During
wars and after them, the real voice of the enemy is rarely heard.
Propaganda is plentiful, as are prideful boasts—and the Taliban have
certainly been quick studies at the modern art of information warfare.
But the fears and ambitions of ordinary fighters are too often buried
under statistics and theories propounded from thousands of miles away.
That's been even more true in Iraq and Afghanistan, where reporters who
might accurately convey the other side's perspective are at risk of
being kidnapped or killed for their efforts.
After eight long
years of war in Afghanistan, however, America and its allies can ill
afford not to understand who the enemy is and why they fight. To put
together this remarkable oral history, told through the words of the
Taliban themselves, NEWSWEEK turned to contributing correspondent Sami
Yousafzai, who has been covering the conflict for the magazine since
2001. Over that time he has developed and maintained contact with dozens
of Afghan insurgents, including the six whose stories are told here.
Working with NEWSWEEK's Ron Moreau, Yousafzai spent more than a month crisscrossing Afghanistan and Pakistan
to meet these sources. He has known them all for some time, and in the
past their information has generally proved reliable. Their accounts may
sometimes be self-serving—most Afghan civilians recall the Taliban
regime far less fondly, for one thing—but the facts are consistent with
what Yousafzai knows about the men from earlier reporting. While it's
impossible to confirm the credibility of everything they say, their
stories offer a rare chance to understand how the insurgents see this
war, from the collapse of the Taliban, through their revival and, now,
their budding ascendancy.
Chapter One: The Fall
'The bombs cut down our men like a reaper harvesting wheat. it felt like judgment day.'—Maulvi Abdul Rehman Akhundzada
HAQQANI:
Two days before the September 11 attacks on America, we were all
celebrating the death of [Northern Alliance commander Ahmed Shah]
Masood, [who was assassinated by Qaeda agents posing as television
reporters]. His forces were already on the verge of defeat, so his death
all but assured us of total victory in Afghanistan. But the September
11 attacks turned our cheer into deep concern. We gave those camels [a
derogatory Afghan term for Arabs] free run of our country, and they
brought us face to face with disaster. We knew the Americans would
attack us in revenge.
Realizing the danger, I immediately sent my
wife and children to Pakistan. The entire government started to fall
apart. I never thought the Taliban would collapse so quickly and cruelly
under U.S. bombs. Everyone began trying to save themselves and their
families. When the bombing began, I changed out of my usual white
mullah's garb, put on an old brown
shalwar kameez, and headed
for Pakistan. I crossed the mountains on foot, and at the top I turned
around and said: "God bless you, Afghanistan. I'll never come back to
you under our Islamic regime."
AKHUNDZADA: When the bombing started, I was commanding some 400 fighters on the front lines near Mazar-e Sharif.
The bombs cut down our men like a reaper harvesting wheat. Bodies were
dismembered. Dazed fighters were bleeding from the ears and nose from
the bombs' concussions. We couldn't bury the dead. Our reinforcements
died in their trenches.
I couldn't bring myself to surrender, so I
retreated with a few of my men in the confusion. Everything was against
us. The highway south to Kabul through
the Salang Tunnel was blocked. We walked four days in the deep snow
without food or water. Kids started shooting at us from the hilltops,
hunting us like wild animals.
By the fifth day I could barely
walk. I hid my weapon and walked to a village, saying I was a lost
traveler and asking for food. The villagers fed me, but I had lost touch
with my comrades. I walked on until a minibus came along; I aimed my
gun at the driver and forced him to stop. The van was full of Taliban.
They said they had no room for me, but I threatened to shoot out their
tires unless they took me. I had to lie on the floor with their feet on
my body. It was uncomfortable, but I was warm for the first time in
days.
A group of local militiamen captured us the next morning at a
checkpoint on the Kabul-Kandahar highway. We were nearly dead. Our
mouths were dry and cracked, our lips bleeding. It felt like Judgment
Day. I lay in their filthy jail for a month before they let me go free,
just after the Eid holidays. With the strength I had left, I made it to
Peshawar. Our Islamic Emirate had collapsed with less than 40 days of
resistance—I couldn't accept that. Allah would let us rise again, I
thought, because of all the blood we had spilled for Islam.
