Getting around Afghanistan is slow and challenging. My destination was ultimately to the east, Gardez, and then further east towards the Pakistan border. To get there from Kabul, you have to fly north to Bagram then fly south and east from there. Being that I had to complete my credentialing process for American forces in Bagram anyway, the trip north worked in well with my final destination.

As I arrived back at Camp Phoenix, I was informed that I had three hours to be ready to go to Kabul International Airport. The plan was to move me to the ISAF side of the airport, get a room for the night and then try to secure a flight the next day to Bagram. I called the Public Affairs Office in Bagram to notify them of my forthcoming arrival. I was given a contact number for when I arrived, and was told that they would have someone available to pick me up. When I mentioned my experience with ISAF and media credentialing, there was a pause and then the NCO at Bagram added, "We will get you credentialed in fifteen minutes once you get here." I packed my things, and then headed to the staging area near the front of Camp Phoenix for my trip to Kabul International.

When I was embedded in 2006/ 2007, transportation to Kabul International was done in large 5 ton trucks with armored cabs, wooden bench seats in the back, a canvas top and sides, and floors lined with Kevlar blankets. So I was a bit surprised when I discovered that transportation to the airport was now done using an armored bus. With a design reminiscent of a Winnibego on steroids, the entire concept reminded me of the movie Stripes. Air conditioned, leg room, individual seats encased in blast resistant plating with emergency gun ports. We loaded, and sat back for the 10 minute drive.

Once there, we unloaded bags and got ourselves situated. With a room for the night arranged, I headed to the flight terminal to put myself on the standby list for the morrows flight. As I approached the counter, I started to laugh. The person running the flight scheduling was dressed in civilian clothes, but had been in the same position as an Oregon Guard Officer during my previous embed. He looked across the counter with surprise, "Scott, what the hell are you doing here?" Funny thing about this war is that it seems likely that you will cross paths with someone you know. Like the time I was sitting on the back of a Canadian "G-wagon" bumper at a resupply point in the middle of Helmund Province, only to hear someone call my name. I looked up to see a line of vehicles, American and Canadian, stretching across the Ring Road and disappearing into the horizon. As I looked, I could see a dusty figure walking towards me. It was a 10th MTN Lieutenant that I had met a month earlier in a small fire base in eastern Zabul province. War brings about a randomness as much as it brings a fate. Destinies cross. And here I was again, looking at a face of a friend that I never expected to see in Kabul; as he looked at me the same. Needless to say, I was on the roster for the mornings flight.

After I settled in, and unpacked what I needed for the night, I headed out to get something to eat. The military side of Kabul International Airport is ISAF / NATOs "club med - Afghanistan." With over five unique military stores, referred to as "PX's" representing the different NATO/ ISAF countries, several restaurants, a coffee shop, free wifi and a large dining hall, the war in Afghanistan takes on a surreal feel. So I embraced it and had dinner at the Thai Restaurant.

I had eaten here during my last embed. The food was excellent, especially considering where it was located. I took my seat, as the waiter brought me a bottle of water and the menu. I selected two dishes and waited for the waiter to return. Next to me were three officers from Denmark. They were studying the visual menu closely as the waiter arrived at their table to take their orders. It soon became apparent that they had little experience with Thai cuisine. As the waiter worked his way around the table, one of the officers spoke up, "Is the shrimp fresh?" It was all I could do not to choke laughing on the sip of water I had just taken. Did this officer realize what he had just asked? Did he consider where he was? Afghanistan is land locked. The closest thing one will get to "fresh" shrimp will be via Pakistan or by frozen container via air. That is, unless the Afghans had created some form of shrimp pond farming I was unaware of. I finished my water, still laughing under my breath, as the waiter arrived and took my order.

The meal was excellent, and took me away for a moment from the war that was continuing around the country outside of Kabul. It had been nearly 15 months since I had last been here. Nothing much seemed to have changed. If anything, ISAF forces had been increased, while Kabul International had grown more distant from the reality I was soon to face. I walked back to my room, grabbed my things for a shower, set my alarm and fell asleep.

At 430am my watch alarm woke me up. I quickly got dressed, grabbed my bags and headed to the flight terminal. I checked in and waited for my flight. The other soldiers were going on leave. There was an eagerness in their waiting. And then we were called for boarding, walking through two sets of doors with small glass windows, our hats tucked into our cargo pockets, as we walked single file onto the tarmac to the waiting twin engine Blackwater airplane. As we filed passed our guide, we handed the soldier our boarding passes and took our seats. Ten minutes of flying later, we landed at Bagram Airbase.

