By David Rohde
New York Times
24 November 2003
As Sgt. First Class Vernon Story's column of Humvees climbed a desolate ridge a mile from the Pakistan-Afghanistan border here on Sunday morning, the sergeant got the feeling that someone was watching. The five unexploded land mines he and his men had found along this same ridge in a firefight with Taliban rebels here less than two months ago lingered in his mind.
"Hey, don't be driving down the tracks," Sergeant Story warned his driver.
Just after he spoke, the front of his Humvee abruptly lurched into the air as a mine or remote-controlled bomb detonated under the right front tire. It severed the lower left leg of a young soldier in the front passenger seat and tossed the 6,000-pound vehicle violently on its side. Sergeant Story, seven soldiers and four journalists traveling with them in the back of the vehicle were thrown to the ground.
Scrambling to his feet, his face cut, the sergeant cursed, suspected an ambush and ordered his men to fire at the surrounding hillsides.
No one shot back.
So went a typical engagement in the grinding conflict for the 10,000 American soldiers stationed in Afghanistan, overshadowed by the larger conflict in Iraq.
Casualties are not as high here, but fatal clashes with a shadowy enemy continue.
"It's aggravating," Sergeant Story, 34, said in his southern drawl, referring to guerrilla attacks that have killed five Americans and four Afghan soldiers along the border with Pakistan in the last eight weeks. "It's very frustrating."
The risks are by no means limited to ground forces. On Sunday at Bagram Air Base north of Kabul, at least five American soldiers were killed when their helicopter crashed.
So far this year, 9 of the 10 American combat deaths have occurred in this area around Shkin, an isolated military base three miles from the Pakistan border.
Sunday morning's attack on Lozano Ridge, named after an American soldier killed here in April, was the latest in a series of strikes by pro-Taliban fighters who launch missiles, plant mines and mount fierce ambushes against American forces within miles of the Pakistan border, according to American military officials. After the engagements, the gunmen are often seen retreating toward Pakistan.
Lt. Col. Michael Howard, the commanding officer of two American bases along the border, said that Pakistan's government was trying to control the border, but that it was impossible to seal off such mountainous terrain.
"You've got a president who is committed; you've got a military who is committed," Colonel Howard said, referring to Pakistan's president, Gen. Pervez Musharraf. "They've got a lot of challenges like everybody else."
The Americans here face their own challenges. Sergeant Story and his soldiers, stationed in Shkin, are fighting on some of the bleakest terrain on earth. It is a jarring existence that mixes the primitive and the modern, intense boredom and intense fear.
By day, they inhabit a world of brown earth, brown mud-brick houses and translucent blue skies. By night, temperatures drop below freezing, and bands of stars blaze across a sky unspoiled by man-made light.
Their battleground is a swath of dozens of miles of arid plateau, 7,000 feet above sea level in eastern Afghanistan, lined by hills and mountains to the east and west. They can patrol for days without incident, but then, without warning, be ambushed by gunmen on barren hillsides covered with boulders and bushes.
The soldiers relax only when inside their base, a bubble of Americana in a sea of Afghan dust. On Sunday night, a few hours after the mine explosion, Sergeant Story and other soldiers sat in a crude mud-brick mess hall watching the Dallas Cowboys-Carolina Panthers game via satellite on a widescreen television.
The soldiers eat burgers, fries and baked beans for dinner. They have been watching "Bulletproof Monk" and other Hollywood movies on a DVD player, over and over.
The desolate terrain here aids the Americans in some ways. Unlike urban Iraq, this part of Afghanistan affords few places for guerrillas mounting ambushes to hide.
But their effort is slowed by a problem also confounding American forces in Iraq � limited intelligence on the enemy. Military officials said villagers generally provided little information about pro-Taliban fighters, who threaten to kill those who collaborate with the Americans.
"They are all afraid for their lives to give us information about who is coming over the mountains," said Sgt. Katrina Presley, 24, from New Castle, Del., who helps run weekly meetings with local villagers.
Maj. Dennis Sullivan, the base commander, said the Taliban fighters were not making military headway. But aid groups and United Nation officials contend that Taliban guerrillas are now circumventing well-armed American forces and attacking soft targets, like aid workers and Afghan policemen. They say the attacks have slowed reconstruction projects in eastern and southern Afghanistan.
Villagers living around Shkin complain that they are not receiving enough aid. American military officials said two schools and a well were being built in the area with United Nations funds.
Despite the dangers, American soldiers said they were eager to come to Shkin. Sunday's explosion occurred while Sergeant Story was escorting a new group of soldiers who will be replacing his unit. Most interviewed expressed enthusiasm. Seen as the posting with the best chance to engage in combat in Afghanistan, soldiers said coming here allowed them to "do their job."
One young soldier called Shkin a "once in a lifetime" opportunity. Asked for what, he said "to kill."
But some soldiers who have served here for months admitted the experience had changed them. Sgt. Christopher McGurk, a 29-year-old native of Fort Hamilton, Brooklyn, saw one of his soldiers, Pvt. First Class Evan O'Neill, 19, of Haverhill, Mass., die in battle on Sept. 29.
In an Oct. 25 battle, a wounded American slowly bled to death as Sergeant McGurk cared for him under fire. The son of a 28-year Army veteran, the sergeant feels that he has done his duty and is thinking of leaving the Army and becoming a New York City police officer. "Once you're involved in a situation like that," he said, "you realize it's for real."
Sergeant Story, a father of three, constantly jokes and refuses to discuss the personal risks.
"I can't answer that question," he said. "Never thought about it. Never. Never."
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Citation: David Rohde, "The Other Conflict Continues to Take a G.I. Toll," New York Times, 24 November 2003
Original URL: http://www.nytimes.com/2003/11/24/international/asia/24AFGH.html?ei=1&en=7e487a935484fb93&ex=1070642640&pagewanted=print&position=
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