Operation Ateesh Bazi

Adam Day of Legion Magazine was in the field in Kandahar in April of this year for Operation Ateesh Bazi. He shot video footage, which can be viewed at the link. He also recounted some of the mundane details of deployed military existence that bring the mission to life for his readers back home:

The operation’s first stop was to clear the village of Regay, which had been assessed to have some kind of connection to the potential bad guys in the Nakhonay area. As the convoy pulled out, McNabb slammed shut the Nyala’s door and looked only slightly mystified to see the large and long steel door latch swinging freely in his hand. The latch had snapped off and McNabb now found himself holding several kilograms of very important, but now useless metal.

McNabb shook his head and then looked around a bit, as if maybe to make sure no one was playing a joke on him. “No f–king way,” said the medic sitting across from McNabb, looking in amazement at the now floppy door. “That is unreal.”

In short order, McNabb had found a way to extend his leg and jam his foot against a small lock, holding the door shut but quite likely putting himself in extreme discomfort, given that he was locked into his seat by a tightly cinched five-point harness. He didn’t say a word. He just shook his head and looked like he might be waiting for whatever would go wrong next.

He didn’t have to wait long. First the radios wouldn’t work, then a couple of ANA vehicles got stuck in a wadi, then we began hearing early reports that the large Canadian force we were supposed to meet near Regay was already massively delayed with navigational issues several kilometres to our east and was currently sending tracked vehicles churning through mud walls in search of a way out. The radio was calling out for the deployment of the Canadian specialists in charge of compensating Afghan farmers after their property is damaged by NATO.

Meanwhile, the Nyala’s door kept flying open as we careened over the deeply rutted dirt roads.

McNabb just shook his head grimly.

“I learned a new saying from a soldier the other day,” I said to him.

He looked at me and lifted his chin a millimetre or less, a clear sign he wanted to hear it.

It was a harsh saying, the kind of thing soldiers say to describe the never-ending brokenness of life at war.

“F–kery knows no bounds,” I told him.

He smiled fractionally, clearly highly amused. Then he paused to think. “The Afghans have a saying like that too,” he said quietly. “It’s called ‘inshallah.’”

BZ to Day for going on foot patrol in that type of heat with the troops. That takes balls and determination. And good on him for telling the story of Canadian and Afghan soldiers working to make a country function again. It's a story that never gets old in the telling.