Complaints are coming in from the field that response times are too slow. A few weeks ago a high level Taliban commander was determined to be in a certain house drinking tea. Special Ops guys and Afghan commandos were ready to go, helicopters revved up, the capture of the Taliban commander a certainty. But the force never left. The American unit commander spent hours on the phone trying to get permission from eleven different officers, some of them not available, some of them not American but Nato. At dawn he shut down the helicopters and told everybody to get some sleep. He never did get permission to capture the Taliban commander, who finished his tea and vanished. Such are the rules of engagement in Afghanistan, where the thought of injuring a civilian while killing the Taliban gives shivers of horror to higher headquarters, who know full well the New York Times would full page front page a picture of an Afghan or Pakistani child injured by the heartless and brutal Americans, notwithstanding the Taliban hide behind little girls. It was thus from the first. We all remember how Mullah Omar raced down the road, escaping, unaware a Predator had him in its sights. But the order to fire was not forthcoming. There were civilian cars on the road, and someone might get hurt.
Mullah Omar on the road
To Pak from Kandahar
A Predator with a full load
Caught sight of Omar’s car
Permission asked to fire, then
A longish strangled pause
As conference calls went out to men
To see if there was cause
To worry if collateral
Infliction might occur
And if there might the matter’ll
Be deemed to be no sir
So Mullah Omar got away
Not knowing just how near
He came to death that very day
From that Hellfire spear
And when he heard how he was spared
He closed his eyes and wept
So thankful that the Yankees cared
That civil norms be kept
He wept and bathed and went to bed
Alive and without sin
And thanked his God he wasn’t dead
And knew that he would win