The Outpost An Untold Story Of American Valor Part 13

Gooding called Combat Outpost Kamdesh and asked for First Sergeant Todd Yerger. He broke the news to him, though Yerger had already seen some emails about it. The sergeant huddled the troops together. He told them he had good news and bad news.

"The bad news is you aren't going home," Yerger said. "The good news is you'll get paid an extra thousand bucks a month."

The men were devastated. Some began to weep.

Back at Naray, Jorgensen sat on his cot and let it all sink in. He pulled on his shoes and walked out toward the phones to call his fiancee, Sheena, and his parents. Turning the corner, he saw a line for the phone that would take hours. So much for that.

He went back to the troop command post and hopped onto the computer to email Sheena and his parents:

I really don't how to say this, so I'm just going to come out and say it.... We've been extended. We're not coming back until June now. I think the most obvious thing is that the wedding will have to be postponed. This info is about three hours old right now, so I don't have a lot of answers. Normally I'd call for something this important, but the phone line has 150 people in it right now and it's only getting longer. I really don't know what to say right now, we're all still in shock. I've got to go now and talk to my soldiers, a lot of them aren't taking it well. I love you guys.-Erik

Jorgensen's captain, Brooks, was one of those soldiers not taking it so well. Right before Lieutenant Colonel Fenty's helicopter went down, Brooks had been talking to his first sergeant about how he was convinced-had always been convinced-that his girlfriend, Meridith, was "the one." After Fenty and the other nine men died and Brooks got off the mountain, he found the first phone he could use and called her. "I can't tell you what's going on, but we had a pretty bad event happen, and it's made me realize-will you marry me?" he asked her. "Yes," she said. They soon picked a date: June 9, 2007.

Now Brooks was calling her again, this time to tell her that his deployment had been extended and they would have to postpone their wedding. She'd already moved to upstate New York and set up an apartment, believing he'd be there in February. She was distraught, and they both wept. "I don't believe you," she cried. "Why is this happening?"

The move was a surprise and not a surprise. Speculation about an extension had been swirling for weeks, but the anxious troops of 3-71 Cav had been told not to worry. Major General Freakley had visited Forward Operating Base Naray on Christmas Day and given them a short speech: "Gentlemen, I know there are a lot of rumors out there about us getting extended," Freakley said. "Let me be the first to tell you: we will all go home in February!"

He was half right. Freakley himself did go home in February. The men of 3-71 Cav had to stay until June.

The priest had been FOB hopping, flying from base to outpost, tending to the soldiers' spiritual needs as best he could. It was hardly an ideal situation for either the clergyman or his flock, but "ideal" as a concept had been tossed out the window the first day American troops set foot in Afghanistan. Now he was here on a particularly chilly day for the renaming of this outpost in the Kamdesh Valley. It would henceforth be known as Combat Outpost Keating.

"We ask your blessing on the dedication of this camp in the memory of First Lieutenant Benjamin D. Keating, a risen warrior of Able Seven-Three-One," the chaplain prayed during the ceremony. Of course, the squadron wasn't 7-31, it was 3-71, but the chaplain repeated his mistake: "Thank you for the service and sacrifice of Able Seven-Three-One," he said.

What would Ben Keating have made of such an error? He would likely have rolled his eyes and had a laugh at the Army's expense. He had given his life for the Army, and the Army couldn't even get the name of his squadron right.

Gooding had been mired in his own misery after Keating's death; it had taken him a month or so to snap out of it. After he did, having recognized the pit of despair in which he'd been trapped, he was thankful that his depression hadn't come during fighting season. During the ceremony, he tried to keep his tone positive. He unveiled the wooden sign identifying the camp as Combat Outpost Keating-the wood had been cut by Billy Stalnaker, the design was by Specialist Jeremiah "Jeb" Ridgeway-and said that Keating would have been honored.

