Commentary–

Pilot Fish

By 1st Lieutenant Rob Anders

(Editor’s note: The following is an excerpt from the journal of 1st Lieutenant Rob Anders, a 1998 graduate of Newtown High School and 2002 graduate of the US Military Academy at West Point. He is assigned as an Airborne and Ranger qualified infantry officer with the 25th Infantry Division, which has its home station in Hawaii. He was deployed to Afghanistan in March of this year and is expected to be there at least through July of 2005. His unit is currently operating along the Afghan-Pakistan border in Paktika Province.)

Saturday, June 19, 2004 — The platoons rotated areas of responsibility and mine changed from Yahya Kheyl back up to Sharan. While that eliminated the substantial commute, the responsibility increased because of the expansive geographic area and the sprawling population. It’s certainly a lot for one platoon to handle, but again, our mission is to bolster indigenous forces and react to security issues.

One night at the Sand Castle, while I was about to lie down on my cot, and just as I flicked off my flashlight, I heard the distant but distinct crunch of an explosion. I put my boots back on and went to go talk with the Sergeant of the Guard and Lex, whose platoon was the IRF (immediate reaction force) for the night. According to the reports from my soldiers on watch at the police station in Sharan, there was only one explosion and not the usual two from an RPG (rocket propelled grenade) or rocket attack.

As a result, we decided not to do anything about it. Occasionally we mount up and go check out explosions or enemy activity, which typically stirs at night. I told the commander about it and then I went back to my cot.

The next day I positioned my platoon in a wadi in the shade, centrally located among the scattered voter registration sites. After a few hours Capt Sego got some information about the explosion, and dispatched me to go check it out.

We rolled up to the registration site at a mosque in a small village outside the main bazaar. Many people had gathered around, and there were the charred remains of an illumination mortar round in a scorched pile in front of the steps. It was weird that the round was intact, parachute and all. It certainly wasn’t fired from a tube.

One of the elders invited me into the small compound just adjacent to the mosque. He showed me the damage to the buildings inside. From the shrapnel there were pockmarks everywhere, and shattered window glass. He claimed the explosion of the mortar round outside had caused it all.

Well, that didn’t make any sense. I’m no expert at forensics, but there was no way that mortar round did the damage to the inside of the compound. I had a few of my soldiers search the rooftop on the east side. Sure enough, they found the spoon to a Russian fragmentation grenade. Clearly someone had thrown the grenade over the wall, and it exploded before hitting the ground in the middle of the compound. Thankfully nobody was hurt.

I picked up some shrapnel residue and kept the spoon to show my commander later. I assembled my men and we drove back up the road toward the bazaar. My truck was first, followed by the big LMTV (light medium tactical vehicle), then the last cargo truck. A swarm of children on bicycles merrily escorted us out of the village, racing beside the trucks like pilot fish. A UN vehicle decided to attach itself to my convoy and fell-in behind my last vehicle.

BOOOM! The air shook around us.

Stop! What was that! I hopped out of my truck and turned around to see a billowing cloud of black smoke unfurl up to 15 meters above the village and about 200 meters away. I jumped back in. “Turn around!” I yelled to my driver. Having reflected on it later, it’s quite an unnatural thing to race toward an explosion. But through training or for whatever reason, it seemed instinctual.

In a few seconds we spun the vehicles around, and I called in the initial report to Capt Sego. We headed back towards the blast. As soon as I reestablished the convoy we heard five to seven rounds fired from an AK-47.

“Shots fired! Shots fired!” I called in over the radio, as my heart began to pound against my protective armor plate. But still, and instinctively, we were going in.

It turned out that there were a few policemen at the mosque we just left, and they fired into the air to “get our attention” to come back — as if we didn’t see the huge explosion! I got upset at the police about that later.

When we rounded a slight bend in the road I could see the damage. The UN vehicle had slowed to pass over a tiny hump of a bridge. On the far side, the mine exploded and mangled the engine block, throwing the hood up and over the windshield. Unbelievably, the UN representative was standing there unscathed and the other two passengers were fine.

I deployed my soldiers to establish a security perimeter around the site. I sent a team out across a 600-meter field to try and apprehend some suspicious people trying to move away from us.

We maintained security while I assessed the situation. Capt Sego and the engineers arrived on the scene about 20 minutes later. By then the police had pretty much detained everyone in the local area, about 20 people.

It was disturbing that my three trucks drove right over that mine. The location of it was such that the enemy had to be close, probably within 100 meters in order to observe and then detonate it. I wondered why he didn’t blow it under one of my trucks, and decided it was probably because of the pilot fish. The enemy is trying to win hearts and minds too.

Later the trap began to crystallize. That mine was placed the night before. The explosion of the grenade was supposed to alert us, the burning illumination flare was supposed to lure us down that road, and then we’d hit that mine.

What a sickening feeling to know that we are always being watched and studied . . . by everyone and no one at the same time.