KHAN: After the mujahedin began retreating, Arabs, Chechens, and Taliban raced by our house and mosque in Ghazni in
convoys of cars, pickups, and trucks, headed to Pakistan. Almost
immediately they started getting bombed. So they abandoned their
vehicles and started walking, even the wounded. Some injured Taliban,
and Arabs with their families, came to seek shelter at my father's
mosque. Other villagers wouldn't help them. Only my father and I brought
them food.
YOUNAS:
When I was a child, my father was a mujahedin commander in the jihad
against the Russians, and he sent our family for safety to an Afghan
refugee camp in Wana, South Waziristan. After the Taliban's victory [in
1996], he became an official in a ministry in Kabul. I used to visit him
on holidays from Wana. The Islamic Emirate's collapse was like a
nightmare.
I watched as wounded, disabled,
and defeated Taliban fighters straggled into Wana and the surrounding
villages, along with Arabs, Chechens, and Uzbeks. Every morning as I
went to school I could see them wandering around town, almost like
homeless beggars. Little by little, the tribal people started helping
them, giving them food. Some people even took them into their houses; at
first these once proud jihadis survived, thanks to the people's
charity.
The Arabs were disappointed the
Taliban hadn't stood and fought. They told me they had wanted to fight
to the death. They were clearly not as distressed as the Afghans. That
was understandable. The Arabs felt they had lost a battle. But the
Afghans were much more devastated—they had lost their country.
MASIHUDDIN: When the Taliban fell, I was a madrassa student in Nuristan. Since all the Taliban officials and militiamen had fled, I decided to continue my studies in Pakistan.
[Then-Pakistani
president Pervez] Musharraf imposed new rules on the Pakistani
madrassas [in 2002], including a ban on foreign students. So I went to a
mosque in an outlying village [near Peshawar] to study and wait for the
situation to improve. We were 10 students studying and sleeping in one
small room. The people couldn't afford to bring us food, so we often
went without dinner. We rarely had electricity. Without a fan it was
hard to study, even to sleep. To make matters worse, the Peshawar police
were harassing and arresting us. They didn't hold us for long, though—I
think they just wanted to frighten us. We began praying for the
survival of the Taliban who had fled. There was no reason to pray for
victory, since such a return seemed inconceivable.
HAQQANI:My father, brother, and family were at Mansehra
[a town in northwestern Pakistan that is home to several Afghan refugee
camps]. But I realized it wouldn't be wise to move in with them. Too
many people knew who I was, and some had no love for the Taliban.
Instead I found a place to stay at a mosque nearby. I had to sneak over
at midnight just to see my kids, like a thief. When I was visiting my
daughter one night, she asked me about our Kabul
home, why we didn't have a car anymore. She complained that it was too
hot in the refugee camp, and that she wanted to move back to the cool
climate of Kabul. I couldn't answer her. But she could tell from my eyes
how sad I was. I was a wreck—nervous, worried, and almost
panic-stricken.
AKHUNDZADA:
Once proud Taliban mullahs and fighters changed the way they dressed so
they wouldn't be recognized. No one wanted to be identified as a Talib.
Friends and relatives who had respected me while I was a commander now
turned away. I had no money or job. I moved my family to a village in
Punjab, far from Afghanistan, to become a day laborer, but I was a
failure at it. I couldn't speak the local language, and no one would
hire me. So I returned to Peshawar and started selling vegetables from a
basket in the market. I began making money. But I couldn't get over the
Taliban's collapse, the death of my men. My wife said I was crying in
my sleep. I went to a doctor, who gave me some medicine. I was so
distracted that when a customer would ask me for potatoes, I'd give him
tomatoes.
