Proof of P.J.

At about half-past nine, my driver and I arrived at a roadblock set up just outside of Bagram Air Field manned by U.S. soldiers and some Afghan military. I would later learn that a VBIED (vehicle borne IED) threat had been called in to the checkpoint so traffic was stopped dead. Forty or so cars—driven by local Afghanis—were stuck, waiting to get onto the base. Even U.N. vehicles were being turned away.

I got out of the car and approached the soldiers, who were all heavily armed and very testy. I explained my situation to a young grunt. He was extremely courteous and told me that as soon as the roadblock was lifted, my driver and I would be the first ones through. He accompanied me back to my car and as we were walking, a sedan gunned its engine, coming straight for us. I dropped behind the soldier and he immediately shouldered his weapon, marching towards the car, screaming, “What the fuck are you doing?!? Stop NOW!” The sedan stopped and the soldier lowered his machine gun. He smiled and looked at me. “Everybody speaks weapon,” he said, chuckling.