Académique Documents
Professionnel Documents
Culture Documents
"It's been here a couple of days," whispered Sami, my interpreter. "Everyone recognizes it's here."
I was worried of the Taliban and also currently, of the Predator. I imagined young Americans sitting
in a far-away office, gazing at a tiny display, preparing to press a button and also kill us all before
visiting lunch time. They should have seen our car lights when we drove up right here. They were off
now. I put my flashlight under my stole and wrote in my notebook.
After half a hr, a talib, his face uncovered, came out of the darkness and also as much as the vehicle
talking on a walkie-talkie. The talib checked out us and then left. One more fifteen minutes passed.
"All the sub-commanders will be right here tonite," claimed among our guards. Possibly that was
why the Predator was there. I was concerned that the drone can see us, or that the Taliban, an antiWestern citizen, or a spy knew that we were below, and also would assault us.
One of the bodyguards asked to see my camera. "They are dubious," claimed Sami. I provided it to
them. They played with it as well as offered it back to me. At 11:00, the chief and also his
bodyguards, as well as a Talib, showed up from the darkness. Most of us left the vehicle and also
strolled 300 backyards up the track to a dusty pickup. It wouldn't begin and also we pushed it up
hillside and also the vehicle driver jump-started it. Sami and also I climbed up in the taxi as well as
our bodyguards climbed up in the back and we rode higher right into the hills.
From behind a massive boulder alongside the road, a high guy in a brown sweater, crossedbandoleers and a white bandana arised holding a rifle. His face was covered, with only his eyes
showing. Beyond of the rocky dust track, a guy pointed an RPG-7 rocket launcher at us. Another guy,
alongside him, stood behind a stone on which he had actually put a PKM Soviet machine weapon, his
finger on the trigger.
Just how could they stand up to contemporary soldiers with these 1980s Soviet tools? Cannot the
Predator see all this? The high guy inspected my gear as well as frisked me in the truck's fronts
lights. We climbed up back in and drove 200 backyards, around a bend, and also much more armed
men quit us. They also inspected our gear and frisked us as well as chosen walkie-talkies to
communicate with other Taliban. We hesitated calmly as well as ultimately they told the vehicle
driver to proceed. Our bodyguards needed to remain behind.
Sami and I climbed up into the vehicle. As we drove on, down a hill currently, I felt like I was using
right into the valley of fatality. The Predator was still enjoying and also hesitating overhead.
We handled two males, one in black with a black bandana, in his late 30s, the other male in his 40s
putting on a black and silver turban, a tiredness jacket, and holding a walkie-talkie, resting on the
ground. They put their hands up in the glare of the fronts lights. Sami as well as I strolled up to
them. A dozen boys with protected faces appeared from behind rocks, with rifles or RPGs.
I wondered if they would certainly kidnap us, however they had actually given their word to the
tribal chief, and also he had actually vowed to safeguard me. Sami and I sat facing the leaders, I
shuddering in the cold and also terrified of the Predator, with the headlights radiating on us. I made
certain a missile would certainly attack us any sort of 2nd.
The leader, Mullah Mateen, put on an old and wrinkly button down tee shirt, droopy pants, sandy
tinted camouflage army fatigue jacket, a dark wool stole and also untied white sneakers. He had a
trimmed black beard. I didn't see a weapon. It was my first conference with the Taliban. It was
Sami's first conference with them in just what he called the eastern zone. They had beheaded his
friend, and fellow fixer, Ajmal Naqshbandi, and also his driver, Sayed Agha, in March in the southern
Helmand province.
These males looked and spoke like the Mujahideen; boys with slender beards as well as slim wool
stoles, led by older males, particular in their source. Each carried a rifle or a grenade launcher as
well as they stayed in the hills. When, their fight protested the communist makes of the Soviet
Union, currently it protested the Americans, who had actually when been their allies against the
Soviets.
The truck lights shined on us, lighting up the valley. The Taliban didn't appear to care concerning
the Predator. Could it see my pen as well as laptop, or my electronic camera? Would the drone
drivers consider me a traitor as well as shoot? Would the Taliban kill us? I began the meeting.
Sami translated as well as filmed when he could. After greater
http://DRONEWATCHDOGS.COM/forum than a hr I finished the job interview. I can no much longer
listen to the Killer. They had watched us as well as drew back. It didn't seem that the Taliban were
going to kill us, but I had not been certain. "We stay in caves. We have blankets as well as all that we
require," a boy claimed, smiling, resting close to me. "We welcome you to become Muslim," stated
the leader. I thanked him, yet didn't state anything.
I kept reasoning of the Killer, hidden someplace overhead, or that the Taliban might do something.
"We remain in the hills now, yet we will certainly see you in Jalalabad," claimed the commander. We
strolled to the vehicle, and also drove with the fronts lights on down the mountain.
In February 2008, I crossed with a bodyguard as well as another interpreter right into the tribal
areas of Pakistan, as well as we were kidnapped by the Taliban. I was sitting in a dark cell,
somewhere deep in the hills, where nobody might discover me. One early morning, I heard an
engine, softer currently, larger, smoother sounding, in the sky.
It was a Killer. Was it seeking me or for the Taliban? It hovered over us 15-20 hrs every day for the
following month or so. Nearly each day, males in black turbans came and also went holding their
rifles. No one pointed out the Killer. I maintained awaiting a rocket ahead screaming down as well
as eliminating all of us.
One evening my interpreter took a look at me very closely, six-inches away, whispering: "Does the
Killer have a video camera that can see in below?" I stated no, yet I wasn't sure. On a daily basis I
sat in the dark awaiting the rocket. I ended up being fatalistic.
I was never ever allowed to go outdoors other than for a few mins at night as well as even then we
were kept under a roofing.
"No one will certainly ever find you," said my correctional officer. "We will certainly take you up
right into the mountains and relocate you from one place to the next."
In the 1980s I resided in Afghanistan amongst the Mujahideen. One early morning a Soviet MI-24
helicopter suddenly appeared over the mountains and hovered over our baked-mud compound. A
guy beside me stood shuddering against the wall, seeking out waiting for the bombs to lose. Pet
crates of ammunition were all over us.
But the Taliban I fulfilled in the late 2000s really did not appear to appreciate the Predator. They,
unlike the Mujahideen, were not afraid to go to Paradise. They desired for it. I sat for hours listening
to Taliban recruitment tapes. They sang, like a haunting Vienna Boys Choir, farewell to their moms.
After I was released, and also on an U.S. army base in Jalalabad, I asked the FBI agent in cost of my
kidnapping on the ground if the drone overhead had actually been looking for me, or for the Taliban.
"I brought all possessions right into play," he responded.
Last April I sat on an Author's Guild Panel in New York, the subject of which was drone warfare. One
panelist, considered a professional on drones, stated they had actually transformed warfare, like
gunpowder, planes and also atomic bombs. They could possibly see a milk container from 50,000
feet. My fellow panelists were all for them. The talk was as well easy as well as antiseptic. It was
something to sit in a space 7,000 miles away as well as one more thing completely to be under that
buzzing sound, understanding that above you guys, or ladies are looking down which you are
powerless against them.
Jere Van Dyk is a CBS News terrorism specialist and the writer of "Captive, My Time as a Prisoner of
the Taliban," Times Books, 2010.
2013 CBS Interactive Inc. All Civil liberties Booked.