88 Days to Kandahar: A CIA Diary (28 page)

Revealingly, he noted that Task Force Dagger had only just been informed of a potential requirement for aerial supply of Karzai in the south, and that no provision had been made for deployment of an ODA in his support. Pete pointedly contrasted this with the elaborate
plans being formulated to field ODAs with a series of second-tier commanders in the north. Given the critical importance and tenuous status of Karzai in the south, he argued, Task Force Dagger should be slightly delaying a planned drop to Commander Muhammad Atta of the Northern Alliance, and diverting that package to the beleaguered Pashtun in Uruzgan Province. We could do this, he said, and still be able to make the drop to Atta in time to support his combined move with General Dostum toward Mazar-e Sharif.

Apparently sensing through Colonel Pete that CTC/SO’s attitude was putting them at a distinct disadvantage in terms of planning for insertions in the south, Task Force Dagger sent word on October 28 that they were deploying, on their own initiative, a four-man “planning cell” to work with us in Islamabad. The planners were due to arrive on October 31. We were very pleased to receive them. I reported this development to Langley, and noted that it would be even more helpful if we and Fifth Group could plan in concert with headquarters.

While the bureaucratic wars raged, Hamid Karzai continued a more elemental struggle on the ground. On October 30, we received a report from the Predator operators: they had detected activity at Karzai’s reported location, but could not find the pursuing Taliban. The Predator was just not useful as a broad search tool. Looking through the camera lens of a Predator was like looking through a keyhole. In order to follow the Taliban, they would need to have a precise location from which to start.

Later the same day, we finally got the much-anticipated word from Colonel Pete: Two C-130s had made a precision drop of nineteen bundles of up to 1,200 pounds each to Karzai’s location. This was quickly followed by an excited call from Hamid.

“We’ve got it!” he said. “Some has gone astray, my men are gathering it . . . I’m a little busy now . . . I will call you tomorrow.”

That night, Hamid contacted various international media outlets via his sat phone to announce his insurgent campaign against the Taliban. He had been wanting to do so for some time, but had been cautioned by Greg, who counseled him to wait until he had gathered more strength before waving a red flag in front of the mullahs.

Now, having met our own declared threshold, Greg came in with a formal request for an A-team to join Karzai, including specialists to guide tactical close-air support, supplemented with a couple of CIA “Ground Branch” paramilitary officers. It would be necessary to have substantial military presence right from the start, he wrote, as this would be a “UW” (unconventional warfare) campaign, quite unlike those under way in the north. This was his professional recommendation, he said, although deferring “to others more skilled and talented in this arena.” That last bit was vintage Greg.

The response from headquarters was soon in coming. Citing the direct interest and involvement of DCI Tenet, they offered to provide a second drop to Karzai’s forces within seventy-two hours. They would not yet approve introduction of a CIA/SF team, though, until Karzai could demonstrate his ability to seize and maintain a defensible perimeter. Otherwise, the threat of capture would be too high. It was gratifying to have headquarters quoting back to us the criteria we had advocated all along for infiltration of a team, but in this case we felt they were being too literal. This was doubly unfortunate because firm U.S. rules of engagement demanded that any close-air targets be designated by Americans, and attempts thus far to do so with a Predator had failed. Without Americans on the ground with Karzai, U.S. aircraft could not provide him effective protection.

Tenet, we were told, would be raising the issue of mandatory U.S. “eyes-on” with the Principals’ Committee—the War Cabinet—in hopes of getting a change in policy. As soon as the intrepid Pushtun chieftain could demonstrate he would not be overrun, we were assured, we would get our team. To us, this was cold comfort. We doubted there would be a change in military doctrine, and without Americans on the ground with him to direct air support, we thought it unlikely Karzai’s forces could defend a perimeter under determined Taliban attack.

Hamid responded enthusiastically to the idea of a second drop. Having all the weapons and ammunition he needed for the moment, he said he now would welcome food, warm sleeping bags, and proper foot gear for his fighters. Once again, his force estimate was very squishy. He had 100 fighters physically with him, but the rest of his force, he
said, was split up into two additional groups. Altogether, he thought, his force might number anywhere between 300 and 500 men.

