Foxtrot in Kandahar Read online

  FOXTROT

  IN KANDAHAR

  FOXTROT

  IN KANDAHAR

  A Memoir of a CIA Officer in Afghanistan at the Inception of America’s Longest War

  Duane Evans

  Copyright © 2017 by Duane Evans

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Evans, Duane, 1956- author.

  Title: Foxtrot in Kandahar: A Memoir of a CIA Officer in Afghanistan at the Inception of America’s Longest War / by Duane Evans.

  Other titles: Memoir of a CIA Officer in Afghanistan at the Inception of America’s Longest War

  Description: El Dorado Hills, California : Savas Beatie Publishers, [2017] | Identifiers: LCCN 2017021615| ISBN 9781611213577 (alk. paper) | ISBN 9781611213584 (ebk.) ISBN 9781611213584 (Mobi)

  Subjects: LCSH: Evans, Duane, 1956- | Afghan War, 2001---Personal narratives, American. | Intelligence officers--United States--Biography | Afghan War, 2001--Campaigns--Afghanistan--Kandahar. | Afghan War, 2001--Secret service--United States. | Taliban. | War on Terrorism, 2001-2009--Personal narratives, American. | United States. Central Intelligence

  Agency--Biography. | Special operations (Military science)--Pakistan. | Special operations (Military science)--Afghanistan--Kandahåar.

  Classification: LCC DS371.413 .E87 2017 | DDC 958.104/740973--dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017021615

  First Edition, First Printing

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  All statements of fact, opinion or analysis expressed are those of the author and do not reflect the official positions or views of the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) or any other U.S. government agency. Nothing in the contents should be construed as asserting or implying US government authentication of information or CIA endorsement of the author’s views. This material has been reviewed by the CIA to prevent the disclosure of classified information.

  To my parents Jim and Mariah Evans, In loving memory.

  “You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.”

  — Khalil Gibran, The Prophet

  Duane Evans in Afghanistan, November 2001.

  Table of Contents

  Preface

  Glossary of Acronyms

  Prologue: Pakistan—November 2001

  PART ONE — HEADQUARTERS

  Chapter 1: Outrage

  Chapter 2: Plenty of Parking

  Chapter 3: Roots

  Chapter 4: A Day Late

  Chapter 5: A Threshold Crossed, A Spark Ignited

  Chapter 6: Mission Over Process

  Chapter 7: Change Comes Hard

  Chapter 8: “Pasha”

  Chapter 9: Suspicious Minds

  Chapter 10: New Mission

  Chapter 11: Pakistan on My Mind

  Chapter 12: Saying Goodbye

  PART TWO — PAKISTAN

  Chapter 13: Islamabad

  Chapter 14: Karzai

  Chapter 15: A Full Up Team

  Chapter 16: A Devoted Man

  Chapter 17: Off Again, On Again

  Chapter 18: New Team, New Mission

  Chapter 19: A Question of Leadership

  Chapter 20: By the Seat of Our Pants

  PART THREE — AFGHANISTAN

  Chapter 21: There Be Snakes

  Chapter 22: Infiltration

  Chapter 23: Reflections on Leadership

  Chapter 24: The Best Laid Plans

  Chapter 25: Wagons, Ho!

  Chapter 26: The Longest Night

  Chapter 27: The Longest Day

  Chapter 28: Bad News

  Chapter 29: Takhteh-Pol Days

  Chapter 30: Lightning Strikes—Twice

  Chapter 31: Friendly Fire

  Chapter 32: Kandahar

  Chapter 33: Paying the Freight

  Chapter 34: Link-up with Echo Team

  Chapter 35: Raids, Rubble, Rocks, and Lingerie

  Chapter 36: Tensions Among the Tribe

  Chapter 37: Death from Above

  Chapter 38: Do I Go or Do I Stay

  Chapter 39: Jacobabad Revisited

  Chapter 40: Home

  Epilogue

  Postscript 2017

  Acknowledgments

  Map: Afghanistan frontis opposite Chapter

  Map: Team Foxtrot: Area of Operations

  A gallery of photos follows page

  Preface

  This MEMOIR IS MY attempt to describe the events that I experienced during my service in Afghanistan in the fall of 2001. The feelings of pride in my colleagues, my Agency, and my country that these events engendered motivated me to begin this project and were a sustaining force throughout. My decision to write this story was also no doubt influenced by the fact that my experience in Afghanistan was the high point of my CIA career and the greatest adventure of my life. I appreciated this even as I lived it, and neither the passage of time nor subsequent events have changed my feelings.

  As someone whose career often involved a tremendous amount of writing, and having more recently authored a novel, the extraordinary events I experienced firsthand provided material that was hard for anyone considering themself a writer to ignore. Nonetheless, I did just that for several years, even though I had drafted a lengthy summary of the key events soon after returning home. This recollection eventually would serve as the backbone of the memoir.

