A month ago, members of the U.S.'s First Battalion of the 3rd Special Forces Group were delivered by bus to a bomb-scarred compound outside Kabul. Once Afghanistan's national military academy, the complex was in ruins, strewn with the refuse of war and neglect. Rebuilding the barracks and office blocks would have been challenging enough, but the Americans have taken on a far more arduous task. From the rubble, they are trying to train the nucleus of a new Afghan National Army (ANA)—multiethnic, apolitical, ready and able to protect the nation and its nascent government. And despite a regiment of glaringly apparent obstacles, they need to do it fast. "I'd rather have six months to one year" to train each battalion, says one instructor; instead, because of the urgency of the task, he's been given 10 weeks. Says commander Lt.-Col. Kevin McDonnell: "This is no easy mission."
But it's a vital one. Though numerous armies already exist in Afghanistan, they belong to warlords, not the interim national government in Kabul. There is no single fighting body that operates in the interests of the country. For now, international peacekeepers hold the fort only in Kabul, and eventually they will want to hand over responsibility and pull out. Without a proper army in place, a return to the kind of chaos that gave rise to the Taliban and the feuding warlords is not out of the question. Says a U.S. military source: "Lawless groups like al Qaeda will again come in, fester, recruit and spread hatred unchecked."
The longterm goal—a force of 60,000—is a long way off. Given Afghanistan's shattered infrastructure, even getting recruits from across the country to the gates of the academy is a daunting task. "If I can't collect the soldiers, I can't start training," says McDonnell. He has started, but with fewer recruits than desired. The target number for the inaugural battalion was 605 men; just over 400 showed up. Most were flown from provincial recruitment centers, others arrived on horseback and still more trickled in after days of walking.
Thanks to over-zealous Afghan recruiters, many had only a vague idea what they were signing up for. Private Shamsuddin, a square-jawed 22-year-old ex-tractor driver from the northwestern province of Faryab, left home with dreams of foreign travel and what by Afghan standards counts as serious money. "They told us we'd be getting $250 a month and that training would be in Turkey," he says. Shamsuddin has since discovered he's actually making $30 a month ($50 once he's completed training) and the only bright lights he gets to see once a week are Kabul's. "If I'd known it was going to be like this I probably wouldn't have come," he grumbles. Of the 20 recruits who arrived with him from Faryab, eight have already headed home. Then, lessons and orders have to be translated into several languages. That's frustrating for both students and teachers. "A little gets lost when instructions are translated once," says an American sergeant. "A little more when it's twice."
Strangely, moreover, in a country awash with guns, the boot camp is having difficulty obtaining weapons for training. Requests must go through the Ministry of Defense, the turf of Mohammad Qasim Fahim, who boasts a personal army of at least 18,000 men. In the run up to the loya jirga—an assembly to select a transitional government—current ministers are looking to shore up their own power. Fahim's support comes from his private troops, not the country's. To him, their needs take precedence, so the ANA must make do with only partially filled orders for gear. "Supporting a new U.S.-trained army is not priority number one," says a senior Western military official in Kabul.
Even when the training course is completed, there's no guarantee soldiers will stick to their commitment—on paper, four years of military service. Earlier this year, the British trained the 1st Battalion of the Afghan National Guard in a six-week crash course. In April, 550 new guardsmen graduated and took their posts. Since then, the number has dropped below 400 as disillusioned soldiers drift away to find other work or return to their home provinces. But as the Americans see it, in these parts that's par for the course. "The reality of doing this in Afghanistan is that it's not going to be perfect, only workable," says McDonnell."If you've got the three stages of crawl, walk, and run, right now we're doing the crawl."