Canadian convoy travels through 'Ambush Alley'
Updated Sat. Oct. 28 2006 9:55 PM ET
Paul Workman, CTV News
South Asia Bureau Chief -- The ramp comes up and we're locked inside a Canadian Forces "Bison," an armored vehicle that's uncomfortable, dark and as the day moves forward, increasingly warm. Sweatingly warm. There is one tiny window out the back but you really can't see anything. You're wearing a helmet and a heavy flak jacket, and in spite of it all, the ride makes you feel sleepy.
Perhaps it's the tension. You're in a Canadian military convoy moving down the highway toward Kandahar City and there's more than a chance of being hit by a roadside bomb, or a suicide attack. It could be a yellow and white Corolla taxi, it could be a truck packed with explosives, or it could be a motorcycle with a bomb hidden under the driver's clothes. The soldiers in the convoy have seen it all, or at least been warned to expect it all.
Sergeant Abdoul Guindo is commander of the convoy and he's in the lead vehicle, a heavily armored beetle of a thing called an RG31. He's sitting up high, there's a gunner directly behind, and at least it has windows. Very thick, bullet proof windows. The soldiers with him are constantly scanning the road for strange behavior, certain kinds of vehicles they've been told to watch for. Certain kinds of vehicles with only a driver and no passengers, often the mark of a suicide "martyr." The convoy hogs the middle of the highway, forcing cars on to the shoulder. Nothing is allowed to pass. Often they fire warning shots at vehicles that come too fast or too close.
"We don't go outside saying we're going to get hit today," says Sgt Guindo, "but we know it's a very good possibility."
And he knows better than most. There have been "incidents" involving 15 of the convoys he's commanded, with nobody killed and only two soldiers wounded. Yes, 15. "We have our own little things that we look for, but the enemy is not by any means stupid. They're technically a chameleon, so he's constantly changing."
Some days are more tense than others, when there have been specific warnings, but the truth is, every time these supply trucks and armored vehicles leave the safety of their compounds, they become a target for the Taliban. They travel the same roads, go to the same places, and it's often impossible to avoid the danger and congestion of downtown Kandahar, or the stretch of road father west known as "Ambush Alley." Convoy duty is usually the mundane part of military life. Not in southern Afghanistan.
"I don't know if I'd call it nerve-wracking. It's just something that has to be done," says Guindo. "We fully expect it's not 'if' but 'when' it's going to happen, but you put that in the back of your mind, keep it there in a safe place and do your job."
The commander of our Bison is Master Corporal Dave Russell. He stands in the hatch during the entire journey, exposed from the chest up. That's his job. His head is always scanning the street, there's a machine gun mounted to his left, and he telephones his family every time he comes home safely from a convoy. It's a gut-wrenching experience that leaves him mentally exhausted. And then he does it again.
"Every time I leave the main base camp," he says, "I get the butterflies. Every time."
About half an hour out of the camp we enter the outskirts of Kandahar. That's when the tension really begins to mount and the likelihood of an attack becomes much greater. The streets are crowded, and the convoy is forced to slow down and tighten its formation so that a suicide bomber has little chance of breaking in. But of course they do. Dave Russell has been on four convoys that were hit.
"My heart rate goes about triple the speed with all the adrenalin rush," he says. "The first thing that comes to mind, 'was it my vehicle?' because you don't really know, and then 'is everybody alright?' That's what you want to know, and after that, everything falls into place."
Patrol Base Wilson, safe behind its concrete blast walls, razor-wire fence and gun towers.
We make it through Kandahar, then spread out and driver faster, down "Ambush Alley," finally turning in at Patrol Base Wilson, safe behind its concrete blast walls, razor-wire fence and gun towers. The soldiers believe the Eid-al-Fitr holiday at the end of Ramadan has perhaps offered them a break from the constant threat of attack. But they know it will start again.
"An uneventful day," says Sergeant Guindo, "is a good day."
He's a reserve soldier, and in real life studies economics at the University of Ottawa. In fact, all of the soldiers in his unit come from the reserves. For the next hour or two, they lounge in the shade, grab a bite of rations, waiting to load up for the return journey.
For the next hour or two, soldiers lounge in the shade, grab a bite of rations, and wait to load up for the return journey.
"Kandahar is very, very, very congested," says Guindo. "You have to be vigilant at all times." He has friends in the Battle Group, soldiers on the front-line, who wouldn't touch the job he's doing. They call his convoys "invitations" for suicide bombers.
"We're not on the front lines," he says, "but we do go to very, very hectic places." That's surely an understatement. "Some of the loads, all of the loads we deliver are vital. It has to be done."
So, back they go through "Ambush Alley," over the bridge that's been a favorite spot for roadside bombs and then once again, into the chaos of downtown Kandahar. Past the place where Canadian diplomat Glynn Berry was killed in a suicide attack.
Past more craters and ruts in the pavement that mark other fatal ambushes. "This is creepy," says Guindo to his driver. They roar through the city, constantly honking the horn, forcing traffic out of their way, followed by thousands of turning Afghan heads. And finally, up ahead are the city's famous double arches and once you're past them, it usually means safety.
The convoy passes through. It's been an uneventful day, as Sgt Guindo says. And that's good.
