Subj: A RECON MARINE IN AFGHANISTAN SPEAKS The following was read on the
Sully and Scooter (Radio KOGO in San Diego) Show on Nov. 17:
Just outside of Ab Gach, in the northwest panhandle of
Tajikstan and Pakistan, November 11, 2001.
- - Bizarre, It's (expletive) freezing here. I'm
sitting on hard,
between rocks and shrubs at the base of the Hindu Kush mountains
Dar 'yoi Pomir River watching a hole that leads to a tunnel that
leads to a
cave. Stake out, my friend, and no pizza delivery for thousands of
I also glance at the area around my ass every ten to
avoid another scorpion sting. I've actually given up battling the
and sand fleas, but them (expletive) scorpions give a jolt like a
prod. Hurts like a bastard. The antidote tastes like transmission
but God bless the Marine Corps for the five vials of it in my pack.
The one truth the Taliban cannot escape is that,
believe it or not,
human beings, which means they have to eat food and drink water.
requires couriers and that's where an old bounty hunter like me
handy. I track he couriers, locate the tunnel entrances and storage
facilities, type the info into the handheld, shoot the coordinates
up to the
satellite link that tells the air commanders where to drop the
bash some heads for a while, then I track and record the new
all about intelligence.
We haven't even brought in the snipers yet. These
idea what they're in for. We are but days away from cutting off
lines and allowing the eradication to begin. I've said it before and
say it again: This country blows, man. It's not even a country.
no roads, there's no infrastructure, there's no government. This is
inhospitable, rockpit (expletive) ruled by eleventh century warring
There are no jobs here like we know jobs.
Afghanistan offers two ways for a man to support his
trade or join the army. That's it. Those are your options. Oh, I
you can also live in a refugee camp and eat plum-sweetened, crushed
paste and squirt mud like a goose with stomach flu if that's your
idea of a
party. But the smell alone of those "tent cities of the walking
enough to hurl you into the poppy fields to cheerfully scrape bulbs
eighteen hours a day.
And let me tell you something else. I've been living
Uzbeks and Turkmen and even a couple of Pushtins for over a month
and a half
now and this much I can say for sure: These guys, all of em, are
Actual, living Huns. They LIVE to fight. Its what they do. Its ALL
do. They have no respect for anything, not for their families or for
other or for themselves. They claw at one another as a way of life.
play polo with dead calves and force their five-year-old sons into
cockfights to defend the family honor.
Huns, roaming packs of savage, heartless beasts who
feed on each
barbarism. (Expletive) cavemen with AK 47's.
Then again, maybe I'm just cranky. I'm freezing my
stupid (expletive) hill because my lap warmer is running out of
juice and I
can't recharge it until the sun comes up in a few hours.
Oh yeah! You like to write letters, right? Do me a
a letter to CNN and tell Judy and Bernie and that awful, sneering,
Aaron Brown to stop calling the Taliban "smart." They are not
suggest CNN invest in a dictionary because the word they are looking
"cunning." The Taliban are cunning, like jackals and hyenas
They are sneaky and ruthless and, when confronted, cowardly. They
hateful, malevolent parasites who create nothing and destroy