WE TUMBLED OUT of two Black Hawks onto a shrub-dusted mountainside. It was  a windy, cold October evening. A half-moon illuminated the tall pines and peaks.  Through night-vision goggles the soldiers and landscape glowed in a blurry  green-and-white static. Just across the valley, lights flickered from a few  homes nestled in the terraced farmlands of Yaka China, a notorious village in  the Korengal River valley in 
Afghanistan's northeastern province of Kunar. Yaka  China was just a few villages south and around a bend in the river from the  Americans' small mountain outposts, but the area's reputation among the soldiers  was mythic. It was a known safe haven for insurgents. American troops have  tended to avoid the place since a nasty fight a year or so earlier. And as  Halloween approached, the soldiers I was with, under the command of 26-year-old  Capt. Dan Kearney, were predicting their own Yaka China doom.
 The Korengal Valley is a lonely outpost of regress: most of the valley's  people practice Wahhabism, a more rigid variety of Islam than that followed by  most Afghans, and about half of the fighters confronting the U.S. there are  homegrown. The rest are Arabs, Pakistanis, Chechens, Uzbeks; the area is close  to Pakistan's frontier regions where Osama bin Laden, Ayman al-Zawahiri and other Al Qaeda figures are often said to be hiding out. The  Korengal fighters are fierce, know the terrain and watch the Americans' every  move. On their hand-held radios, the old jihadis call the Americans "monkeys,"  "infidels," ''bastards" and "the kids." It's psychological warfare; they know  the Americans monitor their radio chatter.
 http://www.nytimes.com/2008/02/24/magazine/24afghanistan-t.html
 
 
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