thedrifter
08-24-09, 08:32 AM
Danger Room in Afghanistan: Echo Company in the Eye of the Storm
By Noah Shachtman August 24, 2009
MIANPOSHTEH, AFGHANISTAN — For three days, the Marines of Echo Company wondered when the next one would come. Since they got here at the beginning of July, Echo has been in a near-constant serie s of battles with the local Taliban, making this one of the most violent flashpoints in America’s renewed war in Afghanistan. On Thursday,
election day, militants woke Echo up by firing rocket-propelled grenades and automatic rifle rounds into the school compound these Marines now use as an outpost. It was the 39th day out of 50 that the Taliban and Echo had exchanged lead.
And then, silence. None of the AK-47 attacks Echo had come to expect on patrol. None of the improvised bomb strikes that had become so common on Mianposhteh’s roads and dirt pathways. Nothing.
Officers here tried to guess why. Maybe it was Ramadan, the Muslim holy month; believers are supposed to fast during the day – and the Taliban only fight here during the day. Maybe it was the 500-pound bombs and mortars and artillery shells and rockets Echo dropped on the Taliban’s firing positions the week before. But the Marines really weren’t sure. Echo – who call themselves “America’s Company” — has been here for less than two months. To them, their enemies remain largely a mystery.
“If the rest of Ramadan is like this, I’ll be thankful,” says First Lt. Josh Fawcett, as we walk through melon patches and mud and corn fields, an hour into a quiet patrol, about a kilometer southeast of the base. “I’ve seen enough fighting. I can go home happy.”
We continue on for another half-hour or so – chatting with a few farmers, trudging through shrubs, sweating in the 110 degree-plus heat. We leap over an irrigation ditch, behind an adobe compound. That’s when Echo company’s three-day lull ends.
Bursts of AK-47 rounds crackle from three directions – the desert to the east, the trees to the southwest, and fields to the south. It’s an ambush. Everyone goes chest-first into the dirt to avoid it. Then comes the rattle of machine gun fire, headed in our direction. Some Marines scamper across the field to the south, taking cover behind a berm and some tall grass. They respond with guns of their own, and grenades. Others are stuck at the far north end of the field.
Including me. “I go up, you go up. I go down, you go down,” a marine turns around and says to me. We run.
We make it to the southwest corner of the compound. After a call for covering fire, to tall grass. A series of thunder booms rings out – American mortars, detonating on the Taliban positions. “Okay motherf**ker, you want some of this?” shouts Sgt. John Spring, as he stands up. Take some!” He fires a grenade round into the air.
Despite the grenades, despite the mortars, the Taliban continue to attack. But their fire seems now to be coming mostly from a treeline to the southeast, perpendicular to the marines’ position.
Fawcett — an Echo company “joint tactical air controller” – talks loudly into a radio. A pair of Harrier jets and Cobra attack helicopters are on their way, he says. Someone drops a yellow smoke grenade, to show the aircraft our position. Of course, it’s a dead giveaway for the Taliban, too. A marine fires right above my head. My ears ring like they’ve just been through a Slayer concert. Then shots from the other direction pew and zip by — very close.
Fawcett tries to tell the aircraft where to target. But figuring out the distance and range – and relating that distance and range to the jets, to the choppers, and to his commanding officer a kilometer away – is tough. The radio keeps breaking up.
The militant fire dies down. A Marine lies on his back, hooking a tree with his left hand, trying to recover from heat stroke. Fawcett waves off the Harriers; the Marines are too close to the Taliban, to risk the jets’ 500-pound bombs. But the copters emerge in the sky to the east. It takes maybe twenty minutes to debate the exact Taliban position – and whether the militants are still at that position. The wait makes the Marines anxious. “Do this! Come on!” Spring yells.
There’s a small of mint in the air. A pair of swallows appear from the bushes.
Finally, the attack is approved. The two helicopters turn south, towards the Taliban. “Oh my f**king God! Hallelujah!” says Sgt. Jonathan Delgado. The Taliban send popcorn AK-47 rounds into the air – to no effect. The first copter, a Huey, shoots off .50 caliber rounds. It fires its Gatling gun, making an angry, chainsaw buzz. Then Cobra swoops in for its pass, sending four Zuni rockets into the Taliban position.
The militant fire stops. Within a few minutes, everything is calm again. Later, recalling the day’s sudden turn, Fawcett tells me: “That’s the way it goes. You’re on the way to shaking hands and kissing babies, and of a sudden, you’re in s**t sandwich.”
Not that he was surprised. For Echo, “today was normal,” company commander Captain Eric Metter says. “What happened today has happened just about every day since we’ve been here.”
After the fight, the marines try to determine if any Taliban were killed or wounded – to no avail. The Taliban only left a few spent shell casings behind. But there will be more. The militants will be back.