Chapter Two: The Rebirth
'The end of the Taliban was the start of my Jihadi career.'—Mullah Aga Mohammad
KHAN:
Mullahs like my father became depressed. Under the Taliban they had
been very influential, but after the collapse people paid less attention
to them. My father was so upset, he had a stroke that left him
partially paralyzed. At the end of 2002 the Afghan police raided our
mosque. They grabbed my father and hauled him in front of the villagers,
accusing him of being with the Taliban. They demanded to know where the
Taliban's weapons were stored. They personally insulted him and then
threw him in jail. He was 70.
The faithful
at our mosque went to the police and complained. People who a few
months before seemed to have turned against my father now supported him.
They said it was a disgrace for the police to have entered the mosque
wearing their shoes, and to have arrested an old, crippled imam. In
early 2003 he died.
I was a just a kid,
but the police arrested me too, twice—once from my house, once from the
mosque. They interrogated me, asking stupid questions like: "Where are
the Taliban?" "Where are the weapons hidden?" My family sold our
motorbike to raise the money to free me. The police also arrested my
brother, who was a schoolteacher. The police even arrested, insulted,
and manhandled a 90-year-old mullah in our district. People's attitudes
were changing; they were becoming angry at the police and the local
officials for the disrespect they were showing toward mosques and
mullahs.
YOUNAS:
At first I didn't hear the Afghans talking about going back to fight.
But the Arabs did, and they encouraged the Afghans and the local tribal
people not to give up. Nothing much happened for the first year or so,
but then the Arabs started organizing some training camps. The first one
I heard about was at Shin Warsak
village, near Wana. When I had some time off from school, I decided to
visit. I was really impressed. There was more than one camp. One was run
by Arabs, and another by Chechens and Uzbeks.
Thanks
to my madrassa studies I could speak Arabic; I made friends with
Egyptians, Saudis, Libyans, and Yemenis. Nek Mohammad Wazir [a
pro-Taliban Pakistani tribal leader who was killed by a June 2004
Predator strike] gave the Arabs places to train and access to weapons
and other supplies. They moved openly on the main roads and in the towns
and villages, showing no concern about security. I decided to leave my
studies and join their resistance.
MOHAMMAD:The
end of the Taliban was the start of my jihadi career. My father died in
1994, leaving me to take care of my mother, brothers, and sisters. So
I'd had no time to join Mullah Omar's movement. For years I had a very
heavy conscience for having missed the jihad. After the collapse of the
Taliban in late 2001, many injured and traumatized mujahedin began
coming to the mosque in Peshawar where I was the imam. Some of the worshipers asked me outright why I hadn't fought in the jihad like these men.
I
needed to make up for not joining the fight. I started asking around if
the mujahedin were still active, but no one could give me a real
answer. Then one day I heard about a young Afghan named Azizullah who
had been in the resistance—he's in jail now in Afghanistan. I went to
his house, and told him I wanted to help the resistance against the
Americans if it was forming. He lied, saying he was only a poor man and
had nothing to do with jihad. Then one day I saw him walking to the
mosque. I joined him. He was still hesitant, but finally he said he
could help. He gave me directions to a militant camp in Waziristan and a
letter of introduction.
HAQQANI: In early 2003 my family and I moved to a rented house near Peshawar.
It was the first time I was living in my own house since 2001. I put my
white clerical outfit back on. And suddenly the Taliban's defense
minister, Mullah Obaidullah, came to see me—the first senior Taliban
leader I had seen since our collapse. He was traveling around Pakistan
to rally our dispersed forces. Half the Taliban leadership was back in
touch with each other, he said, and they were determined to start a
resistance movement to expel the Americans. I didn't think it was
possible, but he assured me I could help.
He
said to meet him again in two weeks, and gave me an address. I was
surprised at the number and rank of the people I found at the meeting.
There were former senior ministers and military commanders, all sitting
together, all eager to resist the Americans. Obaidullah told me: "We
don't need you as a deputy minister or bureaucrat. We want you to bring
as many fighters as you can into the field."
