Korengal Valley, Afghanistan - Minutes after the US Army
Humvee leaves its mountain base, 7.62-millimetre bullets tear into
the hood and turret until one finally hits driver Alex Goduti's
windshield panel dead centre.
The reinforced glass withstands the impact but the next round or
two at most will shatter it, so he slams the vehicle in reverse and
sends it lurching back up the track.
'I'm so lucky,' the startled 20-year-old tells his buddies,
staring at the cobweb of cracks on the pane before his face, while a
reporter filming from the back seat wonders at the speedy
materialization of his story.
But this is par for the course in Afghanistan's Korengal Valley,
where US and Afghan government troops battle with local tribesmen,
Taliban and foreign fighters with such dependable regularity that the
place emerged as a kind of 'War Story Central,' drawing reporter
after photographer after TV crew.
'The Korengal Valley became a media magnet when word got out that
journalists who went there were virtually guaranteed to experience
combat,' said Vanity Fair magazine contributor Sebastian Junger, a
repeat visitor and author of one of the most compelling accounts of
the fight in this corner of eastern Afghanistan.
'For a while almost one-fifth of the combat in the entire country
was occurring in the Korengal,' he noted.
Located in Kunar Province on the border with Pakistan, the Valley
of Death, as it's known to the troops, provides a vivid backdrop to
this bitter struggle.
Cedar-clad mountains rise above the Korengal River as it winds
past quaint clusters of stone houses and smallholdings dotting the
10-kilometre-long valley, which through its isolation and ancient
customs seems caught in another era.
But add the sudden thunderous exchanges of small arms and rocket
fire between the hill crests, strafing runs by Apache helicopters,
artillery and mortar barrages, and you have quintessential War on
Terror on tap for journalists who come embedded with the military.
'In the Korengal, you photograph US troops doing what they were
trained to do, and that's fight, fight and then tomorrow, fight
again,' Getty Images photographer John Moore said after a recent
stay.
So great is the valley's pull that more than half the applications
received by the US military for media visits to eastern Afghanistan
request the Korengal.
However, it's a risky assignment as journalists are as exposed to
harm as the platoons they accompany in these treacherous surrounds.
'I have found in the Korengal an area of spectacular, albeit
deceptive beauty, where a seemingly tranquil paradise can turn into
your worst nightmare in a heartbeat,' said combat photographer Keith
Lepor, who in September took a bullet in the chest during a mission.
His life was saved by the ceramic plate in his body armour.
'I was almost killed twice, both times when I least expected it,'
Junger recalled of his own visits to the valley.
While grateful that their efforts are not ignored, the troops
regard the media pilgrimage to one of the most perilous spots in
Afghanistan with detached amusement.
'It's almost become a rite of passage for journalists, so they can
say 'I've been to the Korengal,'' said Lieutenant Cliff Pederson of
Viper Company, 1st Battalion, 26th Infantry Regiment, which lost six
men killed in action and 19 wounded since deploying here in July.
Some troops feel that coverage tends toward sensation and
negativity, or altogether misses the broader context of efforts to
defeat the insurgents and rebuild the country.
'Sometimes it gives the impression that the whole of Afghanistan
is falling apart and that's definitely not true,' said Captain
Clinton Cummings, who leads a team of US Marine Corps trainers
working in the area with Afghan government troops.
Soldiers also say they have to allay fears among their loved ones
every time a new report comes out.
A series of pieces in October by US broadcast network NBC came
under criticism for its handling of a friendly-fire incident in which
a US mortar shell hit a house occupied by troops, killing one US
soldier and injuring six.
The immediate aftermath of the blast was not shown, but the pained
cries of the survivors were aired.
'I don't think people back home needed to hear all of us scream
right after we got hit, my mum didn't need to hear that, nor did the
wives and kids of the people here,' said Specialist Thomas
Richardson, 22.
To the folks at home, Korengal looks like a picturesque hell. By
most measures it probably is. But Viper Company's commander, Captain
James Howell, notes that while hostilities are often intense, media
can get carried away with the pursuit of high drama.
'We're not fighting for our lives every minute of the day,' Howell
said. 'It's a good story - but it's a story.'
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