The Alamo in Afghanistan

The New York Times' Elizabeth Rubin reports from Afghanistan, it is well worth reading. Like the Guardian's piece on Sangin earlier it gives us a taste of history as it happens through the stories of the men in combat. Here are two excerpts:

One morning this summer, I headed out with a U.S. Army convoy of Humvees, a truck called a wrecker and a packed supply truck into the Afghan mountains. I was among some two dozen American and Afghan soldiers from Task Force Warrior, an infantry battalion based in Zabul Province, just north of Kandahar. We trundled up a path fit for goats because the nearby riverbed was perfect for concealing improvised explosive devices, or I.E.D.’s. Soon enough, the truck keeled over into the riverbed anyway. To hoist it up, the wrecker had to crash through wheat fields, and within minutes a gray-bearded farmer appeared brandishing his stick. “Are you Afghan?” he shouted at Farooq, my interpreter. “I have 30 members in my family. Why did you destroy my wheat?” The old farmer then clasped my wrist with his ancient garden tool of a hand. “You Americans are all friends of Bush the persecutor. You see this area” — he swept his other arm in every direction — “these are all Taliban. But they don’t have power. As soon as we find power, I will kill all of you.”
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In downtime, the soldiers of Charlie Company would cram into a mud room to imbibe American culture — “Shark Tale,” “The Bourne Supremacy,” Lil Wayne, Toby Keith singing his “Taliban Song” — all courtesy of Pvt. Dennis Taylor and his DVD and CD collection. A teenager from Tampa’s housing projects, Taylor grew up with the Bloods. The Army has set him straight, even if his buddies teased him because they couldn’t decipher his lingo and he wasn’t sure what continent he was on or what the Koran was. “It’s Islam’s holy book,” said one soldier. “Man, how can you be fighting here and not know that,” another teased. Taylor laughed and shrugged.

At the other end of the spectrum was Cpl. Kyle Hayes, who had made Taylor his project and, like Sgt. Jon Terry, a sentimental tough guy from Louisiana, often shared meals with the Afghan soldiers accompanying their unit to taste their culture and to bond. Hayes owned a Web design company in New York City and until two years ago was touring with his band, “Half Left.” The band had a revelation while roducing a record near ground zero in Manhattan, and they all joined the Army. Hayes’s family was stunned. “I was the only guy at basic training who voted for Kerry,” he told me. Sometimes he felt weird on leave in New York City, where people gawk at uniforms, though a few older people thanked him. His life plan, as inscribed in his diary, is to be a rock star, business mogul and founder of a Texan city by 35, governor of Texas by 45 and president by 55.