AKHUNDZADA:
One day a man came to buy vegetables—a mullah who had worked with our
jihad in northern Afghanistan for years. We recognized each other. He
asked me what I wanted to do: keep selling potatoes or go back to the
jihad. I was making about 2,000 rupees [$33] a day, which was good, but I
wanted to rejoin the struggle. We went to a meeting at night near Peshawar,
and I couldn't believe what I saw: my top commander [from the northern
front], Mullah Dadullah! He was my ideal; his name meant victory for us.
My interest in the vegetable business disappeared. After six or seven
months I was called to Miran Shah [in North Waziristan]. Dadullah [who
would be killed in May 2007] was there; so were Akhtar Mohammad Osmani
[who would be killed in December 2006] and our defense minister, Mullah
Obaidullah [who would be captured by Pakistani forces in March 2007]. It
was decided that each commander should go find his former soldiers and
prepare to return to Afghanistan to fight.
I was sent to Quetta,
where survivors from my unit had settled. There had been 400 fighters
under my command. In Quetta I found 15 of them. They embraced me and the
idea of returning to free our land of the American invaders. In North
Waziristan we trained, re-equipped, recruited more men, and got ready to
return to Afghanistan.
MOHAMMAD:I
left my family in the care of my younger brother and traveled to South
Waziristan. I ended up at a mosque in a remote mountain village, where a
mullah looked at Azizullah's letter of introduction and led me farther
into the rugged countryside to a secret place, well hidden among the
hills, rocks, bushes, and trees. There were checkpoints guarded by armed
men who would not even let locals pass by. A group of 20 or 30 Arab
fighters from Saudi Arabia, Yemen, and Egypt met me there, with a few
Afghans and Chechens. They were very distrustful and questioned me
rather roughly.
Another more senior Arab
interviewed me at length. The biggest question he wanted answered was
why I hadn't fought in Mullah Omar's jihad. After a few hours I was
taken to their leader, Abu Khabab [al-Masri, a senior Qaeda operative
and bombmaker who was killed in a July 2008 Predator strike]. He was
welcoming, not hostile like the others. He sat by my side on the floor
of a mud-brick house and asked me why I wanted to join their struggle
and what I thought I could contribute.
Only
a few select Arabs and other jihadis were allowed up a mountain near
the camp. That's where most of the leadership lived. Some big jihadi
stars were there besides Abu Khabab, like Abu Laith al-Libi [a
guerrilla-war expert who was killed by a January 2008 Predator strike]
and Abu Hamza Rabia [a senior Qaeda planner who was killed by a Predator
in late 2005]. Even so, there wasn't much food or money. I thought the
mujahedin at the camp seemed disappointed at times because they had
little to do. But the Arabs slowly grew friendlier with the locals. Soon
local tribesmen were being welcomed into certain sectors of the camp,
bringing food, supplies, and money. Some even brought us AK-47s and
RPGs.
YOUNAS:In
our camp there were about 150 Arabs, along with some Afghans, Chechens,
and local tribal militants. The Arab instructors taught us how to fire
Kalashnikovs, especially in close-range fighting; how to gather
intelligence on the enemy; and how to fire mortars and rockets
accurately. It was a friendly place; we all felt a commitment to help
and sacrifice for each other. At the start of 2003, the weather became
bitterly cold, and the camp closed. But the commander called me back
that March. He told me he was working with Nek Mohammad to arrange for
one of the first cross-border attacks against American forces in
Afghanistan. Even with Nek Mohammad's help, we only had usable weapons
for 50 of the roughly 200 mujahedin who had been trained. But 50 of us—a
couple dozen Arabs, three or four Afghans like myself, and some Waziri
and Mehsud tribals—were armed and ready to go.
MOHAMMAD:
The first thing I learned was to shoot, field-strip, and maintain an
AK-47. Then we did ambush and guerrilla-war exercises day and night in
the hills. The Arabs taught us how to make an IED by mixing nitrate
fertilizer and diesel fuel, and how to pack plastic explosives and to
connect them to detonators and remote-control devices like mobile
phones. We learned how to do this blindfolded so we could safely plant
IEDs in the dark.
