The Circuit (20 page)

I wanted more detail than that – much more. Unlike Iraq, I wasn’t operating as part of a team of security advisers who could convene at the end of each day, compare notes and hone the available intelligence of the operations area. On this assignment, I was working alone. It was my responsibility to make sure Nic got his story safely. If he or his crew got hurt, it would be on my head and no one else’s.

As with most assignments, I began by consulting the available, published intelligence on the areas we’d be operating in. I was spoilt for choice when it came to the quantity of security reports available. The US military, ISAF and the UN all compiled them for distribution to the press and international community. The problem was these reports were, in my view, extremely political, short on useful details and highly sanitized. There was tremendous pressure at the time to promote the idea that Afghanistan’s security was improving. The political leaders who’d sent money and troops to the country had to maintain the perception back home that the resources they’d committed weren’t being squandered.

The locals had a very different opinion of the situation. CNN’s fixer, Hamid, had contacts all over Afghanistan and what he was hearing was a far cry from the rosy picture being painted by the international community. Another useful source was a security report compiled by ANSO, the Afghan NGO Security Organization. The intelligence in the ANSO reports was more reliable than ISAF’s or the coalition’s because it was gathered from Afghan NGO employees working around the country. I also found the BBC website extremely beneficial. The BBC employs ‘stringers’ (part-time, local reporters) all over Afghanistan and their analysis is usually spot on.

A thorough reading of all the material confirmed what I had suspected all along: Afghanistan’s security situation had been in steady decline since 2001.

Having completed my background research, I mapped the route we’d travel to Helmund, compiling a list of the possible dangers we could encounter along the way.

The trip would take us from Kabul to Kandahar city, where we’d overnight, down to Lashkar Gah in Helmund province for two days of filming and then back to Kabul. The five-day trip would require us to travel through six Afghan provinces, each with its own internal problems of warlords, anti-western sentiment, insurgents and banditry. Of all the provinces, however, Helmund was far and away the most troubling. Hamid’s contacts had told him that the Taliban had successfully regrouped there and that al-Qaeda elements were gaining influence as well.

On the plus side, we had a paved road to travel, the A1, all the way to Helmund province (at which point we’d have to revert to dirt tracks and desert roads). Reconstructed with Japanese aid money, the A1 forms a giant ‘U’ running from eastern Afghanistan, down south and due west to the Iranian border. The highway is a commercial lifeline for the country and a point of pride for the international community. Due to its political symbolism and the fact that it runs through so many spheres of influence, warlords tend to keep their hands off the A1 lest they invite a military response from ISAF or a tit-for-tat hit and run from a neighbouring warlord.

In the minus column, the A1 was a magnet for insurgent attacks and all sorts of troublemaking by gangs of thieves. Hamid learned that bandits and insurgents had been luring vehicles off the A1 and into ambushes or minefields by setting up fake detours. Unfortunately, simply ignoring the detour signs wasn’t an option because not all of them were a bluff. Drainage on the highway wasn’t great and a lot of the culverts that ran under it weren’t able to cope with the amount of water running off the mountains. When flash floods hit, which happened frequently during the spring thaw, parts of the road would just wash away.

We would have to assess the detours individually as we encountered them. But in terms of proactive measures, there was plenty we could do to minimize the threat of attack. First, we needed to assemble an armed convoy; one that would be imposing enough to ward off troublemakers but not so imposing as to attract unwanted attention. I decided five vehicles was a must; low-profile Toyota 4x4s that could respond well to difficult road conditions (which we would definitely encounter once we turned off the A1). We couldn’t use armoured vehicles because at the time they weren’t available in Afghanistan. (Today, I wouldn’t dream of driving around Afghanistan in anything less than a B6/7 armoured vehicle.) Armoured vehicles also have disadvantages; they can get bogged down in sand, limiting your options when evading a road attack, and they’re more likely to trigger an anti-tank mine should you be unfortunate enough to drive over one.

I asked Hamid to find us five reliable local drivers and a dozen Afghan guards from different ethnic backgrounds. I insisted upon using a mix because we’d be moving through areas controlled by different and often quarrelling Afghan tribes. Better to be an equal opportunity offender than appear to be taking sides.

