Lost in translation

These soldiers were reclassed from other Army jobs and trained to work in intelligence. They wore civilian clothes with no rank insignia, grew beards, and went by first names.

They continually brought us ridiculous information. “Israelis are targeting us with IEDs.” (Why would our allies come to kill us?) “The Taliban are using white Toyota trucks.” (White Toyotas are all over Afghanistan.)

I gave up on them when they almost killed me.

“I’ll get an interpreter,” I said during mission prep.

“We have our ‘terp,” team member Jase replied.

My squad’s mission was to protect Afghan workers hired to move unexploded ordnance (UXO) — Soviet mortar rounds, machine gun bullets, and anti-personnel mines — from a giant stone crypt onto trucks for transport to Herat, where American explosive experts would safely destroy it.

I was sent into the cave to supervise as Afghans formed a human chain to move the UXO. It was all old or corroded, potentially unstable, and we found a problem with many of the mortar rounds.

Mortars are shaped like turkey drumsticks, conical fuses screwed into the fat ends. They’re launched high and explode when the fuse hits the ground.

Most fuses unscrewed easily, but some were stuck. Forcibly removing stuck fuses might have exploded the round. Within the cave, that might’ve detonated everything, killing everyone. However, stuck-fused mortars bumping on trucks also posed an explosion risk.

“Reedy, you’re a combat engineer,” said Sgt. Patterson. “What should we do?”

“I’ve had two weeks of explosives training. It didn’t cover handling stuck fuses in Soviet mortars.”

Despite my ignorance, I was still our explosives guy. “If the fuse won’t budge easily, leave it.” A road explosion may kill one driver. A cave explosion would kill dozens.

Patterson nodded. “Tell the Afghans.”

“Where’s the ‘terp?”

The intelligence team guys had vanished, taking our interpreter.

“Figure it out,” Patterson said.

Sure. Figure out how to pantomime instructions about defusing potentially unstable explosives.

It wasn’t easy, but finally an Afghan translated my pantomime into Pashto for the others. The work ran smoothly until a man from the provincial governor’s office arrived. He said something to the workers, who resumed trying to force out bad fuses.

“Where’s that ‘terp?”

I pantomimed our stuck-fuse policy to the newcomer.

This erupted into a furious shouting match. We couldn’t really communicate, and neither was backing down.

One worker tried to break loose a fuse by hammering it against a pile of mortars.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu — Everybody OUT!” I shouted.

Nothing else was happening until we had an interpreter and everyone understood our mission.

Outside, the intelligence team guys had returned, resting far across a field. Their rank was secret, but they probably outranked me, a mere corporal.

I cursed them savagely. “Gonna get us killed! You took my ‘terp!”

“Hanging around would’ve blown our cover,” Jase said.

“You’re white! You don’t speak Pashto! Nobody believes you’re Afghans.”

Jase tried to speak, but I cut him off.

“I don’t care what you rank,” I said. “Leave us on a dangerous mission without a ‘terp again, I’ll knock you out!”

This was insubordination, but my enlistment was up. I was out of the Guard after my deployment. Besides, I would have liked to see the intelligence team try to explain their actions in an inquiry.

They apologized, sending me the interpreter. I could finally clearly explain our mortar fuse procedure. I also took time to explain the danger of striking corroded-fused mortars against other explosives.

We completed the mission, ridding Afghanistan of some dangerous UXO. We never conducted missions with the intelligence team again. They’re nice guys, and I wish them the best, but I’ll never forget how they brought me closer to my death than the Taliban ever did.

Trent Reedy served as a combat engineer in the Iowa National Guard from 1999 to 2005, including a tour of duty in Afghanistan.