Discipline was strict.
Any trainee who broke the rules could get a severe beating. You had to
wake up before dawn every morning for physical exercises and to run in
the mountains. Recruits were awakened at all hours of the night so they
would learn to be alert in an emergency. I don't see this kind of
discipline in camps run by the Afghan Taliban today.
After
two months of hard training, we graduated. There were 200 of us: about
160 local tribals, a few Punjabis, and about 40 Afghans like me. We were
divided up into 10 groups. Each had two or three Arabs assigned to it
as commanders and instructors. We split up: some groups went to Khost and Paktia provinces, and others to Ghazni and Kandahar.
Three of our groups were bombed by the Americans crossing the border.
It was very dangerous back then. We had to run quickly and stay out of
sight. We didn't want villagers to see us. At that time they weren't
very supportive, and there were spies looking for us. We wanted to reach
the cover of ravines, rocks, and trees before the sun rose.
Chapter Three: The Taliban Surge
'After these first few attacks, God seems to have opened channels of money for us.'—Qari Younas
YOUNAS:
One night in April [2003], we crossed the border in five pickups and
one larger truck. Once we were safely across, we sent the vehicles back
to wait for us on the Pakistan side. Our target was a U.S. base just
across the border at Machda in Paktika province.
We attacked at dawn. I think we really surprised them. We shelled them
with 122mm rockets and mortars for about 30 minutes. But we didn't get
close enough to fire our Kalashnikovs; before we could move in, American
helicopters came, raining rockets and bullets on us. Terrified, I
crawled and ran to escape death. Amid the noise and explosions, dust and
smoke, I remember seeing six of us cut down and killed: two Arabs,
three tribals, and an Afghan.
Still, I was
strangely exhilarated. We showed our resolve by fighting, by taking a
stand. We knew we'd be back. We carried the stiff and bloodied bodies of
our martyrs back to Wana.
Thousands of locals attended their funerals, saying it was an honor to
witness the burial of these martyrs. People brought flowers, ribbons,
colored cloth, and flags to decorate their graves. As the news traveled,
a lot of former Taliban began returning to Wana to join us.
HAQQANI:Arab
and Iraqi mujahedin began visiting us, transferring the latest IED
technology and suicide-bomber tactics they had learned in the Iraqi
resistance during combat with U.S. forces. The American invasion of Iraq
was very positive for us. It distracted the United States from
Afghanistan. Until 2004 or so, we were using traditional means of
fighting like we used against the Soviets—AK-47s and RPGs. But then our
resistance became more lethal, with new weapons and techniques: bigger
and better IEDs for roadside bombings, and suicide attacks.
KHAN:By the middle of 2004, we were hearing rumors that the Taliban were operating once again in Ghazni.
Friends and relatives in other rural districts were saying that armed
men were beginning to show up in villages at night on motorbikes. Within
a few months, signs of them began appearing everywhere. At first we saw
shabnama ["night letters"] that the Taliban were leaving in
shops, mosques, and other public places warning people not to cooperate
with [Afghan President Hamid] Karzai and the Americans. By the beginning
of 2005 the Taliban began targeted killings of police officers,
government officials, spies, and elders who were working with the
Americans.
One night around midnight
someone knocked on the door of our house. We were terrified, fearing
that the police had come back to arrest me or my brother once again. But
when we opened the door, it was one of my father's former students. He
had a Kalashnikov on his shoulder and was a Taliban subcommander
already. The two other Taliban he was with also carried AKs and had
several hand grenades attached to their belts. This was my first
encounter with the Taliban since the defeat. We invited them to spend
the night. Early the next morning I accompanied them to the mosque. My
father's former student read out the names of those he accused of having
betrayed Islam by following Karzai and the infidels. He warned them to
cease all contact and to quit any job they may have had with the
government or the Americans. He ended by saying he would return in one
week.