The Kamdesh outpost was named in honor of First Lieutenant Ben Keating, promoted posthumously. (Photo courtesy of Matt Netzel) (Photo courtesy of Matt Netzel)

It was a rough winter for Captain Matt Gooding. (Photo courtesy of Matt Netzel) (Photo courtesy of Matt Netzel)

Tens of thousands of miles away, in Shapleigh, Maine, Ben Keating's parents, Ken and Beth, were ambivalent about the dedication. They understood the desire of the men of 3-71 Cav to honor their son and, perhaps, to lift their own spirits as they faced the depths of winter at Kamdesh. However, the Keatings had no illusion that the camp would be a permanent fixture in the landscape of Nuristan. (Gooding had mulled over this issue, too.) The monument for their son would be, one way or another, short-lived. The next company would have no idea who Ben Keating had been. New leadership might decide to abandon Combat Outpost Keating altogether. And the site, because of its vulnerability, might be overrun. Indeed, it was the location of the outpost that seemed to trouble Beth Keating the most. She didn't like the notion of her son's memorial's standing in such a horribly dangerous part of the world. She was touched that the men Ben had served with had felt so strongly about him, and so affectionate toward him, that they wanted to honor him, and she knew there were limits to what they could do. But it was almost as if someone had decided to rename a sinking ship after her beloved boy just as it slipped below the waves.

CHAPTER 14

Buddy

The insurgents had spent the winter months regrouping. Intelligence reports suggested that they were planning a new offensive in Nuristan with fresh supplies, well-trained snipers, and new commanders. In February 2007, they announced their return with a series of kidnappings, among them that of the son of an elder from Barikot. He was a nice young man, a teenager, who often helped Able Troop at Camp Keating with small tasks-buying the men soda or cigarettes, for example. Howard told Gooding to find out more and to do it quickly. The usual process for collecting intelligence-contacting sources and then arranging for their transport to the outpost-would take too long in this instance. They needed to move now, now, before the kid's corpse was found at the side of the road. Gooding disagreed with the order, but he carried it out, enlisting the help of Adam Boulio, a group of mortarmen, and 1st Platoon, led by Lieutenant Vic Johnson. This would be Able Troop's first mission since the loss of Keating nearly three months before. before the kid's corpse was found at the side of the road. Gooding disagreed with the order, but he carried it out, enlisting the help of Adam Boulio, a group of mortarmen, and 1st Platoon, led by Lieutenant Vic Johnson. This would be Able Troop's first mission since the loss of Keating nearly three months before.

Johnson had been watching the calendar, waiting for this day: February 19, the sixty-second anniversary of the beginning of the Battle of Iwo Jima. When he graduated from West Point, his friend and eighth-grade history teacher had given him a j.a.panese flag that his father had captured in the Philippines during the island-hopping campaign. Johnson wanted to return the honor, so in Bagram he'd bought an American flag for his friend, and that morning at the outpost he'd had some members of Headquarters Troop lower the post flag from the pole and raise his newly purchased Stars and Stripes. It would fly there for a day, and then he could give it to his friend.

Now Johnson rallied his men. Afghan troops would conduct the operation to search for and rescue the boy, with 1st Platoon backing them up. Gooding had been impressed by the ANA soldiers under Master Sergeant Best's tutelage-they were a good company, unlike the many other ANA troops he'd had dealings with before. On this mission, because Best had been called back to Bagram to take care of some bookkeeping responsibilities-turning in receipts and drawing more funds-Buddy Hughie would lead them.

In a recent call to his grandmother, Hughie had admitted that he'd slept only an hour the night before because he and his men had been under fire. He tried to rea.s.sure her: the Afghan soldiers had placed sandbags around him for protection, they were a great team, they worked well together as a unit. She was persuaded that Buddy was going to be okay. He was with good people. They were taking care of him.

The convoy left Combat Outpost Keating and headed east toward Naray. Barely a half mile down the road, they encountered Kareem, one of Boulio's sources, walking toward the camp.

