The Afghan Warnings That Went Unheeded at Tora Bora

As bombs rumbled in the dizzying mountains that ribbon the Pakistani border, anti-Taliban commander Haji Mohammed Zaman paced impatiently.

On that hard, wintry December day, Zaman’s troops were hunting for the world’s most wanted man--and they weren’t having much luck. Day after day they captured, then lost, the same ground. His soldiers were shivering, hungry and losing their zeal. Zaman was frustrated.

“If America wants to capture Osama, why aren’t they trying?” he complained.

According to the commander’s intelligence, Osama bin Laden was hunkered down in the mountains, waiting out the airstrikes in deep underground caverns. For weeks, Zaman had pressed the United States for more weapons, supplies and money to hunt the Al Qaeda chief, but Americans regarded the Afghan commander’s information with suspicion.

Now, months later, interrogation of captured Al Qaeda fighters has reportedly led the Bush administration to conclude that Bin Laden was, indeed, hiding out in the mountain redoubt. He might have escaped by slipping over the border into wild tribal zones of Pakistan--just as anti-Taliban commanders warned.

In hindsight, some U.S. officials have lamented the decision to fight the battle of Tora Bora with bombs and Afghan foot soldiers instead of sending in U.S. ground troops.

But during the siege, a Western diplomat in the region characterized Zaman and other tribal warlords as “parasites” who were inflating reports of Al Qaeda’s presence in hopes of milking money and supplies from the United States.

If the United States was hesitant to trust the Afghan commanders, it wasn’t for nothing. It was impossible to say what invisible laces of sympathy ran between the Afghans and their Al Qaeda foes. There was the bond of Islam. In candid moments, most of the anti-Taliban soldiers admitted that they’d rather see the terrorists flee than have to slaughter them.

Then there were mercenary motivations: Some Afghans reportedly ferried desperate, wealthy terrorists to the Pakistani line for a pretty price.

In a climate of mistrust and uncertainty--and daunted by a forbidding terrain--the U.S. military balked at sending troops.

The Pentagon stands by that decision. Last week, Defense Secretary Donald H. Rumsfeld said the United States couldn’t be sure of Bin Laden’s whereabouts.

In the swirl of second-guessing, some military officials say the Afghans fumbled, or even helped the terrorist chieftain evade capture. But as the battle unfolded, local warriors repeatedly warned of Al Qaeda members’ probable--even imminent--escape.

A gap in strategies was obvious from the beginning: Instead of sending ground troops, U.S. warplanes flew overhead and dropped “daisy cutter” bombs and cruise missiles. The United States set a $25-million bounty on Bin Laden’s head in hopes of appealing to local mercenaries.

Afghans were skeptical. Bombs alone would never be enough to destroy the network of caves, they said. After all, they pointed out, Soviet forces spent years attacking Tora Bora, to little effect. The caves could be attacked and searched only on foot, they warned, and the sooner the better. As for the bounty, the men shrugged it off. Even if they bagged the famed fugitive, they didn’t expect to see a single cent.

“That money is for our commanders,” said a soldier named Rohullah.

The Afghans pleaded for guns, food, coats and money. If they were properly outfitted, they said, they could storm Tora Bora and rout Bin Laden.

But as the weeks passed, as biting winter brought the first snow clouds--and as U.S. hesitation to send ground troops to the region became apparent--local commanders spoke with impatience and, finally, bewilderment.

“I don’t think the United States wants to capture Osama,” Mohammed Alem, a top aide to Zaman, said in late November. “We know where he is, we tell them and they do nothing. So they are not as serious as they say they are.”

When the Northern Alliance stormed into the capital, Kabul, on Nov. 13, provincial Taliban governments dissolved throughout eastern Afghanistan, and Zaman came riding over the Khyber Pass from Pakistan. Guarded by a young, ragged army, he returned to his family’s stone house in Jalalabad and went to work plotting the ouster of “Arabs” who he insisted were hiding in the mountains.

Zaman told anybody who would listen that Bin Laden had moved a few hours south to Tora Bora. He told the tale of a long convoy of Al Qaeda pickup trucks that rumbled out of the city and crept up into the hills. Accompanied by a tribal elder from the Pakistani region of Parachinar, Bin Laden had headed for Tora Bora, Zaman said. Villagers had watched him pass.

“You know the infrastructure of Al Qaeda has broken down completely,” Zaman said in November. “If the allies help us, we can get them out of Tora Bora.”

Hazrat Ali, the newly appointed security chief for the eastern provinces, was equally certain. “I know who is sending lunch and dinner from this city to Osama,” he said one afternoon in November. He refused to elaborate.

