Learning To Walk - A Soldier's Story by Clifford Beck - HTML preview

Chapter 20

Our observations confirmed that not only was there traffic going through the Khyber Pass but there were also wooden crates being unloaded from trucks. We had also seen people carrying weapons across their shoulders. This was the information we needed. The reports and photographs would be examined by military intelligence and a plan would be put together. An air strike would be politically risky. Torkham sat almost exactly on the Pakistani border and an air strike would certainly be interpreted as an act of war. Instead, a blockade would be established between Torkham and the Tora Bora. Any lines of travel west and south of Torkham would be cut off. The Taliban and Al-Qaeda would be forced to abandon the trafficking of weapons or divert their route south and cross the Tora Bora Mountains on foot. From the photographs, it would also be assessed that some of these weapons appeared to be Russian but that was only a guess.

We began pulling out six days later. The first platoon of Marines moved out ahead of us to clear the way of any resistance we might run into. The second platoon would be at our backs in the event of a surprise attack. We would be walking back to the outpost and choppered back to Kabul. Extraction from Slinghar Mountain by helicopter was out of the question. We'd be returning during early daylight hours and a fleet of helicopters would be certain to attract attention. In order to maintain the lowest visibility possible, we traveled in small groups of two or three. The Marines, however, were ordered to travel in larger groups. I had been paired up with the sergeant in charge of the unit. His name was Ryan. He was a pretty easy going but it was obvious that he felt the full weight of responsibility when it came to his job. The last thing he wanted was to lose someone under his command.

It was 0800 hours, and the desert sun was already beating down on us. As we walked through the sand, I saw something I hadn't noticed before. There was a small settlement about half a mile west of our location that didn't show up on any of our maps. In fact, we had no information on it at all and it had been overlooked on the satellite images. From a distance, it was nothing more than a small arrangement of shelters whose walls had been carved from rocks brought in from the mountains, each seemed to be the size of a modest walk-in closet. Many of these small settlements had been constructed centuries ago and had seen many tenants over time. In these isolated places, the idea of time was nonexistent. The past, present, and future were irrelevant to the people living in these places. For them, life was an ongoing struggle to survive. We stopped to survey the small settlement and noticed there was no movement.

"Why didn't we see that before?" the sergeant asked. I stood next to him sweeping the area with a pair of binoculars.

"Maybe we just weren't looking for it," I replied. "It's not on any of the maps."

The early morning sun slowly rose over the mountain tops, casting long shadows of our shapes across the sand. It was hard to tell how big the settlement was from half a mile's distance, but I had the distinct feeling that it was not as empty as it seemed.

"I don't know," the sergeant said. "What do you think?" I continued to scan the settlement. "I think it's worth a look," I replied. "There could be a weapons cache down there."

It was at that moment we heard the crack of a gunshot. We suddenly raised our rifles and dropped to our stomachs. "That sounded like it came from the settlement," I said. Another shot rang out from the stone shelters. "I think you're right, Private," the sergeant replied. This shot was followed by the sound of a crying baby. "Private," the sergeant said. "We need to get down there." I nodded in agreement.

"Sir," I said. "If we're going to do this, we should have more people."

A third shot suddenly brought silence to the sound of crying.

"By that time," the sergeant said. "Everyone down there's going to be dead. We need to get down there now."

"I'm ready whenever you are, sir," I replied.

We both got up and ran toward the settlement, taking cover behind the occasional rock. What we were doing went against everything the Army taught us. Never go in alone and always make an accurate assessment of any given situation. What drove us in was the sound of the crying baby and glancing over at the sergeant, I could see the anger etched on his face. At that moment, I believed that this was the reason I had joined the Army. All the training and hard work seemed to culminate into that one moment. I felt that my purpose was crystal clear and I became filled with rage at the idea that someone - anyone - could stoop so low as to kill a defenseless child. My sense of reason escaped me and in its place was the monster, the thing that without warning, can rob us of our humanness. It had taken over so quickly that I had suddenly stopped being a soldier and became a mindless killer, devoid of any degree of conscience. I was driven by the adrenaline of rage and as we neared the settlement, I quickly realized it was somewhat larger than it first appeared.

We slowed our approach as the sergeant tapped my left arm and pointed off to the right. I moved quickly to the corner of the building that lay to the far right while the sergeant took up a similar position on the far left of the settlement. We'd circle around and meet at the rear of the settlement's perimeter. Everything we did was by the book, with one possibly fatal mistake. There were only two of us and an area this size required two or three squads in order to fully cover the area. But, neither of us was thinking clearly. Looking back on it, I believe that a fair assessment of our actions could be summed up by saying that we were trying to fight madness with insanity. I rounded the corner and headed for the back side of the building as another shot was fired. It was preceded by the sound of a woman screaming and followed by yelling. The voice spoke in English and sounded vaguely familiar. I rounded the next corner to find the ground littered with dead. They all appeared to have been in a sitting position and all of them had been shot in the head. Each body bore the same entry wound -- the middle of the forehead. They had not simply been shot. They had been executed. But, it was the exit wound the left the deepest impression on what little remained of my faculties. Blood and brain matter had painted the stone wall as the dead lay sprawled with eyes open and mouths agape. The backs of their heads had exploded with such force that skull fragments had left themselves embedded in the wall behind them. Had I been in possession of any degree of sanity, I would have certainly become violently ill.