Once on the ground we were met by a ground crew who directed us towards the terminal. I called the Public Affairs office and was met by a staff member within 10 minutes. My greeting was the typical formal politeness practiced by military personnel, "Welcome to Bagram, Sir. We've been expecting you. Are these all of your bags? Have you had breakfast yet?" The doors of the SUV were closed, as I took my seat on the passengers side, and we headed to the dining facility. After a quick breakfast, we drove to the Public Affairs Office, where I was given a room and credentialed in fifteen minutes as promised. From that point the day was mine to relax and enjoy.

The next morning came quickly. I grabbed my bags as I was met by one of the Public Affairs NCOs waiting to drive me to the rotary flight wing. He helped me carry my bags in, as I checked in and was directed the waiting area. Helping me to the point of my seat, the Sergeant First Class wished me safe travels, told me to call if there was any issue, and left. A short time later I heard the last four digits of my social security number being called. Once again I grabbed my bags, loaded them onto the waiting truck and walked to one of the many Chinooks lined up on the flight line. Nearly one week to the day, my embed was about to begin.

Getting journalist credentials in Afghanistan is in theory a rather straight forward affair. In preparing to come, all of my information was submitted via email to each of the respective Public Affairs Offices. Credentials for US forces are issued currently through CJTF-101 (Combined Joint Task Force run by the 101st Airborne Division) in Bagram, about one hour north of Kabul by car. ISAF media credentials, however, which are only useful if one is working with NATO/ ISAF forces, are issued in Kabul at ISAF headquarters. That is where things begin to get complicated.

I had arrived on a Friday. The Public Affairs Officer at Camp Phoenix in Kabul, wanted me to get my credentials from ISAF headquarters as quickly as possible. The need for ISAF media credentials was not essential, however, the two US commands in Kabul had agreed to use ISAF media credentials for convenience, rather than sending journalists north to Bagram. My Friday arrival was timely since ISAF only issued media credentials on Saturday, Monday and Wednesday in between the hours of 10am and 11am. So my name was added to the roster of a group going to ISAF the next day, and after setting out my paperwork and gear, I went to bed.

After an early morning workout in the gym and breakfast, I checked in at the Public Affairs office to confirm our departure time. I grabbed my body armor, helmut and credentialing paperwork and headed to the staging area. After a short security brief, we loaded into the vehicles and drove to ISAF Headquarters, and the heart of Kabul.

The ride was uneventful, as me moved through the traffic circle and the maze of cars, trucks and the occasional donkey cart. Arriving at the ISAF main gate, our two vehicles pulled forward for security checks. As the British soldier approached, he asked for IDs. In the front vehicle was a US Army Major, and three senior NCO's. In our vehicle were two US Army Majors and one senior NCO. We could see the British soldier shaking his head as he began motioning our vehicles to move back. As he approached our vehicle he stated that he could not allow entry because the US personnel lacked the recently issued ISAF "Red" badge. I could not believe what I was hearing. Whatever happened to the term "allies?" Not only was ISAF/ NATO organized and to a certain degree funded by the US, but the current commander of ISAF/ NATO is a three star US General. Yet, three American military officers and four senior NCO's were being denied access at a gate they had been through only two days prior because of a badge change.

Fortunately, the Major sitting next to me spoke to the British solider, showing him her "Red" badge and agreeing to take responsibility for the remaining Americans if the solider would let them all in. After a thorough examination of the badge, the soldier gave in to reason and let us all pass. Unfortunately, we were now past the 11 am deadline, missing the tight time window for credentialing. The Major I was with talked to the Public Affairs personnel at ISAF which included a US Air Force NCO, but her requests for consideration were met with disdainful looks and the shaking of heads. We were informed that I must return on Monday; no exceptions. As the others finished their business, we had a quick lunch and coffee then we headed back to Camp Phoenix.

Travel in Kabul is highly restricted for military personnel, which is surprising since Kabul is far safer than most cities in Afghanistan. In fact, it is easier for units to move about in the rural regions with fighting than it is for them to move about in Afghanistan's capital. Much of that has to do with an almost neurotic sense of risk aversion that has developed around the command centers, and especially around the "coalition partners."

