Howdy,
Well, Ladies and Gentlemen, we are getting closer to go time. I’ve done everything on my end to get my interpreter out. Now, we wait and pray for a smooth execution.
It’s the worst part of these ops. I have to learn to let it play out. I can only do so much from half a world away.
Inshallah, I will send a short message in two days: We Got Him.
I haven’t seen “Atta” in 11 years. 11 years, people. The last time I saw him, I was leaving northwest Kandahar for good. It was on an old Russian civilian-run helicopter. The irony was not lost on me.
I learned so much about Afghanistan in this desolate district. Living in a village with the Afghans was just immensely rewarding. While we still had a “secured” perimeter, I’ve never been closer to living with the Afghans.
I found the Afghans incredibly intriguing. I would sit back and listen to toothless Pashtun elders tell me about killing Russians. Oh yeah, man, I eat that stuff by the shovel full. We spoke of the history of their district, all of the wars, and all that they’ve seen.
Like I’m fond of saying, I’m not a super soldier. In fact, I’m a horrible shot. I’m a person other than grunt (POG). I was never combat arms.
My job was to help my district governor bring “good governance and development” to this barren district. I also did tribal outreach, some intel stuff, and helped map the human terrain.
I’ve never studied anthropology (a great regret of mine), but I used to dream that I was a combat anthropologist. I found mapping these tribes and learning about their histories incredibly fascinating.
I loved hearing the Afghans’ stories—stories of regret, wisdom, war, and the savagery of history. And because I’ve read 100+ books on Afghanistan, I could talk somewhat intelligently about the organizations they fought in during their war against the Soviets.
When you can share their stories because you’ve studied their history, the connection lasts a lifetime. Look, I’m not Lawrence of Arabia or anything like that, but I could operate inside Afghanistan as well as any American—not when it came to combat ops but when it came to understanding their perspective.
And I would’ve done anything to stay. I loved it so—I indeed did. I will miss it immensely—all of it—not just the people but the mission, the danger, for sure, and the camaraderie.
I lived on a small village stability platform (VSP) with 2 x different ODA teams, 2 x separate ANASOC ODA, a civil affairs team, two female engagement team members, 2 x SOT-Bs (tactical signals intelligence), a squad of infantry (defense, security, fires support), an explosive ordnance disposal (EOD) team (bravest mo fos on the planet), a military working dog team, an Air Force combat controller, a psychological operations team running a “radio station,” one civilian contractor to fix our shit, a cook (bro had skills, my friends), about seven different interpreters, and me.
It was a small community. It was unbelievable. We were our own tribe.
But none of it would’ve been as impressive without my interpreter, Atta. He was young and inexperienced but eager to learn. While other more polished American interpreters had better English, Atta understood politics. He was from the northern Kandahar area.
We were just two young men living on the edge of the American empire. It was crazy, wild, tragic, and enthralling all at once.
At night after work, I would often hang out with the Afghan Special Forces teams or the interpreters. I learned a lot from those conversations. About who these partners were and what they really thought. It took time, but I built a special rapport with them.
I dreamed of returning to northern Afghanistan someday. Perhaps the Taliban would be defeated, and some sort of stability would come soon.
But Atta’s real dream was to live in the US. He became an interpreter so he could come here for a better life and to build something for his future family.
So before I left northern Kandahar, I wrote him a letter for his SIV package. I lost contact with him for nearly nine years until someone contacted me on his behalf during the Spring of 2022, asking that I re-write the letter of recommendation due to Mission Essential Personnel (MEP) screwing up his paperwork.
And now, nearly 12 years since I last saw him, we are close to upholding our promise and ensuring that Atta gets a place alongside us.
His dreams will come true. It will be hard, for sure. But he will get his Green Card and then take his citizenship exam. And, ladies and gentlemen, I will be there for that great occasion.
We have a chance to welcome home an American hero.
Inshallah.
Until Next Time.
Will, this was a perfectly written picture. There was only one wrong word. Atta will take his place among us, not alongside us.
My immigrant ancestors arrived in Pennsylvania between 1703 and ending in 1847. The Webers arrived in 1717.
Atta has the character to stand among them. He's a great addition to our team.
I’ll be waiting to hear and praying all the while. I hope your dream of getting him here comes true and that his dream of being in America comes true. I hope you are able one day to return to Afghanistan. Until next time. Keep writing and sharing. I can only imagine how meaningful this is to him and you. Bless all those who were helpful to this point.