To some, twelve guards may sound like overkill. But if our convoy was ambushed we had to have the ability to extricate ourselves. We would be travelling alone without the benefit of military support or the ability to call it in. My experience in the Regiment had taught me that the side with the heaviest and most accurate firepower keeps the opposition’s heads down. Only then do you have a chance to pull back from a bad situation.

When it came to arming our convoy, I wanted nine of the guards to carry AK47s and three of them to have RPDs, Russian-made, belt-fed light machine guns. The mix of weapons was optimal given our circumstances. If we were attacked, in a static situation I could split the guards into three groups, each having the accuracy of three rifles supported by the fire-power of a light machine gun.

As for myself, I’d have my AK in a black canvas bag as a car weapon and my 9 mm hidden around my waist. I also planned to ‘arm’ myself with two cameras; a pocket-sized Cannon digital and a professional Cannon with a 400 mm lens. Photography is a passion of mine but, leisure pursuits aside, both cameras serve a practical purpose in the field. The professional or ‘big’ camera as I call it is an excellent cover. If I don’t want to stick out as ‘the security guy’ I can pass myself off as a journalist with a 400 mm lens in my hand. The titchy little camera also has its uses; taking someone’s picture can be a great ice-breaker.

Once I’d sorted the convoy details, I drafted daily timetables for our movements, bearing in mind that Nic needed some flexibility to film his stories. The first leg of our trip, Kabul to Kandahar, would take approximately eight hours. I wanted us to leave before first light. At the time, Kabul was reasonably benign, from a security standpoint, with only odd targeting of coalition, government and local military personnel (these attacks would step up considerably over the coming years). In my mind, driving in or near Kabul in the dark hours of early morning was preferable to travelling through the less secure areas around Kandahar after sunset.

At three-thirty the morning of our trip, everyone assembled in the grounds of the Kabul Inn. Our party consisted of me, Nic and his crew, Hamid, twelve Afghan guards, five Afghan drivers and two Afghan counter-narcotics officers. I thanked everyone for showing up on time before launching into a brief lecture on the importance of staying awake during our journey. I couldn’t emphasize enough that every set of eyes needed to be open, alert and aware. I couldn’t afford to have even one of the guards waking up from a nap in the middle of a firefight, fumbling around for his weapon. My stay-alert policy extended to Nic and his crew as well. One of the biggest problems I’ve encountered working with the media is getting them to stay awake during journeys. More than one war correspondent has confessed to me that they’d always regarded driving in hostile environments as an opportunity to catch up on their sleep.

After my lecture, I found out which guards and drivers had mechanics experience and distributed them evenly among the vehicles. Next, I assigned each vehicle a specific position and task in the convoy. The ‘order of march’ as it’s known is designed to provide maximum protection to the clients. The first or recce vehicle would travel one to two minutes ahead of everyone else
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to keep an eye out for possible hazards. The second vehicle in the convoy would act as front protection for the third vehicle, where the clients, Nic and his crew, would ride. I positioned myself in the fourth or backing vehicle. That way, if Nic’s vehicle became disabled in any way, I could cross deck him and his crew directly into mine. The fifth and last vehicle in the convoy would secure us from the rear; the guards could provide early warning if we were attacked from behind and put down fast, accurate fire if we got pinned down.

We left the Kabul Inn at 4 a.m., just as the first signs of traffic were starting to appear. As soon as we were on the road I did a mobile radio check with each vehicle in our convoy; the first of many I would perform every fifteen minutes whilst in transit. It was essential we maintain good communications at all times, the nightmare scenario being that you’re attacked and you can’t talk to the rest of your team. My vigilance did have a down side; the Afghan guards took my frequent comms checks as an invitation to chatter amongst themselves. I constantly had to ask them to stop tying up our radios with casual banter in case there was something important to get across.