The next four days were an emotional roller coaster. On November 1, Taliban forces mounted in pickups and open-backed trucks rushed out from both Tarin Kowt and Deh Ra’ud, attacking Hamid and forcing his men to fall back. CENTCOM immediately vectored attack aircraft into the area, but had difficulty identifying targets. At various points, CENTCOM air controllers were speaking directly to Greg, as he attempted to relay targeting information from Hamid via sat phone. Nothing seemed to work very well. Karzai would excitedly relay what he was hearing from his men, trying to pinpoint targets he could not see himself. In frustration, he requested a helicopter, so that his men could pick out targets from above and report them directly.

Late in the day, Hamid reported that the Taliban had broken contact. The U.S. strikes, he said, had sent a clear message. His forces were taking advantage of the lull to change their position. He promised to send coordinates for a new drop zone as soon as possible; Greg had earlier relayed a request for a one-pallet drop of additional weapons, but nothing could be delivered in the short time available.

Late that night, as I paced the floor, we received another immediate message from headquarters. Intercepted Taliban communications indicated that Karzai’s forces had been ambushed; could we contact Hamid to determine his status? Greg set about feverishly to do that. About 11:00
PM
, unable to tolerate the suspense any longer, I called Greg on the secure phone for an update.

“I don’t know what’s happening, Chief. Hamid was supposed to have called over an hour ago.” I feared the worst, but wouldn’t say so. We chatted nervously for a while; the tension made me all the more susceptible to Greg’s offbeat humor.

Suddenly: “It’s Hamid, Chief. I’ll call you right back.” Initially overjoyed that Karzai was still alive, my relief was short-lived. I could vividly imagine the scene as the faltering insurgent pleaded for help from Greg while Taliban fighters closed in on him from all sides. A few interminable minutes later, and Greg was back on the line, repeating Karzai’s halting transmissions, and mimicking their style.

“There is firing again . . . We must move . . . My batteries are failing . . . You must send me a generator . . . I will call you when we arrive at our new location.”
Click.

On and on it went through the night, through several more such staccato interactions, each raising many more questions than it answered, as the running fight between Hamid’s tribals and the Taliban continued well into the morning of November 2.

Later that day, Hamid was able at last to send a textual transmission.

“We beat them like hell,” it began. Hamid and his men had encountered a large Taliban force, including both Arabs and Pakistanis, as they were attempting to change their location the night of November 1. The Taliban immediately tried to surround them. After a lengthy, confused fight, Hamid’s men had beaten them off. His force had again been divided into three: one group near Deh Ra’ud, and a second toward Tarin Kowt; he and his remaining fighters manned a command post, but without radios it was very difficult to coordinate with his other two units.

Greg sent a response: “Everyone in the U.S. government supports you. All we ask is that you maintain a continuous heartbeat. . . .”

Later on the 2nd, concerned that Taliban forces remained in the area and could attack again at any time, headquarters proposed that Karzai be supported with a BLU-82 strike. We appreciated the sentiment, but it was a terrible idea. A 15,000-pound “daisy-cutter” would have devastated a wide area. Our enemies would not be the only ones to suffer. After checking with Hamid, Greg immediately requested that they stand down: “Karzai depends on local support,” he pointed out.

On November 3, unsure that he could maintain his position much longer, Karzai sent Greg a long message. He requested a helicopter exfiltration for himself and twelve of his senior commanders. He needed to confer face-to-face with us, he said. He could not sustain effective communications with us using the current system, and lacked the means to communicate with his own men over any distance. If we could retrieve him, he could quickly reinsert with his commanders and an American support team within seventy-two hours. In the meantime, the rest of his fighters would melt into the countryside, return to their villages, and await his return.

In the previous forty-eight hours, Hamid Karzai’s tiny and almost hopelessly tenuous insurgency had suddenly entered the national consciousness. On November 2,
The Washington Post
ran a front-page story: “Pashtun Uprising Reported in Afghanistan,” it read. With the death of Abdul Haq only days before, Hamid was seen as the last great hope for Pashtun opposition to the Taliban. Hamid’s regular phone calls to international media outlets, “from deep inside Taliban-controlled Afghanistan,” had no doubt helped to raise his profile.