MOHAMMAD:Those
first groups crossing the border were almost totally sponsored,
organized, and led by Arab mujahedin. The Afghan Taliban were weak and
disorganized. But slowly the situation began to change. American
operations that harassed villagers, bombings that killed civilians, and
Karzai's corrupt police and officials were alienating villagers and
turning them in our favor. Soon we didn't have to hide so much on our
raids. We came openly. When they saw us, villagers started preparing
green tea and food for us. The tables were turning. Karzai's police and
officials mostly hid in their district compounds like prisoners.
YOUNAS:
After these first few attacks, God seems to have opened channels of
money for us. I was told money was flowing from the Gulf to the Arabs.
Our
real jihad was beginning by the start of 2005. Jalaluddin Haqqani's
tribal fighters came actively back to our side because the Americans and
the Pakistanis had arrested his brother and other relatives. He
appointed his son Sirajuddin to lead the resistance. That was a real
turning point. Until then villagers in Paktia,
Paktika, and Khost thought the Taliban was defeated and finished. They
had started joining the militias formed by the Americans and local
warlords, and were informing on us and working against us. But with the
support of Haqqani's men we began capturing, judging, and beheading some
of those Afghans who worked with the Americans and Karzai. Terrorized,
their families and relatives left the villages and moved to the towns,
even to Kabul. Our control was slowly being restored.
KHAN:
My father's former student returned as promised a week later. I decided
to join him. I helped assassinate those people who had continued their
contacts with the government and the Americans. I didn't want to kill,
but I was determined to bring back our Islamic regime and get rid of the
Americans and the traitors allied with them.
By the end of 2005 the Taliban's ranks in Ghazni
were increasing. There were new recruits like me and more former
Taliban returning home from Pakistan. At the same time, we started
receiving shipments of RPGs, rockets, mines, and bombs, most of which
were old and rusty. My group only had three RPG launchers and only one
mortar tube, and a few rounds for each. We had a few rusty Russian mines
that only worked about 30 percent of the time. So we could only carry
out very quick and limited attacks on convoys, construction crews, and
district compounds. At first we didn't have much success. But we were
learning. Just firing a mortar, even if it didn't hit the target, was a
big deal: it proved to everyone we were there and were a force to be
respected.
The Americans and their Afghan
allies made mistakes after mistake, killing and arresting innocent
people. There was one village in Dayak district near Ghazni City where
the people had communist backgrounds, from the days of the Russians, and
had never supported us. But the police raided the village, beat the
elders at a mosque and arrested them, accusing them of being Taliban.
They were freed after heavy bribes were paid. After that incident the
whole village sent us a message asking forgiveness for the abuses of the
communist era.
AKHUNDZADA:
There are famous Taliban poems about how mujahedin come to free
villages from occupiers at the point of a bayonet. I began living that
poem. My body and mind got stronger and my mental problems disappeared.
As word of our success traveled, I was able to organize another group of
new, young recruits. They were smarter, more spirited, and better
motivated than my former Taliban fighters.
Still,
we lacked weapons and money. So I visited Mullah Dadullah. He had gone
into Helmand province in early 2006 with 30 people. When he returned
months later, he had organized 300 sub-commanders who each had dozens of
troops. He had also signed up and was training hundreds of suicide-bomb
volunteers. His return was like the arrival of rain after five years of
drought.
I gave him a list of our needs.
Even before he read the list, he smiled and said: "Whether I am alive or
dead, remember this: the resistance will become greater than your
greatest expectations. We will return to control Afghanistan." The next
day he called me, took a page out of a notebook, wrote something on it,
and gave it to me. The note said to go and see this guy and he will help
you. Back in Pakistan, I found the man. He kissed Dadullah's letter.
After two weeks this man had provided me with all the guns, weapons, and
supplies I had requested. Dadullah gave such letters to many people.
MOHAMMAD:Once we sent a shipment for the making of IEDs to our forces in Zabul province.
