly with contemporaneous support and understanding – were to have far-reaching consequences for the future of both the country and the government. We felt we had been attacked. But more than that: we felt we had been warned.

As I got back to Chequers late on Friday 21 September, I was tired yet also galvanised. If I could have seen into the future, I would also have been deeply disturbed.

The next weeks were spent in a frantic but essentially well-organised process to put together the military operation to remove the Taliban, and the reconstruction plan for Afghanistan.

Despite the pressure, George was determined not to rush – ‘I don’t want a $10 million missile hitting a $10 tent just for effect,’ he remarked memorably. He agreed to an ultimatum to the Taliban, so that people could see we had offered a way out if they chose to take it. But it was clear they wouldn’t take it.

I was writing regular notes to him, raising issues, prompting his system and mine: humanitarian aid; political alliances, including in particular how we co-opted the Northern Alliance (the anti-Taliban coalition) without giving the leadership of the country over to them; economic development; reconciliation in the aftermath of a hopefully successful military operation. Above all, I was globetrotting – to the Middle East, Pakistan, Russia – trying to ensure that we kept the support we had. I wrote a personal, private note to my own staff and senior officials, setting out how we needed to get all parts of the system, ours and the Americans’, better coordinated.

The UN under Kofi Annan’s guidance was being helpful and from the outset I was determined that they should help take the strain of the politics. Fortunately, in Lakhdar Brahimi they had a sensible interlocutor with the Afghans, one who was experienced and savvy.

The meetings abroad went well too. I visited President Putin. At this point, we remained strong allies. He and I sat in a small anteroom in the Kremlin. I always thought how difficult it was to position Moscow culturally. St Petersburg was clearly European, but Moscow was to itself, unplaceable in a broader context, even unfathomable, but impressive in a somewhat intimidating way.

Putin was anxious to help. Through Chechnya he knew the influence of this extremism. He saw a common link between all these different arenas of struggle. Back then, also, he saw the possibility of Russian renaissance and a resurgence of Russian power as compatible with, or even furthered by, being allied to the US. It was one of my regrets that we never got together a proper strategy for allowing him to fulfil that ambition with us, as opposed to what eventually happened, which was an attempt to fulfil it in contradistinction to us. Maybe that was always a fond hope. He and George got on well personally, but Vladimir thought the Americans treated him and Russia with insufficient respect or consequence, and as time wore on he decided to pitch Russia to the international community as the country willing to stand up to America. In Iraq, he found an issue upon which such a role could be played, and he played it with his customary vigour. We should have made greater efforts; in particular, the Americans tended to underestimate him, and that was never a good idea.

Nonetheless, in late 2001, we sat and conspired on what we could do to ensure that the former Soviet satellite countries ringing Afghanistan would be supportive or compliant in respect of any action to come. At one moment, he even suggested we fly together that night to Tajikistan to lobby its president personally, a notion I adored, but which my travelling staff quailed at.

President Musharraf of Pakistan was in a difficult position: his government had worked with the Taliban government; the borders between Afghanistan and Pakistan were porous; the tribal and political links were strong, yet he was an ally of ourselves and the US, of course.

On 5 October, we flew in on an RAF plane equipped with special anti-missile devices. I had thought it somewhat of an overreaction, until the moment we began our descent into the airfield. The plane circled sharply, spiralling down in a careful manoeuvre, and as we landed and the rubber squeaked on the tarmac, the crew burst into applause. They were plainly relieved. As we drove in from the airport to Islamabad, I saw roads and streets shut down, but lined nonetheless with large crowds standing up on the embankments, the men in white robes, the women usually veiled, staring, with neither enmity nor friendship obvious.

I was ushered into Musharraf’s study in the Presidential Palace. All through the meeting a bodyguard hovered near the door, coming in and standing over us each time the servants brought in tea or refreshments. Musharraf himself was clear in his condemnation of the Taliban and in his offer of help and support. He knew the attack had changed everything. He told me something I reflected upon a good deal in later years: in the 1970s General Zia had made the fatal error of linking Pakistani nationalism to devout Islam, in the course of which he had adopted the manner of a religious as well as a political and military leader, proudly showing the mark on his forehead from being pressed to the ground in prayer. The connection between the two, Musharraf explained, had furthered radicalism in the country, heightened the issue of Kashmir and made reconciliation with India harder.

‘Surely,’ I said, ‘economic development is the key challenge for Pakistan.’

‘Of course,’ he said, ‘but the reality is today Pakistani politics is about nuclear weapons and Kashmir.’

‘What can we do to help?’ I asked, expecting an answer to do with aid or India.

‘Do Palestine,’ he immediately shot back. ‘That would help.’

I came away pleased with his support, but uneasy at how clearly he felt the ultimate success of the mission was in the balance.

On all these visits I had the full inner team with me. I also had the enormous benefit of Sir David Manning, who had become my chief foreign affairs adviser and who had been in the US at the time of the September 11 attacks. I had by this time already beefed up the centre of Downing Street and I now had the redoubtable Stephen Wall as the European adviser. They were both examples of the best types of mandarin. David was cool, calm, very good under pressure, and creative too, always ready with a strategy to resolve an impasse. Over these months, he was a titan in the team, truly invaluable. Stephen was very professional and proficient, of course; but underneath you could tell he was a riot of strong emotions, opinions and insights which he longed to have you seize upon and implement. Some you could, some you couldn’t. But grey, he wasn’t; and I liked that.

Meanwhile, on 7 October the military campaign started. It was largely a bombing campaign, with limited boots on the ground. The Northern Alliance were also advancing. We had identified four core objectives: deny al-Qaeda its Afghan base; deny them an alternative base outside Afghanistan; attack them internationally; support other states in their efforts against them.

From the first attacks in October 2001, the UK was involved alongside coalition forces led by the US under Operation Enduring Freedom (OEF). Royal Navy submarines fired Tomahawk missiles against the Taliban and al-Qaeda networks, and RAF aircraft provided reconnaissance and air-to-air refuelling capabilities in support of US strike aircraft. The US flew missions from Diego Garcia, part of the British Indian Ocean Territory, under permission from the UK government.

UK troops were first deployed in November 2001, when Royal Marines from 40 Commando helped to secure the airfield at Bagram. A 1,700-strong battle group based around 45 Commando was subsequently deployed as Task Force JACANA. Their role was to deny and destroy terrorist infrastructure and interdict the movement of al-Qaeda in eastern Afghanistan. In several major operations, Task Force JACANA destroyed a number of bunkers and caves, and it also provided humanitarian assistance in areas previously dominated by the Taliban and al-Qaeda. It withdrew in July 2002.

The International Security Assistance Force (ISAF), which aimed to assist the Afghan Transitional Authority in creating and maintaining a safe and secure environment in Kabul and its surrounding area, was created in December 2001 in negotiations led by the British, authorised by United Nations Security Council Resolution (UNSCR) 1386 and successive resolutions (the latest of which is UNSCR 1776 of 2007). Major General John McColl led the first ISAF mission with contributions from sixteen nations. As well as providing the headquarters and much of the supporting forces for the ISAF, the UK contributed the brigade headquarters and an infantry battalion. Our contribution initially peaked at 2,100 troops, later decreasing to around 300 personnel after the transfer of ISAF leadership to Turkey in the summer of 2002.