We have a great country and wonderful troops.
Wall Street Journal
After U.S. Air Strike, Fear of Casualties
At Afghan Bazaar
By MICHAEL M. PHILLIPS
November 16, 2007
ORGUN-E, Afghanistan -- Dustin Hatfield's first thought after the U.S. jet strafed the ridge was, that's perfect. Minutes later, his confidence gave way to alarm.
Initially, the air strike on a Taliban fighting position looked flawless. Air Force Tech. Sgt. Hatfield had confirmed the precise location of the target and passed word to the pilot circling in the night sky: "You're cleared hot." The jet pointed its nose down and let loose a barrage of cannon fire. Geysers of dirt erupted along the ridge, as if the ground itself had been put to a boil. In a bunker-like command post 20 miles away, Sgt. Hatfield watched the attack unfold via spy-plane video on a giant flat-screen TV.
Then U.S. soldiers at the scene radioed an urgent message, the kind a front-line air controller fears the most: Some rounds had landed near a marketplace below.
Afghanistan's war has become a struggle for popular support, and nothing does worse damage to the U.S.-led coalition's reputation -- or provides better fodder for insurgent propaganda -- than an air strike that kills civilians. Coalition forces and insurgents were each responsible for about half of the 680 war-related civilian deaths during the first half of this year, according to an estimate by the Afghanistan NGO Safety Office, a European Union-funded organization that advises charities on security issues. "The patience of the Afghan people is wearing thin with the continued killing of innocent civilians," Afghan President Hamid Karzai's office warned this spring.
Air Force controllers, who go into combat with the infantry, share the prime responsibility for making sure airborne munitions hit their targets. Sgt. Hatfield is on his third tour in Afghanistan. In his first two, he guided 300 aerial missions, but never ordered an actual strike.
With insurgent attacks on the rise, this tour has been tougher. In 130 missions since May, on 19 occasions he has relayed orders to drop bombs, fire rockets or strafe enemy positions. Sgt. Hatfield tries not to dwell on the implications of his work. "There will be time to think about it when we get home," says the 27-year-old Alaskan.
But sometimes after directing an air strike, he will sit on the steps outside his barracks, smoke a cigar, and think about the lives he helped save and those he helped end. "I don't have any problem pulling the trigger" to kill enemy attackers, he says. Then he adds, "I think sometimes there's a little regret that my job has to exist."
Sgt. Hatfield is air liaison for First Battalion, 503rd Infantry Regiment, an 800-man unit that operates in Paktika Province, a hotly contested area on the Pakistani border. A big man with reddish-blond hair and a superhero-style cleft chin, he almost always speaks in calm, measured tones. In his small plywood barracks room, he is teaching himself to play Bach melodies on a mandolin, although he finds it difficult to work the small frets with his thick fingers. He is taking online classes in physiology and the philosophy of law, although he sometimes drops his books to call in an air strike.
American commanders say they go to great lengths to avoid civilian deaths, euphemistically called collateral damage. But when U.S. or allied troops are under attack, those commanders decide whether the risk to civilian lives is acceptable. Sgt. Hatfield offers a range of firing options to his commander, Lt. Col. Michael Fenzel, from a relatively mild show of force -- buzzing a village or dropping harmless flares -- to a full attack with 2,000-pound bombs. The air strike last week was only the second in which the sergeant has choreographed a strafing run.
Events began to unfold at 8:11 p.m., in the battalion's command post, or tactical-operations center, at its main base in Orgun-E. The TOC, as it's known, is the size of a large living room. Facing rows of long desks, flat-screen TVs show battle updates and live video feeds from unmanned spy planes that circle the battlefield.
"Attention in the TOC," said First Lt. Matthew Svensson, a 24-year-old from Mission Viejo, Calif. The battalion's outpost at Margah -- a small base close to the village bazaar -- was taking rifle and rocket-propelled grenade fire, he said.
Sgt. Hatfield sat with radios at his side to connect him to a pair of Navy pilots in the air on a routine patrol. An unmanned spy plane hovered over a low, two-humped ridge, just over half a mile from the outpost. Between the peaks was a smooth saddle, almost barren of trees.
The drone's infrared technology lit up the scene: Anything warm, including a person, would glow either ghostly white against the dark background, or the opposite, depending on the settings. "We have hotspots running across the base of the hill," said First Lt. Seth Parker, 25, of Williamsburg, Va. He asked whether close-air support was on the way. "Working on it," Sgt. Hatfield responded.
Soldiers at the outpost began pounding the ridge with mortars, and on the TV screen black flashes glowed, then faded.