In addition to keeping in contact with everyone, I also initiated procedures for establishing where we were at all times during our trip. Using a handheld GPS, I recorded a latitude and longitude reading of our position – the first of many readings I would take during our journey down to Helmund. I planned to identify the readings or ‘way points’ by assigning each a landmark name, for example ‘mosque’, ‘culvert’ or ‘cross roads’. It’s much easier to assess your exact location using way points than by referencing a large-scale map. I also planned to take hourly lat and long readings with my satellite phone and send an SMS message with the coordinates back to AKE’s ops room in the UK. It’s not that I was expecting anyone to come quickly if anything bad happened, but if it did, at least AKE would have a starting point to come and search for us.

Traffic grew heavier as we approached the outskirts of Kabul; trucks, cars and men on bicycles going to work clogged the road. Kabul is surrounded by tiny hamlets and many of the people who live there prefer to travel to the capital at inconvenient hours to avoid being ambushed by bandits.

Around 5 a.m., daylight broke, revealing a diverse, breathtaking landscape. I was mesmerized by the scenery. It was my first trip outside Kabul and the contrast with the capital couldn’t have been more striking. Working in Kabul with its open sewers, overcrowding and relentless dust was like working inside a Hoover bag. The countryside, by comparison, was a revelation; every twenty miles the scenery changed; giant red rock formations punching through the earth; pure white peaks sitting atop jagged black mountains; lush green valleys tumbling from foothills speckled with rocks and shrubs.

I wanted nothing more than to pull over and start taking pictures. The pristine mountains were especially enticing; no roads, no ski lifts, just untouched nature begging to be explored. Tempting as these sights were, I knew seeing them on foot was a non-starter. Afghanistan’s countryside and even some of its urban areas are littered with millions of anti-personnel mines which kill or maim up to a dozen people a day. You’d think given the carnage the international community would step up its de-mining efforts.
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Sadly, it all boils down to money; it costs less than fifty US dollars to lay a landmine and up to five hundred to clear just one. Cruel maths indeed.

It was still very early in the morning but the road was getting busier by the minute. Most of the traffic was commercial; large trucks hauling wood or animals to Kabul or carrying consumer goods from Pakistan. Many of the trucks we passed were ornately decorated with brightly coloured, intricate designs and rows of long, brass chains placed as talismans to ward off evil spirits (every bit helps when driving on lawless roads). For the drivers, these trucks are their pride and joy and they spend hours embellishing them. Somehow, I couldn’t see the drivers of UK haulage trucks doing the same to their vehicles.

About an hour and a half into our journey we experienced our first problem; a tyre puncture on the second vehicle. As I’ve said, the last thing you want is to be immobile on a road in a hostile environment, so every minute counts. There’s no AA in Afghanistan, which is why I canvassed the guards and drivers about mechanics experience prior to our departure. It was essential that each vehicle in the convoy have at least one self-taught mechanic who could improvise a patch or fix an engine if need be.

I was very proud to see all the guards covering each other as we pulled to the side of the road. The tyre was changed in seven minutes flat and we were back on our way. All things being equal, the Afghans in our convoy could have given a Formula 1 team a run for their money.

As we crossed into the second province of our journey, we were greeted by another of Afghanistan’s exotic, visual delights; a Kutchi family wandering the countryside. The Kutchi are a nomadic and semi-nomadic people who for centuries have traversed Afghanistan as they make their way from India through Pakistan and into Iran. They travel from valley to valley, grazing their cattle, goats, camels and woolly dogs as big as ponies. The wealthier tribesmen use large trucks to transport their animals but the poor do all their moving on foot. The Kutchi are low in Afghanistan’s pecking order and are rarely seen in populated areas. When you do spot them though, they are difficult to miss. Instead of burkas, Kutchi women wear brightly coloured dresses with bursts of orange, red, pink, yellow and blue. Delighted as I was to be seeing an authentic Kutchi family, my heart sank at the sight of women and children wandering the landscape, apparently unconcerned that they might be walking through a heavily mined area.

We were making excellent time, clearing two provinces in two hours. As we crossed into Ghazni, the third province of our journey, we came across a small built-up area with a petrol station. I radioed to the drivers to pull over. I wanted to avoid major towns as much as possible and the small hamlet provided an excellent opportunity to refuel and blast the sand out of the engines.