Monday arrived, and as I was preparing to join in on another convoy to ISAF headquarters, I was informed that all military movements for the day had been cancelled to honor the ISAF initiated "peace day." So I called my contacts in Kabul, and asked them if they could arrange transportation for me to ISAF headquarters. They agreed, and I headed to the front gate, this time without body armor or my camera in order to keep my profile less noticeable. I exited the gate of Camp Phoenix, and took up a seat on a concrete divider next to the road. I called my ride and waited.

As I waited, I began to get text messages from my ride. Each message informed me of specific road closures that were occurring from a "unannounced" movement of VIPs through Kabul. I read each text message with amazement and a certain level of admiration. The information network that the locals were using was tracking in real time the VIP movement, road status, and offering alternative routes. The rate at which the information was being passed by text message rivaled all of the best of the military's technology. Simple technology and human intelligence showed to be in the Afghans favor.

After a thirty minute wait, my ride arrived. I got into the car and we drove through downtown Kabul. I had been given the name and number of a German Public Affairs Officer at ISAF who assured the Public Affairs Officer at Camp Phoenix that he would be waiting for my call and ready to assist. After several detours, we arrived at an Afghan National Police check point within viewing distance of ISAF headquarters. My Afghan friends tried to explain to the officer what I was trying to do. However, the Afghan Police officer was not convinced, and insisted that I call my contact at ISAF Headquarters while he waited. With a loaded AK-47 staring at me through my passenger window, I called the German officer. After three tries and no answer, I called the Public Affairs Officer back at Camp Phoenix. He was furious, and quickly tried to make additional calls to ISAF on my behalf. Fortunately, the driver was able to derive an alternate route to the ISAF front gate, saying farewell to the Afghan Police officer and heading down the road. A few more detours and we arrived at our destination. Grateful for the help, I told my ride that I would call him when I was done and exited the car.

As I walked up to the ISAF gate, I was greeted by a Senior Italian Officer, who, after questioning me in broken English, revealed that he was part of the Public Affairs Office. He escorted me in, porting a leather satchel in his left hand. As we passed the front gate, and made a right turn around the corner of the building, he pointed to a door on his right leading into a small room. Placing the leather satchel on a small metal typing desk just inside the door, he asked for my identification as he fumbled through a stack of press credentials. Half way down, he removed a packet that had my ISAF badge attached. It had been ready since I had first submitted my paperwork a month prior. As I thanked him, expecting to be given my badge, he informed me that he could not release the badge until I had gone through a bio-metrics scan. I was not pleased. I asked him why I was required to go through bio-metrics when, to my understanding, there had been an agreement with NATO that no Americans were to be subjected to bio-metric scans. He passed it off with a simple, "Yes, but ISAF has changed the requiements."

We moved to the front of a small metal door leading up to a small room where the bio-metrics processing was done. As we waited, a US Air Force NCO arrived looking very flustered. "Are you Scott Kesterson. There is a Lieutenant Colonel at Camp Phoenix who is furious and just chewed me out." I smiled. "Yes, I am Scott Kesterson." Then I asked,"Can you explain to me why I am having to process through a bio-metrics scan when there is an agreement in place with NATO that no Americans are to be subject to this." He gave a small shrug, "It is out of my hands. It is an ISAF rule change." Just then the small metal door leading into the bio-metrics station opened as an Afghan man pushed his head out. "I am sorry, but the bio-metrics machine is down. We cannot process you today."

I just shook my head. Speaking to the Italian Officer I asked,"So why would I need ISAF media credentials if I am only working with American forces." He paused, then added, "You don't. In fact, if an ISAF country chooses to host you without credentials, they have that option." My question of the usefulness of ISAF badging was passed over as I was politely escorted back out the gate.

I made the call to my ride. They told me they would be there in fifteen minutes. I then called the Public Affairs Lieutenant Colonel at Camp Phoenix, thanking him for his support and informing him of the situation. His response was simple, "Forget ISAF. We need to get you to Bagram." I walked to the curb, and waited under the shade of a tree for my ride back to Camp Phoenix.

In July 2006 I filmed the operations of 1PPCLI from Edmonton, Canada as part of Operation Mountain Thrust. During a course of three weeks of fighting, under the leadership of LTC Hope, Taliban strong holds were disrupted or destroyed, while key elements of Taliban command and control, disrupted. A large part of the success of the Canadian's operations were based LTC Hope's ability to integrate the doctrine of unity of command within the battle space he controlled. In short, unity of command dictates a singular leader rather than multiple leaders or command structures competing for the same thing.

