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Lately, however, the problem has been an absence of intelligence and precious few leads about the whereabouts of bin Laden or his comrades. That may be because the Taliban, which controlled Afghanistan and gave comfort to al-Qaeda before the U.S. invaded, is regrouping. "The tribal chiefs are hedging their bets," says an adviser to Afghan President Hamid Karzai. "They know that when the American soldiers leave their village, the Taliban will steal back to take revenge." A few miles north of Shkin, in a dusty bazaar known as Bormol, gunmen dragged a pro-American police chief and seven of his officers out into the marketplace this summer and slit their throats. In these U.S. outposts, the Army can do little but wait until the enemy strikes first.
The U.S. firebase looks like a Wild West cavalry fort, ringed with coils of razor wire. A U.S. flag ripples above the 3-ft.-thick mud walls, and in the watchtower a guard scans the expanse of forested ridges, rising to 9,000 ft., that mark the border. When there's trouble, it usually comes from that direction, which is exactly what happened early in the morning of Sept. 29.
It was supposed to be a day off for the 1st Platoon. Some of the 300 men at Shkin are watching TV in the fort mess hall, chowing down on grits and eggs. A few are lifting weights. Specialist Richard Solloway is grumbling to anyone who will listen that Hugh Hefner turned down Solloway's request for the platoon to tour the Playboy Mansion on the next home leave.
The 2nd Platoon is out on patrol, moving through the draws and brush-covered hills along the border. Armored humvees with gunners inside are parked on the ridges, while the infantrymen below stalk through the wadis, or dry streambeds. One soldier thinks his buddy is playing a joke, hitting him in the back with a rock. But it's shrapnel. Suddenly mortar rounds are screaming in, landing all around the Americans. Sergeant David Gilstrap is bleeding; he has been hit in the face. A jagged dart of shrapnel protrudes from Specialist Robert Heiber's arm. It hurts like fire, but Heiber mostly feels anger. He uses his Leatherman pliers to yank out the shrapnel and keeps on firing. When a medic tries to take Heiber back with Gilstrap to the firebase for treatment, Heiber refuses. He is a sniper and has spotted a curl of smoke from al-Qaeda mortar tubes above a rock gallery, some 600 yds. away.
Solloway's daydreams about Playboy bunnies are shattered when a humvee roars up to the firebase, and Gilstrap is pulled out. "I wanted to get those sons of bitches," says Solloway. His chance would come. The enemy usually retreats after firing off a few rounds. But this time the barrage holds steady, coming from several directions. That morning, radio surveillance picked up voices in Arabic--a sign that al-Qaeda was taking charge of the assault, according to Major Wille.