Glimpses of a Holy War

As the Soviets launch a spring offensive, the guerrillas hang tough

Ever since Soviet tanks first rumbled across the border in December 1979, Afghanistan has been an isolated land of mystery and misery. Some 3.3 million Afghans--20% of the population--are in exile, most of them in Pakistan. But little is known of the conditions they left behind. This spring Joseph Albright, chief foreign correspondent for Cox Newspapers, and Marcia Kunstel, a freelance reporter, spent six weeks between them in separate travels through the strife-ridden nation. Their joint report for TIME:

For two hours after dawn, thunderous explosions boomed every five seconds across the Shomali region of northeast Afghanistan, as Soviet tanks and artillery fired more than 1,000 shells at suspected guerrilla hideouts. Every 15 minutes, in reply, came the resounding rattle of heavy machine-gun fire as the guerrillas aimed, in vain, at two helicopter gunships circling high above the green plains. That evening tanks could be heard clanking through the darkness. By morning they were gone.

Such were the sounds of the Soviet spring offensive, vintage 1983, perhaps the most savage assault since the invasion. There are, according to Western estimates, some 105,000 Soviet troops now in Afghanistan. Using tanks, helicopters and fighter-bombers, these forces pounded villages throughout the Shomali region. Their objective, presumably, was to obliterate guerrilla strength around the crucial 50-mile stretch of highway leading from Kabul toward the Soviet border, along which the invaders transport their supplies. Meantime, according to Western intelligence reports, Soviet bombers were attacking targets near Herat in the west and around Kandahar in the south. They apparently hope that by demolishing villages they can devastate local agriculture and drive the residents from areas that might otherwise lend support to the insurgents. As Abdul Haq, a guerrilla commander interviewed in Pakistan, points out, "Every kind of supply for the mujahedin [warriors] comes from the civilian population. It makes trouble when the villages are empty."

Whatever its wider aims, the offensive failed to squelch the guerrillas, who number anywhere from 100,000 to 200,000. Bolstered by their religious zeal--and, more practically, by a flow of arms and supplies from abroad--they are grimly determined to rid their homeland of the hated invader. "The Islamic faith is the force behind our jihad [holy war]," says Rebel Unit Commander Mohammed Anwar. "If we thought this was an ordinary battle, we could not fight the Soviets.

They could destroy Afghanistan in two hours. But if we believe God has promised us victory because we are right, it becomes quite feasible." That determination has won some battles. Only last week one Western analyst claimed that guerrillas killed some 200 government soldiers during a three-day battle, while forcing the rest of the unit to desert. Elsewhere, one young fighter claimed to have knocked out two Soviet tanks in a single day; another boasted that on the same day he had killed five enemy soldiers. Declared a guerrilla radio operator named Mirojadeen: "We will fight until our blood runs out--ten, 20,100 years."

Sadly, the guerrillas also fight vehemently among themselves. The Soviet invasion has sparked friction between ethnic Tajiks and ethnic Pushtuns and thrown gasoline on centuries-old feuds between Shi'ite Muslims and Sunni Muslims, and between pro-Iranian Shi'ites and independent Shi'ites. The guerrilla movement is thus fragmented into hundreds of units organized along village lines, each loosely affiliated with one of the six major resistance groups. Based in Pakistan, the leaders of most of those groups are quite unable to control events at the front. The divisions are so deep, moreover, that in the absence of a foreign enemy, Afghanistan might be plunged into civil war.

For the moment, the Soviet strategy has tipped the scales in Moscow's favor. Largely as a result of widespread devastation--which has brought high prices in the wake of shortages of labor, fuel, fertilizer and seed--Afghanistan's agriculture is fast deteriorating. According to one estimate, wheat production was five times greater in 1978 than it was last year. In the Logar province and in isolated villages around the country, entire settlements have been reduced to ghost towns.

One such tragedy took place in the medium-size farming community of Dasht-e-Rivat (pop. 1,800 in the past), many of whose inhabitants fled on the third day of bombing in April 1982. Scrambling up a goat path into the 14,000-ft. mountains along the southern edge of the Hindu Kush, the fugitives took nothing with them but thin clothing, a little bread and some dried mulberry flour. For 40 days they hid behind boulders and in mountain caves. Each night it snowed; each day they saw Soviet planes bomb and strafe the valley below. The fatalities included 40 adults and about 70 children--20 having died from the bombings and as many as 50 from the cold or hunger. Perhaps 1,200 refugees trekked for 27 days over seven high mountain ranges before reaching safety in a Pakistani refugee camp.