Working my way down the row of slaughtered men, women and children, I cautiously approached the rear of the next building. What I encountered was beyond my mind's ability to fully absorb as the monster inside me began to roar. I recognized him immediately as the marine I stood up to in Kabul. He was obviously from one of the platoons that had been attached to the mission. Unfortunately, he found the settlement before we did and had begun lining up its people and executing them with a single shot to the forehead.

"What the fuck are you doing?!" I screamed. He didn't seem too surprised and paused while aiming his sidearm at the head of an elderly woman. She was sitting with her back against the wall, her knees tucked up into her chest while holding her hands out in an attempt to protect herself.

"Hey!" he yelled. "I know you! You're that asshole that told me off back in Kabul!"

The elderly woman began crying as he continued to aim his pistol at her head.

"Shut the fuck up!" he screamed.

He turned back to me with a grin. "Excuse me a second. Let me deal with this pig so we can talk."

He turned back to the woman while cocking the hammer on his pistol.

"Wait!" I screamed. "What are you doing?!" I stepped forward in an attempt to stop him but he fired before I could get close enough. The back of the woman’s head exploded against the wall as he casually dropped his arm.

"What am I doing," he said. "I'm doing my job. You know, killing terrorists."

He removed the magazine from his sidearm and discovered he'd run out of ammo.

“Shit!” he yelled.

He holstered his pistol and brought out his combat knife. "Guess we got to do this old school."

"These people aren't terrorists!" I screamed. "Jesus fucking Christ! You can't just start killing innocents!" He turned to me with a puzzled look. "Innocents?" he began. "No one's innocent!" He pointed behind me with his knife. "You see that kid right there? Now, it's more than likely that he would've grown up to be a fucking terrorist. All I did was stop him. Problem solved." If war does anything successfully, it is to test the sanity of those who face the chaos of battle and both of us had failed miserably.

"Are you out of your fucking mind?!" I yelled.

He walked towards me at a startling pace and pointed his combat knife at my face. His eyes suddenly became wild and angry.

"Listen, grunt," he said. "That's what they call you Army types, right?"

In spite of the fact that he was still pointing his knife at my face, I held my ground with vengeful resolve. "Now," he continued. "You can help, or you can die." He suddenly became disturbingly calm and let out a slight giggle. During the next moment, he had quickly become overtaken by rage and frustration as he turned away, walking only a few feet from me. He crouched down in front of an old man who had also been sitting against the wall. Hardship and time had robbed him of his voice but he sat unafraid, with an expression of resolution etched on his stony face. He pointed his knife at the old man and spoke to me without taking his eyes off him. "Now, this one," he began. "I'll bet this fucker's killed a lot of people.”

He leaned forward into the old man's face and began screaming.

"Are you a fucking terrorist!? Do you know what your motherfucking people did to us?!" As he continued screaming, I quietly unclipped the strap on my holster and slipped out my sidearm. He grabbed the old man by his clothes and pulling him forward, putting the knife against his throat. The old man was unmoved by the threat against his life.

"So," he started. "Should I cut his throat, or just pull out an eye?"

He looked up at me to discover that I was pointing my sidearm at his head. He snickered slightly as he momentarily dropped his head then, just as quickly, looked back up at me with a grin.

"Are you fuckin' serious?" he began. "You'd protect 'these' people? They're not even people! They're animals! Look at this shit hole! They fucking live like pigs and you'd kill me to save them!?"

He shook his head in disgust.

"You're pathetic."

He dragged the old man out from the wall and forced him to his knees so they were both facing me. "You know how this is done, don't you?" he asked. He angled his knife, placing the point down against the man’s windpipe.

"Down through the carotid artery and into the vocal cords, right?"

I stood, continuing to aim my sidearm at his head, as my thoughts started to become cloudy. "Marine!" I yelled. "You will stand down or I will be forced to fire!"

His face broke into an angry grin as he spoke through clenched teeth.

"Grunt, you don't have the balls," he replied. He glanced down at the man's neck and teasingly broke his skin with the tip of his knife. The old man winced in pain as a small pool of blood gathered on his skin. I cocked the hammer back on my pistol.

"I said stop!" I yelled.

My finger immediately made contact with the trigger. "I don't think so, asshole," he replied. The old man took a sudden gasp of pain as the marine pushed his knife deeper into his flesh. My mind had completely separated itself from my emotions. The monster leaped forward through the barrel of my .45 as I unknowingly squeezed the trigger. The crack of the discharging round was a sound I would never forget. It would break into my waking thoughts and take up residence in my nightmares. My mind would never be released from that sound.