[PHOTO: Noah Shachtman]
Ellie
By Noah Shachtman August 24, 2009
MIANPOSHTEH, AFGHANISTAN — For three days, the Marines of Echo Company wondered when the next one would come. Since they got here at the beginning of July, Echo has been in a near-constant serie s of battles with the local Taliban, making this one of the most violent flashpoints in America’s renewed war in Afghanistan. On Thursday,
election day, militants woke Echo up by firing rocket-propelled grenades and automatic rifle rounds into the school compound these Marines now use as an outpost. It was the 39th day out of 50 that the Taliban and Echo had exchanged lead.
And then, silence. None of the AK-47 attacks Echo had come to expect on patrol. None of the improvised bomb strikes that had become so common on Mianposhteh’s roads and dirt pathways. Nothing.
Officers here tried to guess why. Maybe it was Ramadan, the Muslim holy month; believers are supposed to fast during the day – and the Taliban only fight here during the day. Maybe it was the 500-pound bombs and mortars and artillery shells and rockets Echo dropped on the Taliban’s firing positions the week before. But the Marines really weren’t sure. Echo – who call themselves “America’s Company” — has been here for less than two months. To them, their enemies remain largely a mystery.
“If the rest of Ramadan is like this, I’ll be thankful,” says First Lt. Josh Fawcett, as we walk through melon patches and mud and corn fields, an hour into a quiet patrol, about a kilometer southeast of the base. “I’ve seen enough fighting. I can go home happy.”
We continue on for another half-hour or so – chatting with a few farmers, trudging through shrubs, sweating in the 110 degree-plus heat. We leap over an irrigation ditch, behind an adobe compound. That’s when Echo company’s three-day lull ends.
Bursts of AK-47 rounds crackle from three directions – the desert to the east, the trees to the southwest, and fields to the south. It’s an ambush. Everyone goes chest-first into the dirt to avoid it. Then comes the rattle of machine gun fire, headed in our direction. Some Marines scamper across the field to the south, taking cover behind a berm and some tall grass. They respond with guns of their own, and grenades. Others are stuck at the far north end of the field.
Including me. “I go up, you go up. I go down, you go down,” a marine turns around and says to me. We run.
We make it to the southwest corner of the compound. After a call for covering fire, to tall grass. A series of thunder booms rings out – American mortars, detonating on the Taliban positions. “Okay motherf**ker, you want some of this?” shouts Sgt. John Spring, as he stands up. Take some!” He fires a grenade round into the air.
Despite the grenades, despite the mortars, the Taliban continue to attack. But their fire seems now to be coming mostly from a treeline to the southeast, perpendicular to the marines’ position.
Fawcett — an Echo company “joint tactical air controller” – talks loudly into a radio. A pair of Harrier jets and Cobra attack helicopters are on their way, he says. Someone drops a yellow smoke grenade, to show the aircraft our position. Of course, it’s a dead giveaway for the Taliban, too. A marine fires right above my head. My ears ring like they’ve just been through a Slayer concert. Then shots from the other direction pew and zip by — very close.
Fawcett tries to tell the aircraft where to target. But figuring out the distance and range – and relating that distance and range to the jets, to the choppers, and to his commanding officer a kilometer away – is tough. The radio keeps breaking up.
The militant fire dies down. A Marine lies on his back, hooking a tree with his left hand, trying to recover from heat stroke. Fawcett waves off the Harriers; the Marines are too close to the Taliban, to risk the jets’ 500-pound bombs. But the copters emerge in the sky to the east. It takes maybe twenty minutes to debate the exact Taliban position – and whether the militants are still at that position. The wait makes the Marines anxious. “Do this! Come on!” Spring yells.
There’s a small of mint in the air. A pair of swallows appear from the bushes.
Finally, the attack is approved. The two helicopters turn south, towards the Taliban. “Oh my f**king God! Hallelujah!” says Sgt. Jonathan Delgado. The Taliban send popcorn AK-47 rounds into the air – to no effect. The first copter, a Huey, shoots off .50 caliber rounds. It fires its Gatling gun, making an angry, chainsaw buzz. Then Cobra swoops in for its pass, sending four Zuni rockets into the Taliban position.
The militant fire stops. Within a few minutes, everything is calm again. Later, recalling the day’s sudden turn, Fawcett tells me: “That’s the way it goes. You’re on the way to shaking hands and kissing babies, and of a sudden, you’re in s**t sandwich.”
Not that he was surprised. For Echo, “today was normal,” company commander Captain Eric Metter says. “What happened today has happened just about every day since we’ve been here.”
After the fight, the marines try to determine if any Taliban were killed or wounded – to no avail. The Taliban only left a few spent shell casings behind. But there will be more. The militants will be back.
[PHOTO: Noah Shachtman]
Ellie