Afghanistan today is a myriad of military command structures. There is CSTC-A, CJTF-VI, ISAF / NATO, CJTF-101, and CJSOTF, all acronyms for what is otherwise an alphabet soup of jurisdiction. In short, there lacks a single "supreme commander" for operations in Afghanistan. Depending on which command structure a unit falls under, dictates to a large degree how and to what extent they can function as a war fighting unit or as something other. This division of command is an unprecedented departure from the unity of command doctrine that has been the back bone to US military success.

In August of 2006 the US began the process of handing over control to NATO (North Atlantic Treaty Organization) / ISAF (International Security Assistance Force). The acronym ISAF allowed for the non-NATO allied countries that were involved in security and war fighting efforts in Afghanistan to be included in the new command structure. The plan to hand over control to NATO/ ISAF had a key failing point: command and control.

NATO as a structure was created by the US as a way to stall a Russian advance into Western Europe while the US mobilized troops to lead the fight. NATO was never developed to be a deployable force. Backed by US money, military forces and equipment, the US became the thread that unified the entire organization into a working organization. The challenges that faced NATO were a reflection of Europe as a whole, defined by separate countries, with individual identities and histories that were unable to unify under a singular governing body.

Prior to August 2006, all nations involved in the operations in Afghanistan were subject to US control. The transfer of authority to NATO/ ISAF not only created a separate command structure, but it was done in phases, so that regionally, NATO/ ISAF controlled operations separate from the US commanded regions. The lack of singular command created gaps in strategic planning and response. As the process has continued, those gaps have been exploited by the Taliban allowing them to resurge and gain momentum once again.

Adding complication to all of this was the manner in which most NATO member countries sold the idea of the war in Afghanistan to their publics back home. While the US considered Afghanistan a war, most NATO and ISAF countries proclaimed it to be a "peace keeping" mission. The semantic differences have become critical in defining the limitations each participating nation has with respect to involvement in actual war fighting actions.

What I have found is that most soldiers share the same belief. They are soldiers, and as part of their job and duty, they are expected to fight the wars that nations fight. They accept risk, they accept death, and through their training they are given the tools to face those moments with little hesitation. Ultimately, the soldier fights or dies not for the glory of politics and flags, but for the love and respect for the man on his left or right. It is part of the brotherhood.

Sadly, what has resulted in Afghanistan are two wars: the war on the ground and the war of politics. Those who live in the dust and grime each day know what they are here for... to fight a war, to fight the Taliban, to uphold the values of the country they represent. But when politics began crossing lines with military operations, dictating from afar how this war must be fought, it has tied the hands of the commanders on the ground and put in question the sacrifices that each of these soldiers makes.

What begins in the back rooms, behind closed doors at long tables, ends with the individual on the ground, in a place far from his home, fighting for a war and for himself, bound by the ideals of his country yet restricted by the motives of people more concerned about their popularity, career and re-election back home.

And while the politicians use their talking points to expound on the purpose of the war, the duration, the safety of our troops, the need to preserve human life, what they are not saying is that war is hell. War is about sacrifice, courage, honor. It is also about loss, pain, and death. A soldier knows that better than most. Binding his hands to the rules created by multiple commands and political constituencies does nothing more than put him at risk to an enemy that seeks only one thing: to kill him.

Afghanistan from an American perspective cannot be discussed separately from the events of September 11, 2001. The images of passenger planes being steered into the Twin Towers, people looking on in awe while others jumped to their death out of desperation, as a nation was left speechless with each act of the macabre requiem, the curtain closing in a torrent of dust and debris. Our country had been attacked, our citizens killed, and our sense of safety and security forever changed. It was a moment when we all stood together, unified by the principles that we otherwise took for granted, looking inward instead of outward, finding new meaning in what it was to be American. Seven years later we are still fighting, as the memories of 9-11 fade and our reasons for being here in Afghanistan become less clear. Yet for some, that day in New York City will always be a pain felt in the depths of their souls.