In twenty minutes, Sgt. Hatfield had the two Navy jets approaching the site, but he didn't want the planes accidentally shot down by U.S. artillery or mortar rounds being lobbed at the Taliban positions. "Let me know when you're guns cold," he said to the soldier monitoring ground fire.
At 8:35 p.m., the jets arrived on the scene. The outpost reported that an insurgent grenade had slammed into a guard tower, wounding one of the soldiers.
Over the radio, the outpost commander asked for artillery, powerful explosive rounds fired from howitzers many miles away. "We've got something nicer for them," said Lt. Col. Fenzel. He pointed to the mountain peaks and told Sgt. Hatfield that he wanted to drop two 500-pound bombs on the saddle between them. Sgt. Hatfield passed the target coordinates to the first pilot.
"Bring him in," the colonel told Sgt. Hatfield.
"You're cleared hot," the sergeant said.
There was a minute of watchful silence in the command post. Then the big screen flashed white until a thick smoke column rose from the saddle. Moments later the second bomb hit.
Lt. Col. Fenzel stood close to the screen and pointed to small, white figures apparently fleeing the scene. "I'd like an immediate re-attack with guns," the colonel said. Sgt. Hatfield relayed the new coordinates and told the pilots to start strafing. He knew there were buildings below the ridge, but was confident they were a safe distance away.
The outpost commander radioed that his men had seen secondary explosions on the ridge, a sign that the bombs had hit a stash of insurgent rockets, mortars or grenades.
At 9:17 p.m., the first jet spat cannon fire into a site about 150 yards east of the original bombing targets. The rounds were tipped with explosives, so each bullet hit like a high-speed hand grenade. Soon another line of flashing bullets sprayed the ridge. Sgt. Hatfield ordered a third strafing run, "as quick as possible," and the side of the ridge blistered with exploding shells. In three minutes, the planes had fired 400 rounds.
Less than two minutes later, the outpost commander radioed with the news that his men thought the planes had hit the market. The colonel immediately cut off the attack. "That's it," he said. He turned to the officer manning the radio. "Is there any chance of collateral damage?" the colonel asked. He ordered the outpost commander to send a foot patrol to see if anyone there was hurt.
Sgt. Hatfield watched the colonel uneasily. On the big screen, he could see the market. It was now 9:26 pm. and the bazaar had closed at 6 p.m., but at least eight trucks were parked nearby alongside the loose rectangle of low buildings, suggesting people could be around.
On a laptop, the sergeant called up a satellite view that included both the ridge and the bazaar below it. Clicking on the target and stretching a line to the corner of the bazaar, Sgt. Hatfield measured three-tenths of a mile between the two. "It's way too far" to have been hit by the cannon fire, he said. Strafing "is the most accurate thing they have. ... It doesn't make sense," he muttered. But, as 20 more minutes passed without word from the outpost, he worried that he might have missed something.
"When is this ground patrol ready to go?" he asked Lt. Parker. "Why?" the lieutenant asked. "I want to know what they find," Sgt. Hatfield responded, his quiet voice turned emphatic. "It's my ass."
Just after 10 p.m., Lt. Col. Fenzel stared at the view of the bazaar from the spy drone. "You guys haven't seen any movement at all?" he asked everyone. They hadn't, which either meant there was nobody there, or those who were there were dead, wounded or hiding.
The colonel suspected a pilot had pulled up too soon, while his gun was still firing, and that about a quarter of the rounds had hit beyond the target area. He hoped they hadn't hit the market. Either way, he said, the fault wasn't Sgt. Hatfield's.
Lt. Col. Fenzel then called the governor of Paktika Province, Akram Khapalwak, and warned him that the strafing run might have gone awry. "Right now we don't believe there's any collateral damage, but I wanted to call right away to let you know there is the possibility of collateral damage," he said through an interpreter.
Meanwhile, the outpost commander called back with the report of the patrol to the bazaar. Lt. Col. Fenzel repeated the report aloud. "You went through the entire area where you observed rounds, and there's no damage you could see," he said.
The colonel shared the news with the governor, hung up and let out an audible sigh. The next day, soldiers from the outpost held a meeting with village elders, and nobody reported any damage. The colonel says the battalion has caused no civilian deaths in its six months of duty.
After ending his conversation with the governor, he walked back into the command post. "Hattie?" he said.
"Yes, sir," the sergeant responded.
"No collateral damage."
Sgt. Hatfield walked to his room. He tried to do some school work, but found he couldn't concentrate. He soon fell asleep. The next day he had more planes in the air.
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