Afghan villagers greet US hunt for insurgents with polite silence

LANDAR, Afghanistan -- A convoy of six Humvees bounced along a winding, rocky riverbed last week and entered this village in Khost Province near the Pakistani border, chased by a mob of schoolboys in bright blue tunics and pajamas.

The visitors' mission was tricky: part diplomacy, part sleuthing, part carrot and stick. The local tribe was viewed as friendly, but US forces had received information that antigovernment insurgents were active in the area. By offering to help the needy village, while staging a stern show of force, they hoped to reinforce its wavering allegiance.

For the next two hours, a young US Army captain and three Special Forces officers sat in a dirt courtyard on hastily arranged plastic chairs, while armed cavalry troops guarded each door. Three bearded village elders sat and welcomed them politely. Would the visitors like tea?

''Tea, yes, that would be good," said Denny, a Special Forces member who asked to be identified only by his first name. He smiled, but then he glimpsed some young men lingering outside, and his tone changed sharply. ''No one goes in or out."

Then the questions began. The elders listened and nodded gravely, but the exchanges, translated by two Afghan interpreters accompanying the soldiers, had a perfunctory feel. Similar rituals had been performed in a hundred other villages, with similar results.

''Are there any Taliban, Al Qaeda, or Hek forces left here?" asked Denny, referring in the last case to followers of renegade militia leader Gulbuddin Hekmatyar.

''No, no, no," one elder said, while the others shook their heads emphatically.

''When people drive at night from Pakistan to Khost, do they come through your village?" Denny asked. US and Afghan officials say Islamic insurgents regularly sneak across the border into Afghanistan to stage attacks.

''No, no, no," the elder repeated with a frown. A boy poured more tea and put out little dishes of candy all around.

Captain Frank Brooks, 30, a US cavalry officer, leaned forward, trying a different tack.

''We know you are good people, but we have pulled IEDs out of the soil near your village," said Brooks, referring to improvised explosive devices or roadside bombs, which have killed several dozen foreign and local troops across Afghanistan this year. ''This is dangerous for us and also for your children walking to school."

The elders nodded gravely again, agreeing that it was indeed a danger and protesting that they knew nothing. They said they were grateful for the presence of US forces, that they had good relations with the local police commander, and that they had fended off insurgent attackers three times.

''I find it difficult to believe what you are saying, because of all these bad reports we are getting," Brooks said evenly. ''We know your village is poor, and would like to come back here and deliver a lot of school supplies, but we won't do that until the security situation gets better. We need your help."

''Inshallah," the elders responded, their faces solemn and noncommittal. If God wills it.

That evening, back in his office at Salerno Forward Operating Base near Khost's provincial capital, Brooks acknowledged frustration, but no surprise, at how the day had gone.

''We get that every single time we go to a village," he said. ''There's never any bad guys, there've never been any bad guys, and if there were any, they'd tell us immediately." He attributed the reticence to a combination of fear and tradition. ''It's part of their code . . . to shelter even your worst enemy if asked to do so," he said.

This spring, with bombings and gun attacks increasing across Afghanistan and reports of neo-Taliban groups forming shadow governments in tribal areas across the border in Pakistan, US officials say it is especially important to learn where the insurgents are finding support and sanctuary in Afghanistan. The Taliban, an Islamic militia, ruled most of Afghanistan and gave shelter to Al Qaeda until the US-led invasion in 2001.

Most of the serious recent attacks have occurred in Kandahar and Helmand provinces. But Khost abuts one of Pakistan's most volatile tribal areas, North Waziristan, and its ethnic Pashtun tribes have roots on both sides of the rugged border.

Hoping to keep local residents in the progovernment camp, US forces have made regular excursions to dozens of villages across Khost in the past month.

But more often than not, the troops return with little more than vague promises of cooperation and staunch denials of any insurgent sightings.

Although the officers have a basic knowledge of local tribal politics and try to cultivate relationships with village elders, they often feel as if they are trying to cut through a thick, polite fog.