  I understand that a memoir at its best is a great sharing, and at its worst, a great effort in self-promotion. My goal was the first: to share, to the extent possible within the bounds of national security, the personal story that I lived in 2001 beginning with the terrorist attacks on September 11th carrying through to the fall of Kandahar on December 7th. I believe I have accomplished that goal. Still, because I did write about myself I could not help but worry that my story might be judged as self-promotion—something I have witnessed in the professional world all too often. This concern bothered me a great deal, and in fact delayed me from pursuing publication of the memoir. Over time, however, and after reading the memoirs of other writers, I concluded there just is no good way to write a memoir without embedding oneself, the writer, into the story. It wouldn’t be a memoir, otherwise.

  Ultimately, I overcame my misgivings because I believed that the story was important and shed light on the early days of what is often referred to as “the war on terror.” While I still read references to this period as being during “the American invasion of Afghanistan,” one of the things that I hope this memoir makes clear is that there never was an American invasion of Afghanistan, in 2001 or after. I even considered titling this book “A Memoir of the Invasion that Wasn’t” just to make that point up front. Yes, there was American military involvement in Afghanistan in 2001, but a handful of small, combined CIA-Special Forces teams scattered across Afghanistan working with resistance fighters, even when supported by U.S. air power, does not an invasion make. In fact, the most significant and usually overlooked aspect of the overthrow of the Taliban government and the smashing of al-Qa’ida fighters in the country in 2001 was that it was not achieved, or ever intended to be achieved, by U.S. forces storming enemy strongholds. Instea
d, it was achieved by Afghan-Muslims, who with U.S. support carried the day on the ground in the fight against terror and tyranny.

  For privacy and personal security reasons, when I refer to others in the book who were with me or otherwise part of my story I usually refer to them by their true first name only, though in a couple of cases I use alias names to designate individuals. Also, in a few instances I refer to persons by their positions only. Finally, there are a couple of other instances where I use the true first and last names. In those cases, the persons in question are already public figures due to positions they have held or books they have authored. For these reasons, I trust readers will understand why the publisher and I agreed to omit an index for this work.

  Regarding dialogue, while I strove to reflect the conversations as accurately as possible, because I had no means or reason to record these conversations when they happened, all dialogue, even when enclosed in quotation marks, should be taken only as approximations of the conversations or statements represented. The quotation marks are used for writing convention only.

  As noted in the statement in the front of this book, which is required to be included in any publication written by a current or former CIA officer, the contents of this memoir were reviewed by the CIA’s Publication Review Board (PRB) to insure no classified information is contained herein. My experience in getting this publication approved was generally not difficult, with only a few points of contention regarding the content I proposed to include. I believe the relatively problem-free process was due to the fair review the material was given, and because I tried to ensure there was no information in the manuscript the PRB would likely disallow on a security basis.

  The story that follows is my story as I experienced it. It is largely based on my memory of the events I lived through. My goal was to keep my writing as close as possible to what I personally saw, felt, said, heard, thought, or believed. To my mind these are the key elements of a true memoir. This is not an academic study and should not be considered as such. However, before retiring, I did have the opportunity to read the CIA’s official, classified history of the Agency teams operating in Afghanistan in 2001, and therefore I was able to ensure that my telling of the story of Foxtrot team—the team that I led from start to finish—is historically accurate.

  During the time frame covered in the book, in addition to Foxtrot team, there were six other CIA teams in Afghanistan, five of which were located in the northern half of the country. My focus was on Foxtrot team, although I do include some information about Echo team, with which I was briefly associated and which like Foxtrot operated in the south. The other teams, to which I make only fleeting reference in the book, all performed valiant service for their country and were made up of great Americans, but their stories are their own to tell, should they choose to do so.

  Glossary of Acronyms

  CCE: Command and Control Element (Special Forces)

  COS: Chief of Station (CIA)

  CT: Counterterrorism

  CTC: Counterterrorist Center (CIA)

  CTC/SO: Counterterrorist Center/Special Operations

  DCOS: Deputy Chief of Station

  DEA: Drug Enforcement Agency

  DOD: Department of Defense

  ISI: Inter-Services Intelligence Directorate (Pakistan)

  MEU: Marine Expeditionary Unit

  MRE: Meal Ready to Eat

  NALT: Northern Alliance Liaison Team

  NE Div.: Near East and South Asia Division (CIA)

  ODA: Operational Detachment Alpha (Special Forces “A” Team)

  OTS: Office of Technical Services (CIA)

  PM: Paramilitary

  RPG: Rocket Propelled Grenade

  SAD: Special Activities Division (CIA)

  SF: Special Forces (Green Berets)

  SO: Special Operations

  SOFLAM: Special Operations Forces Laser Marker

  TDY: Temporary Duty

  Prologue

  Pakistan—November 2001

  My RUCKSACK WAS HUGE and heavily packed, and I strained to lift it onto the bed of the waiting truck. The other members of CIA’s Echo team were equally laden, their packs bulging to their limits. Each of us carried clothing, weapons, and equipment, including armored vests, extra ammunition, communications gear, and medical supplies. The U.S. Army Special Forces team embedded with us was similarly weighted down. For the moment, we were beasts of burden if nothing else.

