From right: Abdul, Mohammed and family members. (Mikael Cook)

By Mikael Cook

Over the last two weeks of August 2021, as the Taliban completed its conquest of Afghanistan, the United States military evacuated 79,000 people out of Kabul’s airport. It was a rescue operation that included thousands of Afghan allies desperate to escape certain death at the hands of the radical Islamist militants.

Back home in the US, Americans watched in real-time as our withdrawal turned into a chaotic disaster.

Moved to help, an informal gathering of stateside civilians, veterans and active service members created a network that worked overtime to help Afghans who had worked with the U.S. get evacuated to safety. 

The following essay, by Mikael Cook, a former Staff Sergeant with the 486th Engineer Company who served in Afghanistan, exemplifies the effort of so many Americans who came together to save their Afghan friends.

I was at home in rural Michigan when Abdul first FaceTimed me from Afghanistan in July of 2021. He was holding his infant daughter in his arms and greeted me in the traditional Afghan way, “Brother, how is your family?”

His face, though smiling, betrayed the anguish he was feeling. The Taliban was rapidly gaining control of the country and would soon be closing in on Kabul. The fall of the U.S.-backed Afghan government was imminent. It had become clear that our rapid withdrawal from Afghanistan would leave many of our former Afghan allies, like Abdul, in grave danger.

I first met Abdul in December of 2019 in the northern city of Mazar e-Sharif. The departing unit’s staff sergeant took me up the hill to a bazaar of local nationals and interpreters with access to the Camp Marmal Base and introduced me to a man in traditional clothes wearing a scarf. His name was Mohammad. Next to him was his brother-in-law Abdul. The staff sergeant looked at me and said, “Anything you need for your mission, these men can provide.”

We were tasked with building barracks and security postures. Since the military pipeline for supplies could take forever, whenever possible we asked Mohammed and Abdul for help. They delivered what we needed in half the time, anything from lumber to insulation. Whatever wood scraps were leftover, they used to heat their homes.

Our working relationship quickly turned into a friendship and then into a brotherhood. We relied on these men. Despite some minor language barriers, we laughed easily together, sharing meals prepared by their wives—an authentic and much-needed break from the standard military rations. I was fascinated by Afghanistan and peppered them with questions about their country and culture.

Looking at Abdul’s daughter during our FaceTime call, I couldn’t help but ask myself, “What was it all for?” After two decades of war, had the sacrifices of U.S. Troops and our Afghan allies been in vain? The U.S. presence enabled and then safeguarded hard-won freedoms for women—the ability to pursue an education, own a business, and act independently— but with the Taliban about to take over the country, Abdul’s young daughter’s bright future had become a black hole.

My first hurdle was locating Abdul’s former Camp Marmal supervisor and arranging for him to write the necessary recommendation letters for their SIV applications, a daunting challenge in a country where US forces were in the process of leaving. With only the name Alex to go on, I worked the phones in an effort to track him down. A second lieutenant I served with in Afghanistan happened to have his email. After repeated attempts, I finally heard back from Alex. Reading his response made me nauseous. He declined to help Abdul, saying, among other things, it was above his pay grade.

At this point I thought we were stuck. I remember sitting around the kitchen island at home with my family when Abdul called on FaceTime again. My mother had a fake smile pasted on as Abdul lifted up his infant daughter. She was sick thinking about this little girl growing up under the Taliban. When we hung up, I told my family I didn’t think there was a way to get them out.

While I continued trying to find someone to sign Abdul’s forms, unbeknownst to me, a loosely connected group of people were coalescing online, assembling a support network that would eventually come together like the mycelium connecting trees under the forest floor. People like Marine Majors Chris Davis and Tom Schueman, both of whom served multiple tours in Afghanistan, and others were building a collection of online chat forums, drawing in individuals with critical networks to help evacuate our Afghan allies. Major Schueman had been trying to get his interpreter out of Afghanistan since 2016. This gave him an acute sense of what we were up against and what was needed.

This was the start of #DigitalDunkirk, an organic coming together of people – veterans, civilians, and service members – dedicated to saving our Afghan partners. Named after the WWII evacuation of Allied troops from the French seaport of Dunkirk by hundreds of volunteer civilian boats, #DigitalDunkirk would make all the difference in rescuing Abdul, Mohammed, and their families.

On August 15, I checked in with Abdul. It was an auspicious day. Afghanistan’s house of cards had finally collapsed. The country’s President, Ashraf Ghani, abandoned his people and fled to Uzbekistan. The Afghan National Army (ANA) laid down their arms to the Taliban. And, in a scene straight out of Saigon 1975, the Acting US Ambassador and his staff evacuated the Embassy in a helicopter.

“Brother, they get all Kabul,” Abdul said. “We are hiding. What about Alex? Did he answer you?”

Although I knew Alex wasn’t going to help Abdul and Mohammed with their SIV papers, I didn’t want them to give up hope. “No, I haven’t heard back from him yet,” I said. I could sense Abdul’s fear. The idea that I was his only lifeline to getting his family safely out of the country was almost overwhelming. I wasn’t a high-ranking officer, or a senator’s son, or a CIA covert ops guy. I was an army staff sergeant 7,000 miles away.

Then, on August 18, I got word of a miracle as unexpected as a lightning bolt from a clear blue sky: a civilian contractor who served as mayor at Camp Marmal heard through the grapevine that Abdul and Mohammed needed recommendation letters for their SIV applications and was willing to write them. Finally, we had some momentum.

