The power of the bellowed word….
As I mentioned previously – but got sidetracked with the ‘burns pit’ issue – we were down in the Babaji area a few days ago with soldiers from 2 SCOTS. As with most ISAF units, they are partnered with the Afghan national security forces and live side by side with them on their patrol base. They planned a joint operation – a patrol that would push well into Taliban-held territory, and an area into which they hadn’t ventured before. By moonlight and in the freezing pre-dawn temperatures, we set off on foot across ploughed fields, clambered over compound walls and waded through drainage ditches, all the while watching our footing like hawks for the slightest suggestion of an IED.
The patrol brief was to go as close as possible to the target village and try to coax out the locals for a ‘Shura’, an informal meeting about what they thought and what their needs were. The expectation from the British Company Commander, Major Piers Strudwick, was that we would get nowhere near the village but would end up getting targeted from the various firing points they had identified during previous ‘contacts’ across the area.
So, he brought along the ‘Sound Commander’ as an alternative means of ‘talking’ to the village elders. As we approached the village, the sky went a beautiful deep pink colour as the sun started to come up, but still no sign of insurgents and the only sound was that of birdsong and the squelching of our boots.
We reached one of the outer compounds – used we were told just the day before by insurgents as a perfect vantage point from which to shoot at a nearby Check Point (moments after we had left it) – and Maj Strudwick decided along with his Afghan colleague that we’d come quite far enough for now. They deployed the ‘Sound Commander’ – a grand name for what is essentially a loudspeaker attached to a ruck-sack. But its charm is in its simplicity. It is man-portable, easy-to-use and most of all, as we were about to find out, effective.
Within minutes of the Afghan Police commander shouting messages into it in Pashtu that echoed across the countryside (and the whole patrol bracing itself – me thoroughly included – for an onslaught of Taliban proportions), figures started to emerge from behind compound walls.
The first two individuals who appeared out of the nearest tree line were identified – rather disturbingly – by the Afghan police as Taliban leaders. They edged gingerly toward the patrol and the tension was palpable. One decided to come and join the meeting, his two colleagues thought better of it and melted back into the undergrowth.
Once a handful of elders had gathered, the ‘Shura’ began. ‘They were poor people who were stuck in the middle of a firefight’ they said; ‘they were frightened but too poor to leave the area’.
They led us deep into the compounds to show us their homes and pointed out repairs that they needed help with. A few minutes later, the elders, Afghan security forces and the British commander shook hands. Some of the Afghan soldiers even stopped for a handshake photo opportunity with the villagers.
We had been static for too long; we had to move. The ‘Sound Commander’ was packed away, hauled onto its bearer’s back ready to be despatched on the next patrol.
Despite concerns, our return journey was just as quiet (and just as wet).
They had expected a firefight. What they got was a meeting with village elders. Maj Strudwick and the Afghan commanders were very pleasantly surprised. And the reasons for such an unexpected success? According to the British commander, simply getting out of our sleeping bags earlier than the Taliban and beating them to the village played a huge part that day and meant the elders felt able to talk more freely and weren’t frightened to come out.
But I’d also like to think that the megaphone in the rucksack added a certain je ne sais quoi to the proceedings – the ‘Sound Commander’ on that occasion being mightier than the AK47….