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One day, the landlord asked for permission to dig beneath a mound of firewood in the compound, Dynan said. The man withdrew several trunks that contained what appeared to be opium and hashish, and went on his way.
"We let him go; we're not here to hurt people's livelihoods," Dynan said. "We're not in the drug interdiction business."
Bechtel worked steadily through the punishing heat -- well above 100 degrees -- to process a stream of bedraggled people seeking reparations. A patrol was sent to each applicant's compound to photograph damage and record the property on military maps.
Bechtel said he had promised about $105,000 to 240 applicants.
But there was a hitch: Alpha Company didn't have any cash to make the payments. Because of new Pentagon regulations, the money was held up.
So Bechtel improvised. He tore yellow notebook paper into small slips and wrote down the names, locations and tribes, along with the amount of damages owed.
The applicants went home with the slips that committed the Marines to pay up once the money arrived.
Sher Zaman, a wizened man in a floppy gray turban, stared at his yellow slip in bewilderment. But he brightened when Sgt. James Blake, told him through an interpreter that he would receive $3,200 for his ruined roof and mattresses burned during the Marine assault.
The sergeant asked Zaman to report on any Taliban in his area. The old man shook his fist.
"You guys are good guys trying to help the people [mess] up the bad guys," the old man said. "If I see the bad guys, I'll catch them myself. I'm old, but I can catch them."
Several other people also provided information, warning the Marines that insurgents wearing explosives-packed vests or dressed in women's burkas planned suicide attacks.
"Don't leave us alone," said one applicant, Habib Rahman, a farmer with a crimson-dyed beard. "If you leave, the bad guys will come right back."
Yar Mohammed, 80, who hobbled into the payment hut using a cane, described a damaged wall, gate, doors and steel roof beams. Told that he would be given a yellow slip good for $2,375, Mohammed shook his head and said, "This is not enough."
Blake, a mortarman, explained that the payments for repairs were based on estimates from local contractors fed into an Excel program.
"OK," Mohammed said, shrugging. "You decide."
He happily provided his fingerprints and posed for a registration photo.
The next day, the compensation system got more complicated. Alpha Company's payment center was moving six miles north, to be consolidated with other units. Any Afghan with a yellow slip would have to make the trek there.
From a smaller compound nearby, Miller and his platoon rose at 4 a.m. to patrol in the coolest part of the day. They slogged through fields, crunching dried poppy pods under their boots and brushing past lush marijuana plants taller than any Marine.
"What are you guys doing here?" a shepherd named Noradeen yelled at the troops as they stumbled across his flock in the rosy light of dawn.
"Assessing damage!" Miller called back, through an interpreter.
"We let him go; we're not here to hurt people's livelihoods," Dynan said. "We're not in the drug interdiction business."
Bechtel worked steadily through the punishing heat -- well above 100 degrees -- to process a stream of bedraggled people seeking reparations. A patrol was sent to each applicant's compound to photograph damage and record the property on military maps.
Bechtel said he had promised about $105,000 to 240 applicants.
But there was a hitch: Alpha Company didn't have any cash to make the payments. Because of new Pentagon regulations, the money was held up.
So Bechtel improvised. He tore yellow notebook paper into small slips and wrote down the names, locations and tribes, along with the amount of damages owed.
The applicants went home with the slips that committed the Marines to pay up once the money arrived.
Sher Zaman, a wizened man in a floppy gray turban, stared at his yellow slip in bewilderment. But he brightened when Sgt. James Blake, told him through an interpreter that he would receive $3,200 for his ruined roof and mattresses burned during the Marine assault.
The sergeant asked Zaman to report on any Taliban in his area. The old man shook his fist.
"You guys are good guys trying to help the people [mess] up the bad guys," the old man said. "If I see the bad guys, I'll catch them myself. I'm old, but I can catch them."
Several other people also provided information, warning the Marines that insurgents wearing explosives-packed vests or dressed in women's burkas planned suicide attacks.
"Don't leave us alone," said one applicant, Habib Rahman, a farmer with a crimson-dyed beard. "If you leave, the bad guys will come right back."
Yar Mohammed, 80, who hobbled into the payment hut using a cane, described a damaged wall, gate, doors and steel roof beams. Told that he would be given a yellow slip good for $2,375, Mohammed shook his head and said, "This is not enough."
Blake, a mortarman, explained that the payments for repairs were based on estimates from local contractors fed into an Excel program.
"OK," Mohammed said, shrugging. "You decide."
He happily provided his fingerprints and posed for a registration photo.
The next day, the compensation system got more complicated. Alpha Company's payment center was moving six miles north, to be consolidated with other units. Any Afghan with a yellow slip would have to make the trek there.
From a smaller compound nearby, Miller and his platoon rose at 4 a.m. to patrol in the coolest part of the day. They slogged through fields, crunching dried poppy pods under their boots and brushing past lush marijuana plants taller than any Marine.
"What are you guys doing here?" a shepherd named Noradeen yelled at the troops as they stumbled across his flock in the rosy light of dawn.
"Assessing damage!" Miller called back, through an interpreter.
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