Afghans said Bin Laden was accompanied by one of his sons and by Ayman Zawahiri, the Egyptian doctor who looks after Bin Laden’s health and is also considered his most important advisor. They said the group included hundreds, even thousands, of hard-line followers from China, Chechnya, Kashmir and the Middle East.

The first week of December, the anti-Taliban moujahedeen clambered to a rocky plateau on the northern edge of Tora Bora. Far below, a dry riverbed lay like a spine on the drought-baked earth; abandoned terraces climbed the hillsides. The soldiers whistled, clapped and shouted; they were glad to start the fighting.

But even in the first flush of battle, there was skepticism in the ranks. Commanders complained that their soldiers were being killed in misguided air attacks and that incessant bombing made it difficult to penetrate Al Qaeda hide-outs on foot.

A soldier named Yar Mohammed squinted into the hills, a rocket launcher slung over one shoulder. “These whole mountains are covered with caves, and across the mountain,” he pointed, “is Pakistan. They could escape that way.”

Whether the roads to Pakistan had been sealed already by snow was an open question in the early days of the assault. At first, commanders claimed that Al Qaeda forces were cornered. But quietly, underlings contradicted them.

“We see they’re escaping, but it’s difficult to go forward in the hills,” Shorab Khan said. “Yeah, it’s possible they can run away. We’ve blocked the roads as best we can.”

It was an important point: South of Tora Bora lay the tribal areas of Pakistan, where lawlessness ruled and Bin Laden enjoyed strong support. Commanders said the path through the mountains had already been trodden by fleeing Taliban leaders, including the chief of Nangarhar province, who’d reportedly taken shelter in Pakistan.

Eventually, it became clear that it was possible--even easy--to tramp through the snowdrifts into Pakistan. Around Dec. 7, the soldiers overheard Bin Laden on the radio. He was still in Tora Bora, but “they were getting ready to move,” said Haji Zahir, another senior Afghan commander.

The next morning, tribal scouts said they saw Bin Laden picking his way over the hills on horseback. The Saudi exile was flanked by four Al Qaeda guards, commander Haji Khalan Mir said.

The days slipped past. The Afghans said they caught sight of Bin Laden, lost him, then found him again. In a shadow dance of rumors and overheard radio transmissions, Bin Laden became an almost mystical figure: moving, moving, always moving. But this had always been the terrorist chief’s way.

One day, Zaman’s scouts spotted blood in the snow on the route to the Pakistani border. The commander’s conclusion was ominous: Al Qaeda fighters were escaping.

The next day, Zaman and Ali--who seldom agreed on anything--spoke with renewed conviction of Bin Laden’s presence. Both refused to explain what made them so suddenly, unwaveringly certain.

“I’m 100% sure Osama is here,” Zaman said. “I send spies every day. They bring me the information.” He paused, then gave a curt warning: “If America continues like this, it’s a mistake.”

At the height of combat, about 100 members of the U.S. and British special forces were stationed in Tora Bora. Otherwise, the U.S. kept an eye on the battle from the distant vantage of Tampa, Fla.

The Afghan soldiers starved, shivered and wrapped their wounds in blankets because there were no medicines, bandages or doctors. They pressed toward the caves on the outskirts of the cave complex, only to be pushed back again. Foot soldiers seesawed over the same ground day after day, sniping and ducking along the rocky trails.

At night, when temperatures plunged and the hunger pangs were sharp, the soldiers--many barely beyond adolescence--climbed down from their posts and sought shelter in the mud houses of nearby farmers. One night, they raided a network television truck and devoured the crew’s food.

“We were hungry,” they said with a shrug the next day.

When morning broke, they battled their way back to the positions they’d abandoned the night before. “If we had coats or shoes, we could go ahead,” said Sarbaz Khan, who headed an Afghan squadron. “It’s so cold at night we can’t hold our guns. Our blood freezes; it gets so we can’t move easily.”

The Afghans had been holding walkie-talkie negotiations with Al Qaeda fighters since the attacks began. Then, on Dec. 11, a core group of Al Qaeda fighters promised to turn themselves in at daybreak.

But when the appointed hour arrived, the eerie silence of the cease-fire was broken by a torrent of bombs from U.S. warplanes. Gunfire cracked against the rocks.

“American bombing disturbed the negotiations,” griped a commander named Ali Mohammed. “The Americans ruined everything.”

Other Afghans were wary: The negotiations were nothing but a trick, they said, a way to buy time.

“Hundreds have already escaped,” said Mir, the commander under security chief Ali. “And we are sure Osama bin Laden escaped through this road to the Pakistani tribal areas.”