Some semblance of normal life has now returned to Dasht-e-Rivat. Farmers can be seen working the fields with wooden plows; young men mix straw and mud to patch bomb holes. One sagging roof is propped up by an unexploded Soviet bomb. But in villages like Jakdalag, 30 miles east of Kabul, the relentless assault upon civilians has taken its toll on the guerrillas. The deserted settlement is pockmarked with bomb craters and littered with spent shells, some measuring 10 ft. in length. Since bombs first began tearing the community apart three years ago, all its farmers and all but one of its 400 families have left. Rebels now sleep in blankets on the dirt floors amid mangled stoves and the carcasses of homes. They are forced to spend less time on training than on tending scant wheat crops or washing clothes. "I've told the freedom fighters to start cultivating and doing farm work," sighs Mohammed Anwar, while making bread. "But it is difficult when mujahedin must do this too."

Yet members of the only remaining family, that of the village's Muslim law judge, are uncompromising. Says Shababubu, the judge's wife: "When the [Afghan] army came, they said, 'You belong in America or Pakistan.' I said, 'No. We are Muslims. We will stay. You belong in the Soviet Union.' " Her brother-in-law Lolgul held the departed villagers in special contempt: "All the village is afraid of bombardment. Only a few stayed. Dirty people, frightened people left."

The insurgents are fired by a religious conviction that is equally immovable. Prayer is routine; liquor is forbidden. Communism is often disparagingly linked to atheism. One aged nomad confessed to liking Americans because "they have a book," the Bible. Often a rebel will cradle prayer beads in his hand while toting a Kalashnikov on his shoulder. Even relatively sophisticated guerrillas remain quietly optimistic. According to Farouq

Azam, political director of an alliance of relatively moderate guerrilla groups, the rebels' tenacious resistance has altered the geopolitical balance of power in the region: "Before the war, Pakistan was not able to get $500,000 [in Western aid]. Now it is not happy with $500 million." The appraisal of Commander Abdul Haq is equally hopeful: "We do not say we will destroy the entire Soviet army. But we can make trouble for them. If outside nations really push them, and if we continue fighting for a very long time, maybe the Soviet Union will change its mind."

That kind of conviction has won the rebels widespread support among their compatriots. The war is a sporadic thing in most of the country, and the guerrillas spend much of their time chatting over tea or working in the fields. As soon as bombs explode in their region, however, they can usually mobilize every suitable male. Since nearly all schools in the rural areas are closed--the government claims that guerrillas were killing teachers, and the guerrillas contend that the Soviets bombed some schools and ordered the government to close others--many guerrilla recruits are teen-agers motivated by hatred for the Shuravi (Soviets).

The youths can prove valuable, and occasionally dangerous. Some have been recruited by KhAD, the Afghan secret police, to provide information on guerrilla activities. More frequently, they serve the mujahedin. Since they are allowed to cross Soviet checkpoints if they are unarmed, they can carry messages, procure supplies and cause some damage. Last year one ten-year-old reportedly stole across Soviet lines and planted a mine between two enemy camps, one Soviet and one Afghan. When a Soviet soldier stepped on it the following day, his foot was blown off. His outraged companions blamed their allies.

The insurgents receive a limited but steady flow of arms smuggled over the mountain passes from Pakistan by hand and by horseback. (Guerrillas are routinely expected to carry a rifle and 500 cartridges for 24 hours without rest.) Most of the weapons are leftovers from Soviet military aid programs in Egypt and China, given to the mujahedin by the governments of those countries. They generally include Soviet-made Kalashnikov rifles, bazookas and portable antitank rocket launchers (RPG-7s). Against Soviet air attacks the rebels have only a few ZPU-1 14.5-mm machine guns and hundreds of 12.7-mm DShK heavy machine guns identical to those discovered in blasted Soviet tanks.