In response to our request, and probably encouraged by Hamid’s sudden prominence, General Franks immediately charged the Joint Special Operations Command to plan and execute his extraction. They agreed that someone who knew and could coordinate with Karzai should be on board. I wanted Greg on that helicopter. “Jimmy Flanagan,” a cheery, highly skilled former Delta operator from CIA’s paramilitary Special Activities Division who had only just arrived with us, would accompany him. Both flew immediately to Jacobabad, where they linked up with the JSOC shooters and the aircrews aboard a pair of CH-47 “Chinook” helicopters.

This extraction, I knew, would be a white-knuckle affair. JSOC operators live on precise advance planning, and are used to being masters of their own fate. This time they would be anything but. They would be flying at night into an unsurveyed and poorly marked landing zone that they had had little chance to study. For all they knew, the location to which they were vectoring might have been overrun by the Taliban before they got there. In their usual operational scenarios armed fighters closing on them are enemies, and treated accordingly. The instinct of Hamid’s undisciplined militia fighters, no doubt, would be to rush toward the landing helicopter, carrying their weapons with them; that could well lead to a spontaneous firefight, and disaster for all concerned.

Greg gave Hamid clear, stern instructions: No one was to approach the helicopter; all weapons were to be kept out of sight. Greg alone would dismount from the helo and meet with Karzai on the periphery of the landing zone, where he should have his party—which had since been reduced to seven—organized and ready to leave immediately. Greg would then escort them, unarmed, to the helo.

Miraculously, it all came off smoothly. After picking up the Afghans, the helicopters touched down briefly at Dalbandin, in southern Baluchistan, and then swung northward to Jacobabad. Karzai was safely in our hands. I couldn’t believe our good fortune. It was well before dawn on the morning of November 4, 2001.

I wanted to rush down to meet our guests immediately, but was delayed by another task. Secretary Rumsfeld was making his first, whirlwind overseas trip since 9/11. He would fly into Pakistan that afternoon of the 4th, and stop briefly at the embassy before continuing on to a meeting and dinner hosted by President Musharraf, departing Pakistan that same night.

The trip planners in the Office of the Secretary of Defense indicated that the secretary would have only an hour or so in Islamabad before meeting with Musharraf. He wished to meet with the chief of station, they said. The embassy responded immediately that of course Rumsfeld could meet the COS, who could be included as a participant in a briefing by the “Country Team.” Rumsfeld’s office fired back. No, they said, perhaps we have not made ourselves clear: the secretary has little time, and wishes to meet only with the chief of station.

This was all very flattering, and the secretary would probably not have cared, but he wasn’t doing me any favors. Word that he would only consent to meet with me, and not even the ambassador, spread quickly among the embassy staff. I made a great show of concern and dismay over this. Ambassador Chamberlin, as it happened, would be out of town in any case, but I pleaded with the deputy chief of mission, Michele Sison, to “save” me from having to meet alone with the fearsome Rumsfeld.

Any chief of station depends greatly upon the support of others, and is well advised not to forget it. I had wonderful relationships with all the key section chiefs, as well as with Ambassador Chamberlin, whose independence of thought and bureaucratic courage I particularly admired, and I needed to maintain those relationships intact. Chamberlin, in particular, had the ability to make life hard for me, and sometimes exercised it. I could well understand the reasons why. The mission was in drawdown mode, with all dependents and
non-essential staff sent away from post. She was under tremendous pressure from the State Department to keep the number of official Americans in-country to an absolute minimum, and was even forced to provide a daily headcount. I, of course, was working at cross-purposes, with new people pouring in almost every day. We clashed over it repeatedly.

“These people are on the gravy train,” she told me one day.

“Look,” I retorted. “All these people have jobs, and could easily be doing them safely behind a desk in northern Virginia. They’re not out here for their health. It takes people to support a war effort, and we need them here.” I took her on an unscripted walkabout of our spaces. As we randomly approached people crammed cheek-by-jowl at long tables—many didn’t even have proper desks—I invited them to tell the ambassador precisely what they were doing.