 |
|
Some opposition soldiers fear a bloodbath in Kunduz
11/20/2001
BOREDA, Afghanistan – After U.S. warplanes unleashed yet another
bruising air attack, a 30-something Taliban commander made a snap
decision.
"I'd like to surrender," he told his foes by radio.
"No problem," came the reply.
So Abibullah and the 50 men under his command slipped behind enemy lines
to join the Northern Alliance. He kept his rank – and his men. They
fight now against the Taliban.
Forget ideology; many pragmatic Afghan fighters simply want to be on the
winning side. Others defect for money. Or because they want to follow a
commander who has switched sides.
These shifting loyalties help explain at least some of the Northern
Alliance's military success. They also highlight the difficulty of
predicting the outcome of standoffs in cities such as Kunduz, where the
Taliban are hunkering down for either a nasty fight with the opposition
or an easy escape after negotiations.
Kunduz is the Taliban's last stronghold in northern Afghanistan.
Opposition forces on Monday continued pushing toward the city after four
days of high-level talks failed to end the fighting.
Thousands of Taliban soldiers are holed up in Kunduz. Villagers who have
fled the area say the most committed Taliban fighters – Islamic
extremists from Pakistan, Saudi Arabia, and other Muslim countries –
have killed hundreds of Afghans who tried to defect. Others who refused
to stay and fight reportedly also have been killed. The claims haven't
been verified.
Given the Taliban's ruthless reputation, some Northern Alliance soldiers
fear the battle for Kunduz will be a bloodbath. They scoff at talk of a
negotiated settlement.
"Whether they fight or not, we are going to fight," said a tall,
30-year-old commander named Najibullah, who, like many in Afghanistan,
goes by one name. "We are going forward."
It was early Monday morning. Alliance tanks had begun pounding Taliban
positions at sunrise. Machine-gun fire could be heard in the hills as
opposition soldiers searched for retreating Taliban troops.
Najibullah said proudly that his soldiers had killed four Taliban about
midnight.
"Come back at nine or 10 this morning, and I'll show you the bodies if
the Taliban haven't taken them away," he said.
Down the road, an opposition soldier handed his machine gun to a friend
and broke into an impromptu dance – strictly banned by the Taliban.
Another put on a white burqa, a head-to-toe garment required for
Afghan women under Taliban rule, and jumped around as other soldiers
howled with laughter.
Others bragged about their battlefield successes.
"Everywhere they go, we hit them," Abdul Hafiz said. "They can't go
anywhere because of the American planes that bomb them."
On a hilltop, Mohammad Alim, 20, waved a black cable that he said the
Taliban used to beat people.
"I took this from a soldier I killed," he said.
How a captured Taliban soldier would be treated seemed to depend on his
nationality, his rank, and who was asked.
A Taliban soldier from another country?
"We'd kill him," many opposition fighters said.
"No, no," said another, giving the politically correct response. "We'd
turn him over to the United Nations."
A Taliban soldier from Afghanistan?
"Maybe a beating," one said. "But we wouldn't kill him."
An Afghan Taliban commander taken alive would probably be executed,
alliance officers said. But ordinary Taliban soldiers who turn in their
weapons would be free to return to their villages, alliance commander
Arbab Amidullah said.
To prove his point, he led several journalists to two former Taliban
fighters in Abishur, a tiny front-line village dotted with
ancient-looking, mud-brick dwellings.
One was a middle-aged, bearded man named Ghulam Sakhy. The other was a
much older man, Nazar Mohammad.
Alliance soldiers captured them near the front lines.
"We're not members of the Taliban," they said.
"Liars! Liars! Liars!" the commander shouted.
After the brief exchange, the commander assured the journalists that the
pair would not be mistreated.
Still, the older Taliban fighter was trembling.
"We are very afraid," he whispered.
Taliban soldiers who offer to fight for the alliance get to keep their
guns. One such fighter, Khalid Sangarjar, 22, spent three years with the
Taliban before deciding to switch sides.
"I left the Taliban because they are led by foreigners," he said. "We
are from this country. We shouldn't fight our own people."
If opposition soldiers forgive their foe easily, others in towns once
controlled by the Taliban do not.
Mohammadmabi Walizoda, 40, was still furious after the Taliban forced
him to give up his house in the town of Taloqan, east of Kunduz.
"I told them, 'We are poor people. We want to stay in our house,' and
they went away," he said. "But later I found out that they were planning
to kill me, so I left at midnight and fled the city."
He returned a week ago, after the Taliban retreat, and found his house a
mess. The room where he, his wife, and their six children once slept was
filled with live tank shells and anti-aircraft ammunition. Anti-tank
mines were stacked in his garden.
"I was terrified. I didn't know if they were going to blow up or not,"
he said.
Taliban fighters scrawled messages all over the walls of his house.
"Abdullahmunir The Martyr," one read.
"They broke many of the windows, but I don't think about that. I am glad
they left," Mr. Walizoda said. "But I will never forgive them for what
they did."
Back on the front lines, an old man named Sadruddin said he has no room
for forgiveness, either.
The Taliban killed 10 of his relatives – all of them soldiers, he said
while trying to hike back into former Taliban territory to look for the
bodies.
"I'm really angry. Every one of those men had one or two wives and at
least seven or eight children. Now those people have no father, no
husband.
"What can the Taliban tell them?"