Our guest blogger this week is U.S. Air Force Maj. Nicholas Hardman. He is attached to the 10th Combat Aviation Brigade as the command’s Joint Combat Assessment Team officer. He shares a few stories about some aircraft missions in Northern Afghanistan:
A CH-47 Chinook
The CH-47 Chinook is a very unique aircraft, so unique that I don’t think it should even fly. There’s no stabilator, no rudder, not even an empennage (that’s a French word for an aircraft tail). Instead, this massive dual-rotor beast gets its stability and surprising maneuverability through differential lift, a sophisticated flight control system and, of course, a highly-skilled crew.
The Chinook does the heavy lifting in U.S. Army aviation. It has three gunner stations with M240 automatic weapons, so it’s a quasi-standalone battleship. It can carry almost 12 tons of cargo or 32 fully-loaded combat troops. You wouldn’t guess it by looking at the Vietnam-era design, but the CH-47 is one of the fastest and most technologically-advanced helicopters in the world.
It’s like a football lineman with the speed of a wide receiver and the skills of a quarterback.
I caught my first Chinook flight while trying to get back to Bagram Airfield near Kabul after some work at an outlying forward operating base. After some regular passenger stops, we arrived at a high mountain landing zone.
You know it’s not a regular stop when the gunners keep scanning even after landing. As soon as the ramp door dropped, eight soldiers emerged and made their way to our aircraft. They lumbered under heavy packs and fancy gear.
These were Special Forces.
They oozed a coolness that seemed to say, “I could kill you with my finger and start a fire with your bones.” Yea, their coolness was doing all the talking because they weren’t much for conversation. After they all got onboard and sat down, their square-jawed leader attempted a discussion with one of the gunners. The extreme decibel level of the overhead engines reduces conversation to shouting and animated hand gestures. (If you’ve ever seen two fighter pilots in a bar, you get the picture.)
After a few exchanges, the square-jawed one meekly shouldered his pack and stomped out the back. His men quizzically got up, followed him down the ramp… and onto the adjacent Blackhawk. Yes, it’s hard to keep up your air of coolness when you just boarded the wrong aircraft.
Soon, our correct passengers appeared: a platoon of Afghan commandos going home. As they approached the ramp, I tensely fingered the selector switch on my weapon. Two of our soldiers had been killed a week earlier when an Afghani soldier turned his gun on them during combined operations. That’s what’s so nerve-wracking about counter-insurgencies; it’s a constant trust issue.
As it turns out, these guys were just happy to be getting out of the mountains. I was thankful to have a seat by the open gunner’s window because they had all the odorous qualities of an extended field stay. One of their sergeants dropped down next to me and gave me a friendly smile. He indicated that he wanted to talk more, but he spoke limited English and my Pashtun isn’t very intelligible, even without the ear-splitting roar above our heads. We settled for a fist bump and nod to say, “It’s all one fight.”
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“The objectives are here and here … intelligence reports that the locals are very isolated, but foreign Taliban have infiltrated here … weather forecast for H-Hour is low lunar illumination…imagery indicates that the LZs should be free of mines and consist of packed dirt or snow…”
This was the D-1 (day of execution minus one) mission planning brief. It was a true coalition operation. American aviation assets were going into a mountain valley with several platoons of French infantry. Such an operation involves a dizzying level of planning and coordination.
On the eve of the mission, all crewmembers gathered for the update brief. Once all the maps and planning cards had been reviewed, the mission commander concluded with some inspirational words. I prayed.
As we all stepped to the aircraft, the ramp was abuzz with energy. I paused to look around as maintainers and crewmembers scrambled to ready Chinooks, Apaches, and other support assets. We’ve been at this war so long that missions like this were almost routine for these guys… almost. It’s still an emotional event to be part of a team headed into battle.
The mission kicked off as planned. We descended into a valley so dark that it was hard to discern the nearby buildings, even with night vision goggles. The people that live here have never known electricity.
As the aircraft touched down, the rear gunner and I hopped out. When it was their time, the French soldiers on board our aircraft started offloading but much too slowly for the pilots’ liking. We had surprised the opposition, but it’s never wise to sit for long. The first few charged right out, but one of the newbies showed some hesitancy. I sympathized. He was standing in a warm cocoon peering into the inky blackness of a hostile battlefield.
But, “J’appologize, monsieur … we gotta go!” I pulled him off the ramp and the gunner steered him toward their rally point. The rest followed.
As the last ones were stepping off, something at the field edge caught my eye and I adjusted the goggles for a better look. My gaze was broken with a slap on the back and, “Major, you stayin’ or comin’ with us?”
The gunner and I jumped back aboard and the Chinook leapt off the ground and climbed for the sky. From my view on the back ramp, I watched the soldiers head out. Those kids were in for quite a night.
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Some flights are defined by the action, but some are memorable for the serenity. One day we had to visit some New Zealanders in Afghanistan’s Bamiyan Valley.
This is one of the most scenic and historic places in Afghanistan. Located in the Hindu Kush mountain range, the only way to get there is through 12,000 feet mountain passes with towering mountain peaks on both sides. As we climbed out of the “Bagram bowl” and into the mountains, I joined the ramp gunner scanning the terrain passing under our feet.
The mountains were breathtaking, but as we spilled out of the high country, I gazed on the majestic valley. Bamiyan was once a key stop along the Silk Road. The people of the valley thrived for hundreds of years with the new technology and wealth brought by the many caravans that passed through. It was a jewel of the Persian Empire, then of Alexander the Great, and then of Indian dynasties. It became a center of activity for religion, culture, and art.
The entrance of the valley was once guarded by the ruins of an ancient citadel. As the story goes, Genghis Kahn’s march west was stopped there until the Bamiyan king’s daughter decided to get back at her dad for not letting her run around with her boyfriend. She snuck out and showed the Mongols the source of the secret underground spring. They dammed the source, captured the citadel, and destroyed everything.
The massacre was so horrific that the place is now called Shahr-e-Golgola, the ‘City of Screams.’ Genghis Khan then executed the princess for being such a bad daughter. So kids, obey your parents!
One of the most famous sites in the valley is the 1,400 year-old Buddhist temple, home of two massive statues and caves full of ancient frescos. It was a World Heritage Site and destination for many pilgrims and tourists until the Taliban declared the site ‘un-Islamic’ in 2001. They blasted the place for days. All that remains are ruins that give a fading image of the former enormity and grandeur. Ever since, the valley has been in decline, and the local population hasn’t been too keen on the Taliban.
And so goes Afghanistan.
These missions are a microcosm of the war, and a metaphor for the country as a whole: a multifarious weave of trust and treachery, of ancient culture and new technology, of foreign armies and isolated peoples as it has been for two thousand years.