Boulio had been informed by a different source that the kidnapped teenager was being held in a particular bandah-a kind of small shack, typically used for livestock and usually consisting of a crude stone shelter for the herders and pens for animals. This one was owned by a HIG fighter named Abdul. Boulio told Kareem what he'd heard about the kidnapped boy, and Kareem volunteered to lead them to the bandah, which was located amid several others on the northern side of the river. The convoy would need to travel about twenty-five minutes east, pa.s.s the hamlet of Kamu, and cross a bridge to get there. One potential problem: they would have to drive by Kareem's village on the way, and if anyone saw him helping the Americans, he might be killed. The insurgents had made that clear.

Some months earlier, when the outpost was first set up, 3-71 Cav had distributed Smith & Wesson 9-millimeter pistols to Afghan policemen in the area. Many of the policemen had proceeded to sell those guns, so the Americans had tried to recall the issued weapons and were on constant lookout to confiscate any found in the field. Boulio now tucked one of these confiscated pistols into Kareem's waistband. "You're going to have to come with me, and we'll make it look like I've caught you with a gun you aren't supposed to have," Boulio told him. A couple of the Afghan troops restrained Kareem and put him in the back of their Ford Ranger.

Gooding thought it would be safer for Kareem to be seen with only ANA soldiers, while Johnson and 1st Platoon hovered nearby as a quick reaction force. Gooding ordered Boulio to stay with him and the mortarmen, just outside Mirdesh; the intel specialist had completed his mission by making contact with his source and then handing that source over to Afghan control.

"I should be going with the group to the bandahs," Boulio argued, furious. "He's my source, and I need to be there to make sure we get to the right place."

But Gooding felt that Boulio and others who worked closely with Afghans often took unnecessary risks to rally their Afghan colleagues. He respected that dedication, but whether by intuition or because he was still mourning the loss of Keating, he was not going to let Adam Boulio out of his sight that day.

With the plan hatched, they now acted, driving to Mirdesh and putting on a show for Kareem's neighbors. Elders met Boulio at the bridge. He asked them how Kareem, in the ANA truck, had gotten the pistol. They said they didn't know. Kareem was a good man and not a criminal, they told him through his interpreter. "I believe you," Boulio said. "He will probably be released soon." He then asked for information about the location of the abducted boy, but the elders had nothing to offer.

The ANA troops and Kareem then drove to the bandahs, with Johnson and 1st Platoon following a safe distance behind them. Gooding, Boulio, and the mortarmen stayed put. Johnson and his platoon stopped at the "Kamu turnaround," a gra.s.sy area adjacent to the road on the southern side of the river, one of the few places on the route from Kamdesh to Barikot wide enough to let Humvees turn around if needed. Hughie, his team of trainers, and the ANA troops continued east toward the bandahs.

Kareem led them past the first bridge after Kamu and told them to stop. Hughie and his team stayed in their Humvee; the ANA troops got out of their Ford Rangers, crossed yet another bridge, and then walked quickly toward the bandahs. They rounded up three "spotters," HIG insurgents who were obviously on lookout duty, but it was already too late: the insurgents had been tipped off. One band of HIG fighters grabbed the boy and sped off in a Toyota Corolla; another group fled to the south, crossing a third bridge, scaling up a ridgeline, and racing on the high ground toward the Kamu turnaround, where Johnson and 1st Platoon were waiting for the ANA to return.

Tennessee Army National Guard Lieutenant Matt Hall had formerly been part of Best's team, but feeling that he and his colleagues had been utterly neglected by Army bra.s.s in their previous post in the Tagab Valley, north of Kabul, he'd opted to train ANA troops at Forward Operating Base Naray instead of going to Kamdesh with the master sergeant. At the less remote base at Naray, he figured he could at least try to ensure that for Best, Hughie, and their ANA troops, it wouldn't once again be a matter of "out of sight, out of mind."