The back of the marine's head exploded as his body crumbled to the ground while the old man quickly crawled back to the wall and held his hand against his wounded neck. The sound of the shot drifted away and vanished into the morning desert air. But, the silence was broken by another sound, one that I found difficult to place and after hearing it a second time, I decided to follow it. I was led down along the wall, passed the dead as well as those who were lucky enough to remain unharmed. I discovered the sound somewhere along the back of the next building. A second marine was photographing the dead. He had been posing a corpse with his pistol in the hand of a young man who'd also been shot in the head. I recognized him as the marine I'd pissed off with the 'cheerleader' remark back in Kabul. In actuality, I guess I'd stood up to both of them. I was still a pretty good distance from him when he picked up a crying baby by the arm.

"Where's the Sergeant?" I wondered. As much as I wanted this to stop, I also wanted someone to tell me whether any of this was real. I walked towards him as quietly as possible.

"Shut the fuck up!" he screamed.

I approached him with my sidearm aimed at his head.

Somewhere in the back of my frozen mind, I had the idea that I would, and could, save as many of these people as possible.

"Jesus Christ!" I yelled.

He turned toward me as if he'd already known I was there. "Hey," he said. "I know you."

He dropped his arm, lowering the infant to the ground. "You're the asshole that called me a 'cheerleader' the other day."

He held the baby back up, still clutching it by the arm. "Well, first I'm going to deal with this, then I'm going to deal with you."

"Look," I said. "We can settle this, alright? Just put the baby down, please. That kid hasn't done anything to anyone.

"He could hear the desperation in my voice as a broad grin came over his face.

"Oh, you want me to put the baby down?" he asked tauntingly. "This baby?"

"Stop fuckin' around!" I yelled.

He glanced down at the ground where a rock lay partly exposed while bringing up his other hand and holding the infant under its arms. All that time, the child had been screaming helplessly.

"Fine," he replied. "I'll put it down. I'm not much into kids anyway. Oh, by the way, your Sergeant's dead. He got in the way of the mission.”

He began to raise the infant over his head as his grin twisted itself into an expression of rage. It happened so quickly and by the time I squeezed the trigger, he already had the infant over his head. The round entered an area near the middle of his face, causing his nose to split. The round tumbled through his head and exploded out through the base of his skull. He was dead before he hit the ground. Had I not hesitated, the baby might have survived.

But, falling from above the marine's head sent it to the ground faster than I could move to catch it. Sand isn't as forgiving as you might think, and the child was quickly silenced upon impact with the hot, dry earth. I ran over to the infant as it lay on the hot sand, its face bathed by the morning sun. Its eyes were only half open as its mouth had fallen into a faint smile. I sat in the sand next to it, stroking the top of its head. I didn't know the child’s name. I didn't even know if it was a boy or girl. I just sat and talked to it as it quietly passed into whatever lay on the other side of its last heartbeat. Then, I cracked. I couldn't hold it back anymore. The ghosts that had been haunting me had finally broken free of their chains. Everything had come to the surface, escaping through a torrent of tears and pain.

Others in the settlement had survived so why wasn't I able to save this one child? As I looked around with tears flowing down my face, I saw some of the settlement's survivors staggering toward me. I realized that they would not remember us for our intentions, but for our actions and the sight of a U.S. soldier sitting next to the body of one of their children would be branded on their souls forever. It never occurred to me what their reaction might be if they suddenly saw me as a target of revenge. I looked up at them again to see them slowly backing away as their eyes had become fixed on something behind me. I turned around to find myself surrounded by several marines, all aiming their weapons at me. Their sergeant stepped up to my right side with an assault rifle aimed at my temple. "Private, get on your feet," he ordered. I got up with no intentions of resisting and having been relieved of my weapons, I was led out of the settlement. "You're being taken into custody," the sergeant continued. "You'll be turned over to the MPs once we reach Kabul." Once we returned to the outpost, I was placed under heavy guard. It wasn't as though I was going anywhere but they had to follow procedure. I suppose they could've just shot me.

That being said, I was actually surprised that they took me into custody in the first place. In the middle of the Afghani desert, no one would have known and I would have simply been added to the MIA list. Their sergeant, accompanied by three guards, woke me early the next morning to board the first helicopter back to Kabul. The helicopter landed just moments after I stepped out of the tent. Maybe they expected me to put up a fight, or at least struggle a bit, but I was determined to remain calm and would not give them the satisfaction of becoming difficult. There was absolutely no conversation or eye contact on the way back. About twenty miles outside Kabul, the pilot radioed our ETA and informed air traffic control of my arrest. My mind went blank as the memories of the incident became hazy.

About fifteen minutes later, I found myself stepping out of the helicopter and faced with what must have been a dozen MPs. I don't really remember how many there were. The sergeant in charge ordered me to get on my knees and place my hands behind my head. I felt the ratcheting of cold steel around my wrists as I was handcuffed and escorted to a waiting vehicle where I was driven across the base to the security center. It was only after being allowed to sit that I realized how exhausted I was. Sleeping in the desert is hard enough. Sleeping while surrounded by armed guards authorized to use deadly force is impossible. I hadn't noticed it before, but while waiting to be processed I looked down and discovered the brownish-red stains of blood spatter on my uniform. As cloudy as my thoughts were, the realization that I'd spent the night with someone else's blood on me crept into my consciousness, but I still believed that what I had done was right.