In the previous episode of “Afghanistan Calling”, writer and Canadian civilian helicopter pilot Allan Cram arrived in Afghanistan and immediately began facing heavy pressure to fly alone into one of the most dangerous, active areas of the Afghanistan War. In this episode, Allan tries to get to get some solid information so he can make the decision to risk his life…or not.
Our customers were not used to someone thinking for themselves. The Deputy Chief was in his 60s — a tall man with a deep, commanding voice like a drill sergeant, and just a hint of a southern drawl. He wore a massive military platoon ring and conducted the meeting as though we were Army privates. My engineer, who had been in the Canadian military, frequently leaned towards me and translated the military jargon.
The Deputy Chief demanded an explanation why we wouldn’t fly to the Kajaki Dam, and a litany of abuse was directed in my direction. “Why, we’ve gone in there hundreds of times before. What’s changed since April? It’s our largest project and we’re behind schedule. Our people are starving at the dam — they’ve been in there for over a year and we can’t get them out. And you’re just a fucking chicken. What good are you anyway? Are all Canadian pilots this fucking useless? You can’t refuse to fly there! You have no grounds.”
To the Country Manager, who was in charge of us while in Afghanistan, this was a no-brainer. He told the Deputy Chief that we understood the U.S. State Department placed a very high priority on the dam, but he pointed out that three helicopters had been destroyed and one pilot killed in four years and there was no evidence of any SOPs (Standard Operating Procedures) being developed that would improve the situation. A civilian helicopter should not be flying into any active combat zone without minimizing or eliminating all critical hazards.
This guy did not like being chastised. “Well, if I had my way our security men would be offensive forces — we’re taking the brunt of most of the assaults anyway. Hell, I think we should have our own Blackhawks, our own pilots, and we could get this job done. But that still doesn’t explain why you guys are acting all chicken shit and not flying!”
When I explained that I had been in country for only four days and had not received any formal briefings, the Deputy Chief and the Security Manager expressed surprise. “I didn’t know you were a new crew, hell that explains it. If we give you a briefing here, will that be okay?”
“We need a thorough briefing from ISAF in Kandahar before I fly anywhere near the Kajaki Dam,” I replied.
“Oh, yeah, sure, sure,” the Chief said, not really listening. “Give these gentlemen a security briefing and let’s get this show on the road.”
It occurred to me around this time that our customers at a so-called construction firm — being run by ex-Vietnam era soldiers — had expectations that we were to be their private little “Air America.” Had any of this been known in advance, I’d still be flying over the warm, calm waters of the Gulf of Thailand.
In the Operations Room we were shown a huge map of Afghanistan with a legend on the side identifying different coloured pushpins that indicated attacks on convoys, on ISAF (International Security Assistance Forces) forces, on private security forces, etc. The map looked like it had case of chicken pox — pushpins appeared almost over the entire map, with a concentration in the Kandahar and Helmand provinces and along the Pakistan border. And this was early in the month!
The Security Manager described the country as two separate areas — the north and the south. The north was relatively stable and was coloured “green” on the map. The southern part of the country was still at war. He showed us pictures of the Kajaki Dam, where we would be landing, and the route used to get in and out of the dam.
And with that, we were escorted out of the building and sent back to our crew house. “You can arrange a flight to Kandahar and talk to whomever you need to. I’ll send you some information to help you out.”
The evening before we were to depart for Kandahar, I received the following e-mail from the Security Manager:
“For HC (helicopter) going into Kajaki. On approach please call Widow 74 on the Maroon 35/CAG frequency. This information received from Task Force Helmand this evening.”
Who are these people? I wondered. Civilian aircraft don’t use coded and encrypted frequencies like the ones sent to us. Did they think we could decipher this? Who was Widow 74? What was Maroon 35/CAG frequency?
Clearly it was becoming more and more obvious that we were involved in some bizarre circus of the absurd.
And when we arrived in Kandahar, it was confirmed. No more than a minute after we landed and shut down, a local Afghan wheeled over some cargo designated to go into the Kajaki Dam — some MREs (Meals Ready to Eat) and some boxes of water. I had made it very clear to our customer before leaving Kabul that I would make the decision to fly to Kajaki depending upon what we heard at the ISAF briefing, but obviously nothing I said mattered.
The construction company’s security personnel arrived in four hard-shell Toyota Landcruisers and parked at the edge of the ramp, and watched us. We patiently waited for someone to show us the way to the HQ. But no one made a move. So we walked. We walked right into the Kandahar Base — a small city — and eventually found our way to the Air Operations Office.
We met a Captain from the Royal Air Force, a Canadian Armed Forces helicopter pilot on assignment, and several others in the ops room, all intently studying maps. They laughed when we told them of our plans to fly into Kajaki Dam.
“In a 212? On your own? Are you crazy?”
They told us exactly what had been told to the previous crew: the military never fly in there alone; it’s an active combat zone on the ground and in the air; they could not guarantee SAR services; the Taliban were more organized and better funded; they had made it known they wanted to capture the crew of a civilian aircraft. On and on it went. Clearly we had no right to be in a combat zone.
I didn’t need to hear anymore. But we did. They told us how the ISAF pilots had set up a pool to bet on how long we would survive if we began regular flights to the dam over Taliban held territory — and the most popular wager was 10 days.
This was clearly not a civilian operation.
The security personnel parked at the edge of the taxiway watched in disbelief as we hovered past them and departed along the runway for Kabul.
The e-mails from the construction company in Kabul to its head office in Washington, D.C. were swift and blunt.
And it turned out that this construction company had some influence with the State Department — talk about the elephant and the mouse.
Photo Credits
“212 in Afghanistan” ISAFMedia @ Flickr.com. Creative Commons. Some Rights Reserved.
“British Forces” Photo by John Moore/Getty Images
Such a Kafkaesque thing you are involved in Al; but good on you for sticking to your guns so to speak and protecting the lives of your crew.