It’s about ten in the morning. Dry season in Afghanistan. A half hour ago, we caught a burst of avtomat communication. It was just one airborne flurry of information, probably to a roving eye on the ground. But it could also have been to a full-on tank. Or something even worse. Jabar and I decided to dig in here and wait for the thing to show up, whatever it is.
Yeah, pretty much a suicide mission.
After the s**t went down, the natives never trusted me for a second. Jabar and I were f*******n to go near the main encampments. Most of the Afghan civilians fled to these man-made caves in Bamiyan Province. Real ancient s**t. Some desperate-a*s people carved ’em out of sheer mountain walls, and for about a thousand years they’ve been the go-to spot for every civil war, famine, plague, and inv