  In an hour the truck would transport us to an Air Force MC-130 that sat waiting at a nearby Pakistani airfield. Its job was to carry us to a remote rendezvous point where we would land and cross-load to helicopters for the final leg of a nighttime flight over the border and deep into southern Afghanistan. It was the big event, and we were more than ready to go.

  As we continued to load our gear, Greg, the Echo team leader, returned from the final planning meeting with the Air Force’s 20th Special Operations Squadron and pulled me aside.

  “Bad news. We have too much gear, too many people, and not enough birds. Between the SF team and Echo team the loadmaster says we have to leave some gear behind plus three passengers.”

  I braced for what I suspected was coming.

  “I talked with Jason. He’s pulling two of his SF’ers. You’ll be Echo team’s stay behind guy.”

  A gut punch would have been preferable to those words. I was crushed, devastated to my core. But I didn’t argue. I’d been here before, ready to go but not going. Greg’s decision made sense. The rest of Echo team, with the exception of our physician assistant, was made up of CIA paramilitary officers with current, well-honed military skills. I was a CIA case officer, and my once respectable martial skills had atrophied long ago.

  Reading how I was feeling, Greg tried to soften the blow: “Don’t sweat it. We’ll get you and the other two in on a resupply flight in a few days.”

  “Alright. We’ll be standing by,” I told him.

  I walked back to the truck and asked one of my teammates to hand me back my rucksack. I carried it inside our barracks then returned to help with the rest of the loading. Now more of an observer than a participant, I paused to take in the scene.

  Underneath a canopy of bright blue sky, my teammates were lined up behind the truck waiting their turn to hand up their gear. Clothed in cargo pants, REI shirts, baseball caps, and hiking boots, they might have easily been mistaken for members of a trekking expedition—except for the Glock pistols they wore on their belts and the AK-47 rifles that hung off their shoulders. With only hours left before going into the heartland of the Taliban, gone was the usual light-hearted banter, and each man wore a serious expression on his bearded face. Despite the danger they knew awaited them, they continued working, moving closer and closer with each rucksack passed to whatever fate had in store. Nothing was going to stop them, not even fear.

  A surge of pride suddenly swept through me as I stood watching. Like a rogue wave on a calm ocean, intense and overpowering, it took me by surprise and brought unexpected tears to my eyes. In that moment, I understood how such a feeling must have stirred Francis Scott Key to pen the words of the Star Spangled Banner as he watched the bombardment of the stalwart Ft. McHenry by attacking British forces. Feelings that intense needed an outlet.

  Although no lyrics suitable for an anthem sprung to my mind, I did wish that I could somehow convey the scene and my sentiments to the Agency employees back home and say to them, “Hey, look! These are our guys! They’re the CIA! Look at what they’re doing. For CIA and for our country, this small band of men is going after al-Qa’ida deep in the badlands of Afghanistan.”

  I felt the same about the Special Forces team. Everyone there was a great American, a true patriot by any measure, and it made no difference if he were military or CIA.

  Not wanting to embarrass myself with the unexpected emotion, I decided it was a good time to go find Hamid Karzai, or “Mr. K,” as he was often referred to among the team, and say my reluctant goodbyes. Karzai, a respected Pashtun tribal leade
r, was considered key to our long-term success in Afghanistan. As I walked back to his room, it dawned on me that he didn’t have an armored vest, and the only thing between him and a steel-jacketed bullet would be his cotton tunic. It wasn’t hard to imagine how that contest would turn out. I stopped by my room and grabbed mine.

  I found Karzai sitting on his cot packing, his belongings haphazardly scattered about him. I explained that I wouldn’t be going with him, but hopefully would join him and the other Echo team members later. I held up the weighty vest.

  “Promise me you will wear this.”

  “Oh, yes, thank you. I will wear it, most assuredly,” he responded in his classic Karzai polite-speak.

  I smiled and gave him an embrace. “Take care of yourself,” I said, and I really meant it.

  After saying our goodbyes, I headed down the deserted hall pondering my new situation. Stepping into the light of the afternoon sun, I couldn’t shake the feeling that despite all my efforts to get to this point, I might never set foot in Afghanistan or see Karzai again.

  PART ONE

  HEADQUARTERS

  1

  Outrage

  At A SIDEWALK TABLE in Washington, DC, across the street from FBI Headquarters, I sipped a cappuccino and soaked in the perfect September weather. It had been only a month since I had completed a tour as a CIA Chief of Station in South America, and I was still adjusting to life back in the States. Beautiful mornings like this certainly helped. I checked my watch and glanced at the side entrance to the FBI building where I would soon meet with Special Agent Frank Ortiz and the Latin American delegation he was escorting.