The clandestine pipeline also carries more sophisticated equipment. Among the instruments recently spotted: a walkie-talkie with instructions in English, supplied, claims a guerrilla radio operator, by the CIA; high-powered range finders for rocket launchers; and silencers for automatic pistols. Some costs are reportedly shouldered by an international consortium that includes the U.S. and Saudi Arabia. Nevertheless, Western diplomats in the Pakistani capital of Islamabad believe that the U.S. Government has refused to provide heavy artillery in deference to Pakistan's wish that the fighting be limited.

Since the rebels lack transportation, heavy equipment and medicine, they must rely on resilience and resourcefulness. Their principal aim is to stem the tide of refugees. Along the exit route in the Panjshir Valley, for example, they check the papers of every would-be emigrant, turning back those without appropriate mujahedin documentation. In battle, the rebels specialize in bushwhacking tank columns, raiding army garrisons, blowing up power lines and assassinating members of the KhAD. Using Soviet land mines fished out of the ground with wooden pitchforks, they destroyed at least twelve enemy tanks in the Panjshir Valley last year. "We destroy their tanks in such a way that they cannot find the pieces," gloats Insurgent Strategist Mohammed es'Haq. "It has a good psychological effect."

The lord of the Panjshir Valley is unquestionably the charismatic commander Ahmad Shah Massoud. A former engineering student, Massoud, 29, has remained in Afghanistan and worked tirelessly to galvanize support. He has managed to mobilize virtually all 100,000 inhabitants of the valley, while collecting his own taxes, running his own schools and organizing his own food-rationing scheme. He has even used captured Soviet trucks to establish daily bus service in the valley. Massoud is also prudent enough to avoid needless risks. He travels with four gun-wielding bodyguards and packs a 9-mm automatic under his jacket. In order to elude the KhAD, he sleeps in a different house each night.

The 75-mile-long valley is a monument to his efforts. Around it are strewn the remains of 17 Soviet tanks, 29 trucks, a dozen helicopters and planes and, guerrillas claim, 1,000 Soviet soldiers. Green Islamic flags mark the graves of 180 slain rebels. In March, however, Massoud unexpectedly reached a private, temporary cease-fire with the Soviet military command in Kabul. Soviet troops withdrew from Rokha in the central Panjshir; they were allowed to maintain a base in Anawa provided they did not come into contact with locals. The agreement alarmed even some of Massoud's admirers. Says Mohammed Anwar: "If there is no fighting in the Panjshir, it is bad for all Afghanistan. It means that there are more Soviet soldiers to go elsewhere."

Such dissension is the last thing that the already faction-ridden guerrilla forces need. As it is, a bitter vendetta separates the two most powerful guerrilla groups, the Hizbe-Islami (Islamic Party) and the Jamiat-I-Islami (Islamic Association). Both are composed of fundamentalist Sunni Muslims, yet neither will join with the other. Thus, while the rebels guarantee safe passage to most captured government defectors (10,000 a year by one estimate), they continue to foil one another. Last fall, for example, the Hizbe troops confiscated ammunition belonging to the Jamiat forces. Each side also accuses the other of harboring collaborators, and both may be right. Western intelligence analysts claim that the brightest graduates of the Afghan military academy are sometimes sent to infiltrate guerrilla-held villages disguised as deserters.

Meanwhile, the flood of refugees continues, even though the monthly rate has shrunk from a high of 120,000 during the war's early stages, to 8,000 this year. Most of those who have fled the country live in squalid Pakistani camps, but find that their basic needs are met. Cushioned by international aid totaling $1.5 million a day, they are assured of steady food, shelter, medicine and a monthly cash stipend of around $3.80 per person. In addition there are schools for children, a rare luxury in Afghanistan.

Pakistani President Mohammed Zia al-Haq has repeatedly declared that the camps are only a temporary haven. Repatriation, however, would require a negotiated political settlement, and that possibility seems remote. Meanwhile, to millions of Afghans, subsistence in the camps seems preferable to misery at home. In that sense the cause of the mujahedin has weakened, though not decisively. "The Soviets would have to double or triple their forces to crush the rebels," says one Western analyst with access to intelligence reports. So the war drags on, making the determination of the insurgents seem as forlorn as it is fierce. Back in Jakdalag, Shababubu, the judge's wife, innocently looks forward to seeing her departed friends. "After Afghanistan's liberation," she says, "all the people will come back." She will have a long wait. This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so viewer discretion is required.