For some reason we forgot to include the remote-control devices. I got
an urgent call from the commander asking me to quickly send the missing
items. So I hid the remotes among some books and clothes in several
travel bags. At Torkham
[the Khyber Pass crossing], the police asked me to open the bags. At
first I thought I should flee. But where could I run? I started
searching for the key to open the bags. There was a long customs queue.
The impatient policeman finally said: "You're taking too long. Get out
of here."
Another night I was in a hotel in Kabul on
a mission to smuggle remote devices and explosives. Afghan police and
intelligence were checking all the travelers staying in the hotel. My
fellow mujahedin and I hid the bags containing the remotes in the
bathroom. The police checked our luggage and pockets. But God blinded
their eyes to the bathroom. If they had found the devices I would have
ended up in jail for life. All these close calls strengthened my faith
and my commitment to the jihad.
HAQQANI:
In 2007 I returned to Afghanistan for the first time. I visited the
south and spoke to Taliban units, to elders and villagers, and raised
new recruits. Mullah Omar has entrusted me with the job of touring towns
and villages on both sides of the border to encourage people to
support, contribute to, and join the jihad. Between 2006 and 2009 I have
personally raised hundreds of new recruits to join the resistance. [In
August] I traveled to eight Afghan provinces in 20 days. The
unpopularity of the Karzai regime helps us immensely. In 2005 some
Afghans thought Karzai would bring positive change. But now most Afghans
believe the Taliban are the future. The resistance is getting stronger
day by day.
Chapter Four: You Have the Watches, We Have the Time
'We were born here. We will die here. We aren't going anywhere.'—Mullah Aga Mohammad
MASIHUDDIN:
That base on top of the mountain [in Barge Matal] had to go. The
Americans there were monitoring our phone calls and walkie-talkies, and
they ran intelligence operations with Afghan spies from there. So [last
June] we began carefully planning an attack. One of our men said that
the mission would be hard even if the Americans only threw stones at us,
as we'd be attacking up a steep mountain. Everyone laughed at him, but
we knew there was some truth in what he said.
I
asked for volunteers, and everyone signed up. As usual we prepared a
medical team, including donkeys and stretchers to evacuate our wounded.
But as I divided up weapons, ammunition, explosives, and communications
gear, it started to rain heavily. The Americans have heavy boots and
other mountain equipment that allows them to move up and down the steep
rocks. But our men mostly wear leather sandals that don't give us any
grip. So we postponed the attack for two weeks.
KHAN:
Fighting the Americans is not easy. One night in the summer of 2007, my
commander, Mullah Nurla, was killed in an American raid on his house.
Other Americans killed 12 of our commanders. All the raids came between
midnight and dawn. We found out that the Americans were finding us by
tracing our cell-phone calls, and by calls from spies giving away our
locations. So we forced the cell companies to stop all transmissions
from 6 p.m. to 7 a.m. We still worry about helicopters and bombers, but
we are suffering fewer American night raids. I think they just don't
have the intelligence they used to have. Fewer people are willing to
cooperate with them and betray us.
Our
men, on the other hand, are watching American bases 24 hours a day. They
inform us of American movements. We used to hit the Americans with
roadside bombs and then disappear. Now when we explode an IED, we follow
that with AK and RPG fire. We now have more destructive IEDs, mostly
ammonium-nitrate bombs that we mix with aluminum shards. We get regular
deliveries of these fertilizers, explosives, fuses, detonators, and
remote controls. One heavy shipment is on its way right now. I think we
are better at making IEDs now than the Arabs who first taught us.
HAQQANI:
I admit Taliban commanders are being captured and killed, but that
hasn't stopped us, and it won't. Our jihad is more solid and deep than
individual commanders and fighters—and we are not dependent on
foreigners, on the ISI [Pakistan's intelligence agency], or Al Qaeda.
