Walking in a Minefield - Just Another Day in Kandahar

The call got relayed to the back of the E LAV (Light Armoured Vehicle), “VPS, Dismount Dismount Dismount!” A VPS (Vulnerable Point Search) is a search technique designed to locate IEDs (Improvised Explosive Devices). The VPS has two soldiers stationed at approximately 50 m off the sides of the road and 75 m in front of the lead vehicle of a convoy. Two more soldiers are placed around 20 m off the sides and 25 m in front of the lead vehicles, while another pair stands in a similar position around 5 m in front of the lead. Two more soldiers with metal detectors sweep the road a few meters in front of the convoy; the whole formation is then controlled by a section commander walking directly in front of the lead vehicle and forming the apex of a V. By this point in my tour, my section and I had completed hundreds of VPS operations and were extremely proficient.

The ramp lowered to just above the ground and I stepped onto it and into the Afghan sun. I peered over the edge and checked the road for any signs of IEDs or tampering with the asphalt. The road looked clear and I dropped the ramp the rest of the way and onto the road. The bright light stung my eyes through my ballistic sunglasses and the oppressive heat of the desert summer permeated my 150lbs of gear, making me instantly uncomfortable. It was my turn to work the flanks and I started making my way north off the side of the road. As I was heading out, my section commander told me to take an infanteer with me for security. A big guy carrying a C7 with an M203 attached came jogging over to me, and I started walking again as I waved him onward with a quick “Let’s roll!”. We walked in file with him behind me out into the sandy field that lay to our north. As we walked my radio clicked on.

“That’s good, start pushing up the road,” my section commander told me. “Roger that”, I responded on my radio, turned right and started my task.

The priority of a VPS flank is to find command wires, which are the physical wires used to detonate an IED. The insurgents like to use these set ups when they can because it allows a precision in timing that remote systems lack. The drawback of command systems is that the insurgent needs to be in the area at the end of his wire to use it. This puts him in range of us and can lead to being found or shot. My job is not to find the “trigger man”, as they are called, but to find the wire itself. This means that I’m not looking for an IED or insurgent and must keep my eyes on the ground as spotting a camouflaged wire in the desert is quite challenging. My infanteer’s job is to cover me as I work, always looking out and making sure I don’t get ambushed.

I had been outside my LAV (Light Armoured Vehicle) for less than 5 minutes and I was already sweating profusely inside my armour. Southern Afghanistan borders the Red Desert and the temperature normally hovers around 50 degrees Celsius during the summer months and can easily push into the 60s. As we continued to move forward parallel to the road, my infanteer casually chatted with me for a few minutes before asking a pointed question.

“What do painted rocks mean?” he asked.

While still scanning the ground in front of me I responded, “Well normally painted rocks denote minefields.”

“Huh,” he said and went quiet.

We continued walking and scanning for a few more minutes when the infanteer asked,

“Ok, well what do white rocks mean?”

I snickered and thought to myself that he should know this already as we had taught the mine awareness course to all of the battlegroup before we went on tour together. I decided that it didn’t matter at the moment and explained, “Well, white rocks are usually the edges of a minefield.”

“Ok, well what do red rocks mean?” he continued.

“Uh, red rocks usually mean a live minefield, why?” I asked, with a quick look up from the ground and back to him.

“Well then, what does that mean?” he questioned as he pointed out in front of us.

I looked and saw what he was pointing at. About 30m in front of us I saw a line of rocks painted red running perpendicular to the road. A meter beyond that lay a line of white rocks, and a meter beyond that another row of white, and another and another for about 50 m.

During the previous war, the Russians would drop anti-personnel and anti-vehicle mines using helicopters. These “legacy” minefields were rarely marked on maps and were not only a constant threat to us but were also a source of explosives for the insurgents. Throughout the war in Afghanistan there were NGOs in the country whose job it was to find and clear these areas; they would use painted rocks to mark their progress. What I was looking at was a semi-cleared area of a live legacy minefield, and the two of us were standing right in the middle of it.

“Shit,” I said aloud. “We are standing in a minefield. Don’t fucking move!”

“Seriously?!” he asked, sounding panicked.

“Just relax, don't move, I’ll figure it out,” I said calmly.

I keyed my radio as my partner keyed his. “Hey Sarge, I’m in a minefield,” we said at the same time but on different radio nets.

There was a delay, and then my section commander told me the best piece of advice I’ve ever heard, “Try not to step on anything that blows up!”

“Roger that!” I replied.

As I began plotting the route out in my head, my security, without saying a word, started sprinting towards the road! Not only did he leave me alone, but this is the most dangerous thing you can do in a minefield. Luckily, he made it to the road. Knowing the chances of that working again were very slim, I wasn’t about to try the same thing and again turned to study the ground in front of me. I lifted my right foot, analyzed the dirt where I wanted to put it and gingerly put my heel down on that spot. I watched the ground intently as I rolled the arch of my foot down, looking for any change in consistency, shape, or solidity of the dirt. Once my foot was flat, I slowly shifted my weight onto it and sighed in relief. As I made my way towards the clear area, I remember telling myself, “One foot at a time”, “Slow is smooth”, and “Don’t rush”. I had made it most of the way across smoothly when I felt something with my heel. I instantly froze, my hair stood on end, and my heart stopped. My heel was gently resting against something hard. I lifted my foot and a small portion of dirt shifted from where my boot had been revealing something green amidst the brown dirt. I looked to see a circular outline about the size of a dinner plate stemming from the green spot . I stared in disbelief for what felt like an eternity as I came to the realization of what I had done. I had nudged the dirt off the edge of a thirty plus year old, helicopter dropped, anti-tank mine.

I shook my head, moved my foot to the right of where it was and began the process again, step by step, until I was out. Once in the clear area I jogged back to the road and my section who were waiting for me.

“You looked hilarious!” said one of my section members.

“What, were you avoiding goat shit out there?” questioned another.

“You all done now?” my section commander jeered.

“Fuck you all!” I said with a relieved smile on my face.

On that we loaded back into the LAV and carried on with our mission.

Just another day in Kandahar.

Master Corporal (Retd) Chance Burles

Combat Engineers

TF 1-08 E23G

Chance Burles is a retired Master Corporal Combat Engineer, a national organizer for the Canadian Walk For Veterans, and host of the "Tools For The Toolbox" podcast. You can find him @mcplburles