Hall's previous job had been as an a.s.sistant football coach at c.u.mberland University, and he loved his ANA troops as he had once loved the kids he coached. He believed in them. Sure, some of the cultural differences took some getting used to-the way the men danced and napped together or held hands, for example, and their hygiene, which, in a land without running water, was certainly, well, understandable understandable-but he came to see them as true patriots, a beautiful and friendly people. They wouldn't get paid for months, but they'd stay out there anyway, manning their posts, freezing with no socks or gloves. And they always knew where he was, always had his back.

Hall and his ANA troops now drove from Naray to Kamu to help find this kidnapped teenager. Just after making the turn and getting out of the dead zone where radio contact was impossible, Hall picked a spot in which to set up a checkpoint.

There they met the uncle of the missing young man, on his way toward Forward Operating Base Naray.

"We found him," the uncle told one of the ANA troops. "I'm running to Barikot to go get him."

Hall sent out word over the radio: Good news! The boy had been found.

Hughie stopped his patrol and returned to the Kamu turnaround. He and his fellow trainers got back in their Humvee. Johnson was sitting in his truck, facing east. He could see the ANA troops headed toward him in their Ford Rangers, still half a mile away.

Then Johnson heard a sound-something hitting his roof.

d.i.n.k!

It sounded odd. He looked up at his gunner, Sergeant Justin Shelton.

"s.h.i.t," Johnson said. "What did you drop?"

That the noise had in fact been made by a bullet became clear within seconds, with an eruption of small-arms fire from AK-47 a.s.sault rifles, what sounded like a PK machine gun, and RPGs. The ANA soldiers, in their Ford Rangers, were almost completely exposed. Johnson knew that he and his men had to suppress the enemy fire to protect the Afghans caught out in the open; they were supposed to treat ANA troops exactly as they would have treated American ones.

"Return fire!" Johnson yelled. The members of 1st Platoon fired back toward the enemy while Johnson radioed Gooding and gave him the grid coordinates so the mortar team could pound the ridge. He asked for close air support as well.

Hughie had been sitting shotgun in his Humvee with the other trainers when the attack began. While Henderson, in the gunner turret, fired at the ridgeline with his M240 machine gun, Hughie hopped out to engage the enemy from behind the vehicle. He was joined by an interpreter named Nasir and, a second later, Specialist Cameron Williams, both of whom had been sitting in the back of the truck. Williams fired a single-shot AT4 shoulder-launched rocket toward the ridgeline, then grabbed a second AT4 rocket and fired again.

The enemy fighters opened fire on the ANA pickup trucks as the vehicles drove toward Johnson and Hughie. Best and Hughie had been trying for months to teach the ANA troops to do just the opposite in such situations, to ignore their instincts and instead move toward toward the fire-in this case, to hug the ridgeline, which would make it more difficult for the fighters above to aim and fire at them. Heading toward the river made them easy targets. the fire-in this case, to hug the ridgeline, which would make it more difficult for the fighters above to aim and fire at them. Heading toward the river made them easy targets.

Because the ANA soldiers and the Americans were on different radio frequencies, Hughie and Nasir ran toward them to point them back toward the mountain. Henderson laid down cover fire, though it was tough to say precisely where the enemy was. He knew about the insurgents on the ridgeline to the east, but now it appeared as if some fire might be coming from the north as well.

One thing that seemed certain was that these insurgents had a new marksman. He fired at Adel-Best's favorite, the wonderful cook-who went down, spilling from his pickup truck onto the ground. Hughie ran toward Adel to administer first aid. He reached him and swung his rifle around so he could access his medic kit. From the ridgeline, the sniper took aim at Hughie and pulled the trigger.

The echo of a single shot reverberated from the mountains.

With adrenaline coursing through his veins, Johnson ran toward Hughie. Bullets rained around him like hail. He thought he was surely going to die, there was no way he wasn't going to get hit, but he kept going. Hughie had just had a baby boy a few months before, and he was a good man who cared about these Afghan troops as few other Americans did.