Personally I think all this talk about Al Qaeda being strong is U.S.
propaganda. As far as I know, Al Qaeda is weak, and they are few in
numbers. Now that we control large amounts of territory, we should have a
strict code of conduct for any foreigners working with us. We can no
longer allow these camels to roam freely without bridles and control.
MASIHUDDIN:
Late Friday afternoon, after prayers, we began to move. We slowly sent
our people up the mountain as the shadows lengthened. The mujahedin
climbed slowly, steadily. We waited quietly on the ridgeline overnight
without fires for warmth or to cook food. We've learned that the
Americans are always listening for the smallest sound.
I
gave the signal to attack just before sunrise. We started with our
mortar and rocket teams shelling the base from the surrounding hilltops.
By dawn our mujahedin were almost hugging the base's outer walls. We
killed a number of Afghan Army soldiers, and one U.S. soldier who may
have been hit in a guard tower. As we fought, our video team filmed our
advance. Our mortars, rockets, and RPGs destroyed most of one outer
defensive wall. We yelled to those inside to come out and surrender. No
one came out. So we set fire to one side of the post and moved around to
wait on the opposite side. The smoke forced some, if not all, of the
soldiers to abandon the post. During the attack we didn't lose any
fighters.
Then American helicopters
arrived, firing rockets and machine guns. We fought until sunset. We
lost 12 Taliban to martyrdom, largely to the helicopter fire that comes
down like heavy rain. We cannot compare our military strength to that of
the Americans. But we have learned how to stay protected behind rocks
and mountains. Even with all their advanced technology, we forced them
to withdraw and captured that base. [Coalition forces retook the post
three days later and later abandoned it; a U.S. chronology of the battle
differs in some details.]
YOUNAS:
Not long ago, when one of my younger brothers got married, my mother
asked me: "Boy, when will you marry?" I told her that the day I help to
bring the Taliban back to Kabul and restore the Islamic Emirate is the day I will marry. That day may be far away, but I know it will come.
KHAN:
The Americans talk about getting Taliban to leave the jihad for their
dollars. That's ridiculous. I was engaged to be married a year ago, but I
don't have the $1,500 bride price to give to the girl's father or the
$500 for the wedding. If I had money, I would not delay my marriage. Who
would marry me? You'd be surprised. The people here are not worried
about giving their daughter or sister to Taliban, who can get killed
within one week of the wedding. They are happy to be part of the jihad.
It's
not easy being in the Taliban. It's like wearing a jacket of fire. You
have to leave your family and live with the knowledge that you can be
killed at any time. The Americans can capture you and put you in dog
cages in Bagram and Guantánamo. You can't expect any quick medical
treatment if you're wounded. You don't have any money. Yet when I tell
new recruits what they are facing they still freely put on this jacket
of fire. All this builds my confidence that we will never lose this war.
MOHAMMAD:
We never worry about time. We will fight until victory no matter how
long it takes. The U.S. has the weapons, but we are prepared for a long
and tireless jihad. We were born here. We will die here. We aren't going
anywhere.
MASIHUDDIN:
In the south the mujahedin have adjusted to Obama's new crusade by
making some small strategic withdrawals and fighting back mostly with
IEDs. But we mujahedin in Kunar and Nuristan are lucky. These mountains
and forests are our protectors. Trees and rocks shelter us everywhere.
The Americans can't match us here.
Two or
three years ago, U.S. soldiers in the region acted as if they were on
holiday. They were taking videos and photos of themselves and walking in
the mountains for fun. They were playing games in the open. Those days
are over. Now they are forced to keep their fingers on their triggers 24
hours a day.
AKHUNDZADA:
Sometimes I think what's happened is like a dream. I thought my beard
would be white by the time I saw what I am seeing now, but my beard is
still black, and we get stronger every day.
International counter terrorism expert based in Singapore, Prof. Rohan Gunaratna warns that there is a well concerted campaign in Tamil Nadu, launched by the LTTE, to make Tamil people rise up against Sri Lanka and this is a development that Sri Lanka should be concerned about.
