Abbey Gate
When the Doors Slammed Shut
After a week of ferrying my Afghan contacts inside Hamid Karzai International Airport (HKIA), I was exhausted. Although my DC hotel was fine, I barely slept. I would crash for a few hours, only to wake up frantically and check my phone to see if I’d missed anything vital.
By 26 August 2021, I had assisted at least 80 Afghan contacts. Nevertheless, I still had hundreds of Afghans on my list. I knew some of them from my previous tour in Afghanistan (20-21), but most were taskers or favors from higher headquarters. Let’s just say this: I got some very senior government officials’ favorite Afghans inside those gates.
After nearly a week of work, I had positioned scores of Afghans throughout Kabul. I started stacking Afghans closer and closer to the airport to reduce the transit time.
Moving Afghans like this requires a lot of luck. And that wasn’t always in abundant supply. There were Taliban checkpoints throughout the city, many of them very close to the airport. Even worse, the Taliban were providing perimeter security for HKIA in coordination with the United States.
People had to make it through a lot of Taliban checkpoints to get into those gates. And many of them did not succeed.
Although I had many Afghan contacts on my list, General K was by far the most senior. He was also my friend. We had dined together on several occasions. I found him to be gregarious and jovial—something that was in short supply in Afghanistan. He would often boast of trips to the United States.
“Brother, I saw the White House!” he would exclaim.
Sometimes, he would bring pictures of his American and European travels. As a senior Afghan general officer, he had trained in the United States and Europe. He loved telling me stories about his trips.
I had tried to get him into HKIA on numerous occasions. However, it was tricky. He had a big family—even by Afghan standards. But every time I tried to get him into the promised land, I ran into the same problem.
“Too many at once.”
I tried to soothe his angst. He was worried. And rightfully so. The Taliban would come for him. While he might be able to stay underground for a few months, someone would likely eventually recognize him.
“Brother, I’m trying,” I texted him many times.
“Will. I trust you. I’m sorry for asking again,” he would always respond.
I was starting to get nervous. I had been receiving intel throughout the week of a possible Islamic State suicide attack. Out of an abundance of caution, I had warned others lower on my list to steer clear of the mass pits of humanity at HKIA.
Some didn’t listen to my advice.
“SVEST ATTACK STAY CLEAR”
When I saw that text on my phone, I knew it was over. No more Afghans would pass through those gates unless they were American citizens or legal permanent residents (green card holders).
The SVEST attack killed 13 brave American servicemembers and 170 Afghans trying to escape the brutal hell that awaited them under the Taliban regime.
Before my boss sent it to me, I knew what the subsequent text would say.
“Will, that’s it unless you know some American citizens—nobody else in.”
My heart sank. Everything was lost.
“Roger, sir.”
How do you tell a man you’re leaving him behind? How do you tell people that you’re not keeping your word?
I just started by apologizing and telling them the truth. I figured after twenty years of lies, at the very end, they finally deserved someone to tell them the truth.
So that’s how I started my conversation with General K.
“Brother, go into the other room, away from your family,” I told him.
“Ok, brother,” he responded.
I inhaled deeply as he stepped into the bathroom.
“Go ahead, Will.”
“Brother. I’m so very sorry to tell you this. But I failed you, and I will not be able to get you out.”
I don’t remember the rest of the conversation. He handled it far better than I did. I promised him I would continue trying to figure out how to get him out.
He sent me a final photo of him and his extended family.
“Brother, don’t forget us.”
I never got him out. But I remember him every day and the friendship we shared at the twilight of another lost American war.
The next few hours were the darkest of my life. When I let my mind wander to its darkest recesses, I can remember those conversations. They were some of the most excruciating calls I’ve ever made.
I made phone calls and texted hundreds of contacts for nearly three hours. Part of my soul shattered that day. Grown men wept, begging me to get them out. My phone was filled with pictures of their children.
I saw pictures of hundreds of Afghan kids, many smiling, hoping someone halfway around the world could save them. Those kids’ faces are forever ingrained in my mind.
At night, when I’m alone and the demons come, I see the pictures of hundreds of Afghan children I couldn’t save—and I pray for God’s strength to persevere.
Three years ago, an Islamic State suicide bomber who the Taliban had freed destroyed many dreams.
The dreams of the families of those 13 servicemembers’ families, who will endure unimaginable heartache on this day, forever.
The dreams of those 170 Afghans who wanted nothing more than to escape a modern-day Handmaid’s Tale.
The dreams of millions of Afghans who believed in the United States.
And the dreams of tens of thousands of American combat veterans whose lives were shattered.
They all deserved better. -
Can you explain, Will, why our politicians refused to secure the airport perimeter with American troops, and to a larger extent, why they chose to abandon so many Afghans to the Taliban instead of telling the Tali we'll leave when the last helper boards the plane? I understand the need to get out after 20 years, but why was it executed so horribly? Between this and the fall of Saigon, the end of the American wars always seem to stain our soul even darker. I'd appreciate your views.
Anyone familiar with the actual history of the United States would recognize the similarities with what happened to the veterans of my little Nation who helped General Jackson at the Battle of Horseshoe Bend. Those who do not remember history are doomed to repeat it, over, and over, and over...