Chosen Soldier - Dick Couch [71]
A captain candidate is summoned from Andersonville. Under his rucksack, with his weapon at port arms, he jogs down a dirt road to where Captain Walt Carson waits for him, just outside the base camp at the Hoffman training area. It’s almost dark, and Carson holds a small flashlight to see his briefing sheet.
“All right, Captain Smith, this is how it works. I’m going to brief you on a scenario that’ll move you into your first SARE. Here’s the situation.”
The dilemma that Captain Smith must resolve is one that actually happened. Smith, as a Special Forces detachment leader, is to meet with an Afghan subtribal leader. Notionally, his team sergeant is nearby, but he’s alone for this meeting and well away from any other American assistance—he’s on his own. His mission is to find out how many Afghan fighters are in this tribe or clan, and how well they’re armed. Smith’s battalion commander is considering moving an operational detachment into the area, and he needs this information. The battalion commander also wants Smith’s impression of this subtribal leader. Is he easy to work with? Will he be amenable to taking direction and assistance from an SF detachment? What’s his attitude toward having Americans in his area? With the situation and requirements in mind, Captain Smith continues down the road toward his first SARE. A quarter of a mile on the road, he comes to a small camp—a tent and a campfire. A man in a shabby coat welcomes him to the fire.
“You are American. Good, good. I have been expecting you—come, share my fire. Would you like tea?” A young girl with a head scarf brings them tea. The man takes a drink from a liquor bottle and offers it to Smith; he declines. “So, you Americans will come to help us, and you will bring money, am I right? Do you have money for me now?”
Smith and the tribal leader verbally fence for a while. Smith tries to guide the discussion to get the information he needs while his host at the fire wants only to talk about money. The girl hovers nearby, refilling their mugs with tea. Then she approaches Smith.
“You are American—you must help me—only you can help me.” The tribal leader gruffly shoos her away, but after a while, she returns. “Please, I am Indian. I am UN aid worker. They keep me here for prostitution. You must help. Please help me.”
Finally, Captain Smith asks the tribal leader if this is true. “So what if it is,” the man tells Smith, “she is of no consequence—she is a woman. We need money. We must fight the Taliban. What does this have to do with our affair?”
In the shadows beyond the glow of the fire, Captain Carson, myself, and a psychologist—a medical officer—watch this play out. There are any number of ways Smith can take this, but clearly he has a dilemma.