To prepare for a three month embed, I took time to sketch out my story. I wanted to look at the region around Gardez, in eastern Afghanistan, that was of central importance to one of the major battles post 9-11. My interest was in comparing the stories of those that were there to the war we are fighting today. What do the soldiers see and feel? What is the war to them today? What was it then? Is it still connected to 9-11, or has it become just another deployment, another part of their job? And most importantly, what was the victory we sought during those early days of the war, and what are seeking today? Per Army Public Affairs doctrine, soldiers are their voice, and in my opinion, one of the best ways of establishing an understanding of our war in Afghanistan from those that live it first hand.

I was greeted at the entrance gate to Camp Phoenix in Kabul, Afghanistan by two soldiers of the New York National Guard. Within a few minutes the Public Affairs Officer greeted me and helped me with my bags as we walked to the "Welcome Center" near the center of the base. Arrangements were made for my room as we sat down to get to know each other over coffee and review my embed. As our conversation progressed, I realized I had overlooked a key element of this story, the individual soldiers of the New York National Guard. Not only was 101st Airborne deployed to Afghanistan, with members that were part of the early days of the war, New York National Guard soldiers that had been on duty during he first hours of 9-11 were also part of the current deployment. It was a story angle of unprecedented historical precedence, and one I had to move on quickly.

The story of the New York National Guard unit that responded to the events of 9-11 at ground zero is moving. They were all members of 1/69th Infantry, also known as the "Fighting Irish." As I was to learn, that unit was never mobilized, but mobilized themselves in response to what was happening to their city. As one young "Fighting Irish" soldier later told me, "I saw the plane hit, I ran into my house and grabbed my uniform. I just knew that I needed to be there." So it went for the rest of his unit, as they all assembled at ground zero to do what was needed. It is a response that only National Guard soldiers can make and appreciate, since they are bound to the needs of both their State and the country.

The two soldiers I interviewed that evening were returning home the next morning. They willingly spoke with me, as I listened to their stories of what they witnessed and felt, and what this war meant to them. The words of my mentor worked themselves through my thoughts as I tried to hold back tears, "there is calm behind the lens," but those words were not strong enough this time to keep the tears back. As that young "fighting Irish" soldier began to finish, tears welling in his eyes, he said what most soldiers feel, "I just do my job. I put my pants on like everybody else. I just do a job that is a different than the rest."

He and his unit returned home the next morning.

Kabul is a safe city. Our media reports tend to highlight the incidents of IEDs or the like, but those events are more the exception than the rule. Kabul is also the center for NATO / ISAF command. Our allies have sold this war as a peace keeping or policing action to their respective publics. As a result, NATO / ISAF goes to great lengths to over ensure safety, even in the city like Kabul. The US now falls under NATO/ ISAF command so for me that meant that the rules imposed on the US military were so strict that it was nearly impossible for them to guarantee a military pickup from the airport. I knew this before I came and therefore arranged to be picked up by an interpreter that had worked for a close friend of mine who was also a Major in the US Army National Guard.

With my bags now successfully moved from the customs point to the parking area, the two men I had hired waited. I used their phone and called my ride. He was on his way. Since I had never met him, I described my clothing and waited. As the time passed, the baggage handler called him again, speaking to him in Pashtun. A short time later my ride arrived. He greeted me along with his friend and we began moving my bags to his car. It was then that I discovered that he was not the interpreter but the interpreter's brother. I found myself suddenly cautious, recounting my steps since I had arrived. I had spoken to the interpreter only twenty minutes before. He had assured me he would be there. Now I was being told that he was in Kandahar, not even in Kabul. My mind was racing, as I began to strategize my options.

I began asking questions through casual conversation as we loaded my bags into his car. I didn't want to seem suspicious, only a bit overwhelmed with the trip. I chose questions that would be difficult to answer if he was not in fact related. He opened the passenger door, and asked me to get in. His responses to my questions were beginning to allay my caution, but I still wasn't sure. As we drove from the airport with his friend seated behind me, he handed me his phone, "It is my brother. He wants to talk to you."

Traveling in a country like Afghanistan you have to accept that everything has a price. Rooted in tribal loyalties and individual survival, it is a place where trust can be swayed by threat or by monetary bribe, especially if you are a Westerner. I took the phone from the brother and was greeted by the voice of the person I had spoken to when I first arrived. "Hello, brother. How are you? I am so very sorry for not being able to meet you. My mother is sick in Kandahar. I sent my brother in my place to welcome you to my country. I hope your arrival was without issue and that my brother is treating you well." I could feel myself relax as we continued our drive to the brother's office for tea.