Johnson hoped that by exposing himself, he might draw the insurgents' fire away from Hughie and his platoon. That might give Hughie a fighting chance of making it out of this one. Johnson's plan seemed to work: an RPG exploded in front of him, slapping shrapnel into his helmet, but on he went, firing into the hills as he ran. When he reached Hughie, he found him lying on his back, his eyes rolled back into his head. The bleeding had almost stopped. There was a hole in his rifle. Johnson screamed at him, but he didn't respond; he tried to find the wound, but it was hidden somewhere under all the body armor Hughie was wearing.

Then Johnson heard a moan from about twenty feet away. He looked and saw a wounded ANA soldier: Adel. He'd been hit in the chest.

s.h.i.t, thought Johnson, we have two casualties.

F15 fighter jets zoomed by above, joining in the orchestra of machine-gun fire and drowning out Johnson's voice as he tried to radio for a medic to help Hughie. No one responded, so he quickly decided he'd have to run back to get somebody, through the terrifying downpour of bullets and possible RPG fire he'd made it through once before. It was Hughie's only chance.

So he did exactly that: he ran back to the American trucks, where he found a 3-71 Cav medic, Specialist Gil Montanez, and then the two of them again raced through the bullet storm to Hughie.

Montanez located the wound; the news was not good. In reaching for his medic bag to treat Adel, Hughie had lifted his arm, and the bullet had found a path to his heart, bypa.s.sing his protective breastplate.

"KIA," Johnson said into the radio. Those letters were followed by Hughie's identification code: "Hotel" for Hughie and the last four digits of his Social Security number. As Johnson relayed that information, the medic went over to check out Adel. By this point, the Americans were pounding the ridgeline with 120-millimeter mortars, a 60-millimeter mortar that a 1st Platoon soldier had brought along with him, and bombs dropped from the fighter jets. The enemy had gone relatively silent. Gooding got on the radio and asked Johnson if he wanted him to send in a medevac for Hughie and Adel. Johnson didn't think they could afford to risk it; he wasn't sure if the hills were clear of the enemy. It was the kind of situation no leader ever wanted to be in: he would have to make a decision that could cost the life of a dying soldier-Adel-in order to prevent the possible loss of an aircraft and crew.

"No, sir," he told Gooding.

They packed up the trucks with the wounded and the dead. As they were pulling out, Johnson got a quick look at Adel, who was lying in the back of a pickup, being treated by an Afghan medic. Adel saw him and smiled, flashing him a thumbs-up.

Half an hour later, as Johnson's convoy pulled in to Combat Outpost Keating, a medic pulled up to meet it. He was carrying a pair of body bags. It took Johnson a few seconds to process why there were two two bags, and then he realized: one was for Hughie, and the other was for Adel, for whom Hughie had given his life. Adel hadn't made it, either. bags, and then he realized: one was for Hughie, and the other was for Adel, for whom Hughie had given his life. Adel hadn't made it, either.

As Hall had reported, the kidnapped boy had been found-alive-near Barikot. He was sent to Forward Operating Base Naray and from there returned to his father.

That night in Johnson's barracks, no one made a sound.

On his way back to Combat Outpost Keating, Gooding was told that an Afghan policeman had been heard on the radio congratulating the enemy for killing Hughie and Adel. Gooding reported this to the Afghan interpreters, who went to the local Afghan police station. The police chief insisted that that particular officer hadn't been there at all that day, that he was away on vacation.

Bulls.h.i.t, Gooding thought.

Gooding was later informed that the police officer had never returned to work.

"Good job today," Howard said to Gooding, also offering his condolences on the loss of Hughie.

Gooding was spent. Even though Hughie hadn't technically been part of 3-71 Cav, he'd been out there with them because of an order Howard had given-one that Gooding hadn't thought wise but had carried out anyway. Now Hughie was gone.

Howard had another order for Gooding.

"You need to open up an outpost at Kamu tomorrow," he told him. This wasn't entirely a surprise: having read between the lines of previous comments his commander had made, Gooding had been preparing for just this possibility. Near the hamlet of Kamu sat a former hunting lodge that had once belonged to Zahir Shah, the last king of Afghanistan, who'd been deposed in 1973. The lodge itself, or the Palace, as the troops called it, was seamlessly integrated with a large boulder that formed part of its structure, and also incorporated rock features in its landscaping as steps and mult.i.tiered terraces. A nearby stream, too, featured in the building's design. The whole thing almost looked as if it had been designed by Frank Lloyd Wright.

