Growing Up Bin Laden - Jean P. Sasson [133]
My father’s face paled when I replied, “My father, I will do anything to help my mother, aunties, and siblings, but I am not the right son to assume your life’s work. I am seeking a peaceful life, not a life of violence.” Even after this, my father failed to abandon the idea that I was his rightful replacement. Soon afterwards he took me to the front line of the fighting. I can only guess that he hoped if I got a taste of the excitement of fighting, I might become passionate about war, as he had done when fighting the Russians. He was to be sorely disappointed.
Over time I became much bolder than I had ever dreamed possible, speaking confidently against my father’s decisions. But our relationship-breaking conflicts would come later.
A few months after my family settled in Kandahar, I was visiting with my mother when one of my brothers came to tell me that our father wanted me by his side. Obedient to my father’s commands, I slung my Kalashnikov over my shoulder, adjusted my grenade belt, and walked away.
At the time I assumed that my father had a question about our food resources, or wished to give orders regarding family matters. Although I was only sixteen years old, I had assumed a large share of responsibility for the wives and children.
I was informed by a passing fighter that my father was in the building he used as his office. I found him there, sitting cross-legged on the floor, with a group of his fighters. I approached softly and without speaking because that was our way.
My father looked up, looking neither pleased nor displeased to see me, saying only, “My son, I am leaving now to go to the front lines. You are to come with me.”
I nodded without comment. I was not afraid, but excited. After more than a year of living in the warring country, I was curious about the front, as I had heard many tales of valor from returning soldiers. The Taliban was still battling the Northern Alliance, headed by Ahmad Shah Massoud, a warrior known for his military genius and a Mujahideen hero from the days of the Russian war. Upon my father’s return to Afghanistan, the two heroes of the Russian campaign had become foes. After Mullah Omar provided his shield of protection, my father had committed his fighting force to Mullah Omar’s army. Mullah Omar and the Taliban were deadly enemies of Massoud.
Everything about that day was casual. The men chosen to make the trip had no assigned vehicles or seats. My father randomly selected a vehicle and driver and I followed, riding with Sakhr al-Jadawi (Salim Hamdan). The journey was short, no more than thirty or forty minutes, but uncomfortable and bumpy, as are all trips on Afghan roads. I can’t recall anything specific about the journey, except that Sakhr’s tall stories kept me laughing, bringing me out of my usual serious state. Sakhr was the sort of man who constantly joked, enjoying his life more than most. It was difficult not to loosen up when in his company.
Once we arrived at the front, everyone found something to do while my father met with some of the lieutenants holding the line. Sakhr and I wandered off, and out of boredom Sakhr decided to do some target practice.
Sakhr set up an empty tin can and began shooting.
We discussed his prowess for a while and then he shot some more.
Sakhr fired once again.
We were in for a big shock, because the blast was so loud that we were instantly confused. What had occurred? Neither of us had ever heard a Kalashnikov make such an earth-shattering noise.
Just as we were examining Sakhr’s weapon and discussing the strangeness of the situation, a missile broke through the air around us, exploding nearby. That’s when we realized that the Kalashnikov was not the source of the noise.
Within seconds