In the traditions of Afghanistan, a guest is seen as a gift from god. Once a guest is taken in, no matter if he comes from an unfriendly tribe, it becomes the responsibility of host to protect him for the remainder of his stay. The confusion at the airport began to make sense. The interpreter had promised to pick me up prior to my arrival. Though he had been called away the day prior, to say that he could not pick me up, would have been an insult to god. So he sent his blood brother in his place. In the Afghan way, this was a gesture of great respect; as I would be told later by the interpreter's brother himself, "I do not know you, but as a friend of my brother, you too are my brother, and I will protect you the same."

We arrived at the brother's office at the edge of Kabul. I was lead to the upper floor, through the open stairwell; a dusty corridor of white walls and grey steps. At the top we followed the edge of an inner balcony that looked down into an interior court yard. The interior of the building was run down, covered with the fine talc like dust that becomes part of everything you wear and own. As we entered through the last door on the right, I was directed to sofa where I sat as additional friends came in to say hello. If there is one element of Afghan culture I admire it is simple elegance of the ancient ways of hospitality.

We talked. Tea was made and served. We moved to the adjacent room, as more tea and small snacks of dried dates and nuts were brought in. I was asked if I would like to share in lunch, and I agreed. As I nodded yes, I suddenly realized that all that were present were in the middle of their annual fast for Ramazon. I quickly recanted and told the brother that I could not eat out of respect for their fast. He simply smiled, "You are our guest, I have already sent for food. Please have some more tea."

We continued to talk, and get to know each other. After an hour or so, a lunch of stewed lamb, rice, the traditional flat bread and fresh grapes were served. I sat and ate awkwardly, fully aware that all of this had been prepared solely for me. The others smiled, and reminded me that they would eat after sunset.

With another serving of tea, we closed the afternoon. I was given a cell phone as a welcome gift so that I could remain in touch and let the brother know I was safe. I called the Public Affairs Officer at Camp Phoenix to inform him I was on my way. We descended the stairs returning to the car loaded with my bags. The brother wished me well, but stayed behind to prepare the evening meal. Guided by two of his friends, we drove to Camp Phoenix where they parked, each carrying one of my bags to the front gate. As I said my goodbyes, I was handed a large bag of dried nuts and dates. "Take care my brother. Let us know if you need anything."

We shook hands, and I entered through the turnstile gate, welcomed by two New York Army National Guard soldiers waiting on the other side.

From the windows of the India Airlines Airbus A320 the barren dusty hills surrounding Kabul came into view. As I watched, the brown haze that I remembered from my last trip blocked a clear vista of the city. Kabul is a dirty city; Afghanistan a dry and unforgiving land that some how finds a kinship within your soul. It is a country that grows on you, offering its strange if not desolate beauty, amongst the war, the poverty, and its ancient ways, to every traveler that crosses its lands. What develops is a relationship of extremes, the proverbial love and hate, as if to emulate the culture of war that has found refuge for so many years within its borders. In an odd sense, I felt like I had returned to visit an old friend.

People and faces speak an unspoken language. The two Americans, husband and wife, I had met during my layover in Delhi were now sitting in the seats across from me. They were UN workers; as we got closer, she put a shall over her head to blend in more with local customs. In the seat in front of me was a young man, black hair greased back, wearing a black leather coat and a strong smelling cheap perfume, curled up in his seat, sound asleep. The stewardess tried to wake him for a snack and drink. He woke for a moment and waved her off. Ahead of the Americans were three men seated side by side. The plane had plenty of empty seats, but they remained in their assigned place, one asleep, the others sitting motionless for most of the flight. They each wore slacks, slip on leather shoes and long sleeve button up shirts with open collars. All images were of a collage called Afghanistan.

The first time I flew into Afghanistan I came with the soldiers on military aircraft. There were no customs, only in-briefs, threat advisories, and directions to the various things we would need on the base while we waited for transportation to Kabul. This time I entered like every other civilian. We exited the air plane greeted by both Afghan National Police and Afghan Army soldiers directing us all to a waiting bus. As we packed in, there was the normal verbal excitement of orders being giving, an argument with the bus driver and finally the bus began to move.

