Picture to yourself a narrow pitch black river valley, sparsely populated, with 18,000 foot mountains stacked like clenched knuckles on either side. Mountain winds, massive updrafts, downdrafts, thick spurs jetting out like gnarled fists. Right hook, left hook, narrower and narrower. This was the needle we threaded tonight with our helicopter under NVGs... in red illum... with 1 mile visibility.
During the day in good weather, the 60 nautical mile flight through the Hindu Kush mountain region to Kiwi Base, or New Zealand-secured FOB Bamiyan, can be quite majestic. Buddhist artifacts dating back to the 2nd century line the valley walls, including remnants of the Bamiyan Buddhas which once stood 180 feet tall until the Taliban destroyed them in March 2001. Half a mile outside FOB Bamiyan lie ruins of the Red Town and Shahr-e Golgola, or City of Screams, which was built entirely out of sun dried clay and invaded by Mongol tyrant Gengjis Kahn in 1221.
Unfortunately, we saw none of this grandeur. In fact, it was impossible to see these larger-than-life mountains until we were within a few hundred feet of them, banking to remain clear. I cannot accurately describe the horror of winding through a dark, forboding valley with no discernable terrain cues to guide us. O, the pucker factor! We relied on our digital maps, the faint path of the summer creek through the chin bubble, and the hand of God to steer us safe. As the moon set the contrast in our NVGs dissolved into a mutiny of green on green, and we were wading through a soup of jagged mountains, the open sky beyond our reach.
In situations like this, normal protocol would be climb climb climb! until clear of all obstacles. But we can't fly at 20,000 feet. Our cabin isn't pressurized. Our cockpit doors are off and we have no oxygen. We're power-limited with 4 crew and 7 combat-equipped dudes in the back. The only way through was 100% commitment to flight instruments.
Well, we made it... because I'm here to tell the tale. I was glad to see the lights of Bagram glowing like the Resurrection when we safely, miraculously exited the mouth of the valley. I'm appalled that our command is willing to risk 2 aircraft and 8 crewmembers to perform battlefield circulation of low-pro ANA soldiers. Gambling on weather in red illum is straight up suicide... only worth the risk when one of our own is in need of help.
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