My Share of the Task(203)

                In an interview earlier that month with PBS’s Frontline, the reporter had noted that there was “a lot of talk in Washington that in twelve months we’ll have an assessment of how we’re doing in Afghanistan.” Having surveyed our organization and having started to move it in the right direction, I believed I knew what we needed to accomplish. I also knew, realistically, what we could accomplish.

                “I would not expect to be able to sit with you twelve months from now,” I answered, “and tell you that we are at victory or near victory or even close to victory. What I would say is, I would hope to be able to convince you we have an organization that is now focused and moving in the right direction with the right culture,” so that “you could then believe that this is . . . the kind of effort that could be successful.”

                The ISAF team, while imperfect, was coming together. And while at best our mission in Afghanistan would be extraordinarily difficult, I felt that it could be done.





| CHAPTER 19 |

                Decide

                September–December 2009



On a sunny Friday, September 4, 2009, Ambassador Karl Eikenberry and I walked across the newly constructed bridge with local Afghan officials, everyone in apparent good humor. In Kunar Province, bisected by the shallow but fast-moving Kunar River, bridges are a big deal. This one seemed to represent tangible progress, and we hoped it would stimulate local economic growth. But in counterinsurgency, setbacks lie in wait.

                I saw Charlie Flynn walking briskly toward me, cell phone in hand. I knew from his drawn face something was up. His brother Mike had just called from ISAF headquarters to inform us that a Coalition air strike in Kunduz Province, two hundred miles to the northwest, had reportedly killed a large number of Afghan civilians. As many as a hundred were dead, he said. Details were limited, but initial reports indicated that U.S.-piloted F-15 aircraft, responding to a German request, had bombed two fuel trucks that insurgents had hijacked. The insurgents reportedly planned to use the tankers as massive vehicle bombs against the Coalition base in Kunduz. But while still a significant distance from the compound, the trucks had become stuck on a sandbar as they crossed a small river. When the aircraft struck the trucks, local civilians had gathered around them to obtain free fuel.

                Using Charlie’s cell phone while standing on the bridge, I immediately called the palace and asked to speak to President Karzai. He listened quietly as I explained what I knew of the incident. I said that we would investigate immediately but offered no theories or excuses as to why it happened. I didn’t know enough yet and that was not the way I’d decided to deal with such incidents. I continued: “Mr. President, I want to apologize for the incident. As I promised you when I arrived, I am working to prevent this kind of loss. I’ll redouble that effort. I also want to express my sympathy to you, and all Afghans, for the tragic loss.”

                President Karzai’s response was immediate and disarming. He thanked me for the report and for my apology. I sensed he had expected me to communicate something like this in a more guarded fashion, or indirectly.

                We flew back to Kabul that evening, and the next day, sensing the seriousness of the situation and a slower reaction than was needed, flew to Kunduz. Arriving by helicopter, we moved first to RC-North’s headquarters, and then drove to the site of the strike—a stretch of river four miles from the airport.

                From our vehicles, the acting RC-North commander, a small group of Afghan and ISAF leaders, and I walked a twisted dirt track that stopped at the edge of the river, where I paused. Partway across the water, in the center of a long sandbar, sat two blackened fuel tankers. Assorted burned debris surrounded the stranded vehicles in a large, uneven pattern. Across the river, half visible through the trees and bushes, small groups of Afghans milled about, including, we believed, local Taliban. They were likely the same band that had hijacked the trucks whose burned shells we were about to inspect. Patiently pacing or crouching, they watched us.