Afghanistan is a developing country trying to find itself. It reminds me of young boy who wants to be an adult, who then emulates his father by reading the paper that is nearly as big as he is, offering opinions as if backed by years of wisdom, or dressing up in his best clothes to leave the house for his day at the playground. As I sat on the bus I could see the terminal. It was so close that I figured that we were being taken to another location. Instead, we were driven a distance of no more than 25 meters. The Afghans were offering the service expected of any big country's international airport, even though Kabul International was neither big nor busy. The ride on the bus fulfilled the expectation regardless of the fact that I could have walked to the terminal with greater ease.

Once inside we waited while passports and visas were checked, and pictures taken. I then moved to the baggage area just behind the customs entry point. The airport has one baggage carousel surrounded by eager baggage handlers waiting with their carts. You don't rent a cart, you rent a handler, paying him enough to gain his loyalty to get you through the maze of gates, police, refuges and to the parking lot where my ride was waiting. In the end I paid two handlers $60 to do what I could have done in the US for $3. But then again, this was Afghanistan.

It has been nearly three weeks since I left the United States, and this is my first entry. My head has been full of story threads, but the cohesion to tell it only settled in during the past few days. My previous year in Afghanistan from May 2006 to May 2007 has given both insight and burden. The war that I seemed to understand so well when I left has been showing a different face of what one soldier referred to as an "occupation." What it is, what it has become is now what I am seeking to find. With Afghanistan now back on our political map, woven into the two campaigns as the war we have neglected, understanding where we began and where we have arrived has become the theme of this embed. It is a journey that will take me three months this time, a focus not on the whole of the country but in a more specific geographical area. Beginning in Gardez in the east, and in the shadow of the biggest battle post 9-11, Operation Anaconda in March of 2002, to the border of Pakistan and the fight to control the flow of insurgents. This is a trip that seeks to look at the past from the stories of those that were there, to the present with voices and actions of those that are deployed here today.

I am photojournalist. It is more than a title. It is calling, beyond what I can explain in words. I am drawn to the stories of conflict, to war, to the places that few tread, but which changes all who walk in its shadow. A degree in History, a passion for photography, a calling to look deep into the dark side of human conflict, to gather the images and the stories that in my hopes will reveal more of what we are, both in greatness and in sorrow. For war predates religion, and shows itself as a constant to the human experience. It offers up the most amazing and heroic aspects of who we are, while revealing the most mortal and tragic pieces that are part of our moral weave. War is a culture unto itself.

With bags in hand, I collected my tickets at the Continental counter, and proceeded to the pre-boarding screening station. My journey had begun...

Three videos were produced and aired on KGW.com from Operation Mountain Thrust in July of 2006. These videos captured Canadian soldiers in heavy fighting in Panjawi, Hydarabad and Sangin. This was some of the first footage of Canadians in combat since the Korean war. The videos played on KGW.com, YouTube and were awarded the Emmy for Best Photography for web-based media in May of 2007 from the Lone Star Chapter of the Emmy Awards

To view the Lone Star Chapter's 2007 Advanced Media Awards webcast, click here and scroll to the bottom to of the page for the video link.

Links to the three videos are listed below:

Sangin - Ambush: Click here

Hydarabad - Dawn Raid: Click here

Panjawi - Firefight: Click here

Of these three videos, the Hydarabad - Dawn Raid was selected this month as one of their Top 20 Shock and Awe videos for 2007 by Military.com. You can find that video here and then click on the number 15 at the bottom of the player.

YouTube views on these videos have had a combined hit count of over one million views. The YouTube links are below:

Sangin - Ambush: click here

Hydarabad - Dawn Raid: click here

Panjawi - Firefight: click herre

To view the gallery, click here

KGW News: click here

OregonLive.com: click here

Huffington Post: click here

Sony Broadcast and Business: click here

HD Studio: click here

Government Video: click here

Kwantlen Chronicle: click here

Digital Content Producer: click here

Doonesbury - The Sandbox: click here

Over the course of the year in Afghanistan, I was featured in (8) phone-in interviews for BlogTalkRadio. To listen to these interviews, click here

For BlogTalkRadio's related blogs, click here

In addition, Taylor Marsh also interviewed me on her Blog Talk Radio program. To listen to that interview, click here

Trailer #3
Synopsis: The third trailer from the upcoming documentary by Scott Kesterson and David Leeson titled, AT WAR featuring music by P.W. Long.

For video: Click here

Other videos: Click here for video page

To view the AT WAR film site, click here