Gooding had already hired a contractor to widen the trail from the road to the lodge. His men spent the next day clearing boulders. Soon forty U.S. soldiers were packed into the Palace like cordwood.

On March 17, some Afghan drivers hauled supplies in their jingle trucks from Naray to the new base at Kamu. As the drivers were heading home after dropping off their cargo, around fifty insurgents, dressed as ANA soldiers and Afghan police, stopped them at a fake checkpoint. The insurgents then fired on the three jingle trucks, destroying them, and left them burning in the road. For good measure, they sliced off the drivers' ears.

Best and his forty-two ANA troops were stationed at the Kamu base; they'd been isolated there for weeks, since mudslides had blocked the road to Combat Outpost Keating and floods washed out the road to Naray. When he heard that the truck drivers had been attacked, Best thought of something that had happened the previous summer in the Tagab Valley: he'd bought three sheep to feed to his troops, and the next day, he learned that the merchant who'd sold them to him had been killed for the crime of helping the "infidels." Since then he had always tried to be as discreet as he could about buying bread and meat, and he felt an extra responsibility for any Afghans whose lives were threatened as a result of their helping him and his troops.

Best and his ANA platoon now rushed down the road, through small-arms fire, to help the jingle-truck drivers. Although they had no air support, they were successful in getting through and pulling out the men. The Afghan soldiers even managed to locate the three ears that had been cut off, so after their speedy return to the base at Kamu, the drivers were medevacked out along with their removed appendages, which surgeons were able to reattach.

There were other, similarly motivated attacks, some of them deadlier, including one on an Afghan Security Guard for the outpost, a young man from Mandigal, who was killed on his way to work. Such ambushes belied the progress that Fazal Ahad was making with the Security Shura. Elders and other villagers seemed to be responding to his pleas for Nuristanis to take responsibility for their own security so as to hasten the exit of the Americans. His own background notwithstanding, Ahad was disgusted by what the insurgents were doing in the region.

On April 29, a "night letter" was hammered onto the door of the Upper Kamdesh mosque. Besides listing the names of the Nuristanis who worked as Afghan Security Guards at Combat Outpost Keating, it issued a chilling warning in Pashto: By the name Allah:Announcement for the respected Muslims around the world:The devil is hated by Allah, denied by Allah, denied by the prophet, denied by religion, and denied of the Day of Judgment for Americans.They change humans from humanity to barbarians. These people are hated by Allah and are trying to turn the world into nonbelievers.These dirty Americans have killed thousands of children, men, women, religious scholars, true believers, and Arab fighters. They have destroyed Islamic society centers.At the present time for those who work and obey the American devils by taking contracts for building schools, roads, and power plants; also those who work as police, district administrators, and commanders as well as sold-out mullahs who deny Allah's orders and holy war and deny the holy Quran:We are telling you that we are continuing our holy war in Allah's will.... Soon we will start our operations.These infidels are searching street by street and house by house. At the present time these atheists are showing up in the great mujahideen villages. You have every right to kill these atheists if they come back into the village.Now you know we will not tolerate anyone's complaints.From,MujahideenLong Live the Islamic Emirate

On the following day, April 30, Fazal Ahad was accompanying two Kushtozi elders to Kamdesh Village to try to help resolve their tribe's longstanding conflict with the Kom. Six insurgents in woodland camouflage uniforms-again disguised as ANA soldiers or Afghan police-stopped the Kushtozis' cab at a fake checkpoint. They pulled Ahad out of his car. The two elders and their driver were given a choice: Leave now and live, or come with us and die. The three fled east to Mirdesh.

Nicholson, Howard, Berkoff, and other officers were near Barg-e-Matal, in a stone compound that they were thinking of turning into yet another combat outpost, when troops at Forward Operating Base Naray radioed to give them the news that Ahad had been kidnapped. About an hour later, Governor Nuristani called Howard to tell him that Ahad's dead body had been found. His captors had shot him in the face at point-blank range.

Members of the Security Shura were outraged, the governor said, and had already come to confront him. "We have supported you and the coalition; now is the time for you to support us," they'd told him. Nuristani said that he wanted to do something to avenge Ahad's death. The governor-himself from the Kata community-was convinced that at the very least, the Kom elders in Kamdesh Village knew who was behind Ahad's murder. Nuristani intended personally to deliver an ultimatum to the villagers of Kamdesh: Hand over the killers, or ANA commandos will search from house to house until they find them. Implicit in this plan to use ANA commandos was that American troops would be with them. The United States never allowed any ANA unit to conduct uniliteral operations; every mission had to be partnered.

Nuristani also asked Howard if the U.S. Army would be willing to send a Black Hawk helicopter to pick up Ahad's corpse at Combat Outpost Keating and deliver it to Barg-e-Matal, near his home village of Badmuk, for burial. The governor worried that the poor condition of the road from Kamdesh to Barg-e-Matal-which was washed out in many spots from melted snow and spring rains-might prevent Ahad's family from honoring the Islamic tradition that called for burial within one day. Howard asked Nicholson for permission, which Nicholson granted.

The Black Hawk landed in a large, flat field next to the stone compound that Nicholson, Howard, and the others were using. Fazal Ahad's body was cloaked in a white sheet through which his fresh blood had soaked. The corpse was offloaded from the helicopter and placed in a Ford Ranger, which drove down the road running parallel to the river and then up the hill toward the mosque. Hundreds of villagers came out to join the procession, crying and wailing; some men lifted Ahad's body onto a board and carried it part of the way.

John McHugh, an Irish freelance photographer embedded with Best and his ANA troops, was standing at the edge of the village, watching the procession. Almost without warning, McHugh and those around him were caught up in the swarm as it moved toward the mosque. The Irishman felt the piercing glares of the Afghans; he knew from experience that mourning could become violent in a split second. Ahad had been killed for working with the Americans and the Afghan government, and now here were other representatives of those same ent.i.ties, right in the villagers' midst. McHugh made his way over to Best. "We should get out of here," he said. A local Afghan policeman approached them and anxiously offered the same advice: Get out of here.

They did.

President Bush had mentioned Joe Fenty in a Memorial Day address he delivered at Arlington Cemetery in May 2006, not long after Fenty died. The president noted that only hours before the crash, Fenty "had spoken to his wife, Kristen, about their newborn daughter he was waiting to meet. Someday she will learn about her dad from the men with whom... he served. And one of them said this about her father: 'We all wanted to be more like Joe Fenty. We were all in awe of him.' "

Just under a year later, on May 5, 2007, the first anniversary of his death, the base at Jalalabad was renamed Forward Operating Base Fenty.

"It was out of this gate and onto that airfield that Joe walked a year ago today, to board that Chinook to extract his soldiers from a dangerous spot in the Chowkay Valley," Nicholson said during the renaming ceremony. "It's back to this place that our fallen comrades are brought for their trip home. So this is an important place, a place of honor and respect, a place worthy of being named after Lieutenant Colonel Joseph J. Fenty."

Command Sergeant Major Del Byers said during the ceremony that Fenty "represented everything that I love about being a soldier. He never asked another soldier to do anything that he was not prepared to do or had not done himself. As busy as our commanders are, he always found time to talk to every soldier regardless of rank or position."

In addition to FOB Fenty at Jalalabad and Camp Keating near Kamdesh, there were two other U.S. bases named after fallen 3-71 Cav troops who had served in Nuristan: Combat Outpost Lybert, near Gawardesh, and Combat Outpost Monti, located in an old Afghan Army compound in Kunar Province. Patrick Lybert and Jared Monti, too, had come to the region to die. They would not be the last.