After submitting their applications, the State Department advised that Abdul, Mohammed, and their families shelter at home until contacted. As night fell on August 18, I had mixed feelings. Yes, we had the recommendation letter and had begun the SIV process but knowing how slowly US immigration policy works, having Abdul, Mohammed and their families wait at home didn’t seem like the best option.

On August 23, after cooling my heels for four days, hoping for some kind of bureaucratic breakthrough on their SIV applications, I decided I had to act. I started messaging everyone on Instagram I could think of who had political or military connections that might be able to help. That was when I came upon an Instagram page for Atlas News. They’d posted a viral video of crowds of Afghans hanging on to a giant Air Force C-17 Globemaster plane as it taxied down HKIA (Kabul’s airport) runway. It was gut-wrenching to watch. Hundreds of people running alongside the plane, grabbing the wheel wells. Bodies falling from the sky as the plane retracted its landing gear.

A contact I made at Atlas News introduced me to the online universe of #DigitalDunkirk. Almost a month after it had first begun to coalesce, it had morphed into a powerhouse of information and connectivity that was awe-inspiring in its strength and efficacy.

I logged into their encrypted chat. Pinging faster than morse code, the chatroom was filled with an ad hoc group of military members, civilians, and government officials who all had the same goal: getting our forgotten allies out of Afghanistan. Individually each of us brought little to the group, but collectively, we were a powerhouse of intelligence.

I sat back and watched for a minute to see what kind of info was being passed back and forth. The level of intel flowing through the chat was amazing. What units were working, which gates they were at, what documents were being accepted, and what ratlines may be open on secret entrances.

I decided to reach out to Kate Mannion, a former Marine and popular podcaster. Via text, I explained Abdul and Mohammed’s situation. She put me in touch with a lieutenant in CENTCOM who was in charge of getting people on a list that allowed them to be extracted from the desperate hordes gathering around Abbey Gate, the main processing gate into HKIA and evacuation.

Abbey Gate was a place that brought hard charging Marines and Soldiers to tears. Many of them described witnessing the vilest scene of human desperation. Newborn babies stuck in concertina wire, young children being crushed and stepped on, trying to grasp for a breath of air above the knee high sewage, lifeless adult bodies floating in between the crowd packed chest to back. A sickening sight and stench for anyone that had to man the wall.

The people I was connecting with online were among the most effective, mission-oriented operators around. With their help, I was able to coordinate a plan for the extraction of Abdul, Mohammed, and their families. They were to go to Abbey Gate. Mohammad was to wave a white scarf and Abdul hold up a placard that read ‘Marmal’ the base where we first met. Unfortunately, despite these signals, finding them in a sea of thousands of frantic people proved impossible, even for our skilled operators.

After multiple failed attempts, Abdul called me on the bulky phone line with a defeated voice. “Brother, can I take this time to go home and hug my family?” He didn’t say it, but I knew he was disappointed. By this point he had been there multiple days, and the children needed food and water.

Marines monitor a Taliban fighter from the sniper tower at Abbey Gate. (USMC Sgt. Dalton Hannigan)

As Tuesday, August 24 rolled into Wednesday, an urgent message came across NEO (Noncombatant Evacuation Operations) which quickly translated meant that if you didn’t have a US passport, you were up shit’s creek. I immediately contacted Abdul and convinced them to make another run for the airport and try again.

It was 5:30 a.m. in Michigan and 2:30 p.m. in Kabul on August 25 when Abdul’s name flashed across my phone. Somehow they’d been able to push their way to the front of the crowd at Abbey Gate. After a few hours of trying to connect, we finally got a miracle.

I answered the phone expecting to hear Abdul. Instead I heard shouting from a distance, as if whoever had the phone was reaching to pass it to someone. Then I heard Abdul yell, “Talk to the Sergeant, talk to the Sergeant.”

A few seconds later I heard the muffled shift of the phone passing hands and then an unfamiliar voice. “Sgt. Zielinski, United States Marines.”

I took a moment to get composed and then identified myself. I explained that I had worked with these men on my deployment, and they were SIV applicants and manifested on a KAM air flight that afternoon. After a brief conversation Zielinski told me, “I got it brother, I’ll get them through.” The phone call disconnected, and I sat back in my chair, unsure if what just happened was real. At this point I had been up for almost a week straight trying to get them out and I was completely delusional.

A few hours later I found out Zielinski had kept his promise. Abdul texted me a photo of the two families wearing State Department bracelets, signifying they had cleared through screening and were waiting on a flight. Less than 12 hours later they had landed in Qatar. The first stop on their way to the U.S.

Just hours after their escape, another daunting message came through the chat. A description of a bomber headed to Abbey Gate with a rough timeline. That same intel was passed to Sgt. Tyler Vargas-Andrews, a Marine Sniper from 2/1 that was positioned in a sniper tower at the airport’s Abbey Gate to assess the crowd for threats and assist in the protection of the troops monitoring the sea of desperate Afghans trying to gain access to the airport. In congressional testimony, Sgt Vargas-Andrews stated that he identified a male that fit the description acting irrationally. He described following the male with his lens for hours. After confirming the target with a team from psychological operations, he called up the battalion commander and asked for authority to engage the target. His request was denied.

The bomber, who until recently had been held in the Parwan detention facility at Bagram airfield near Kabul, escaped in our botched handoff to the Afghan National Army. He now had a chance for redemption. He made his way through the flooded canals at Abbey Gate and detonated himself. The blast killed 13 American troops and nearly 200 Afghan civilians and allies. Sgt. Vargas-Andrews lost his right arm and left leg in the blast.

Bringing home the 13 warriors killed in the blast at Abbey Gate. (U.S. Central Command Public Affairs)

About a month after they left Afghanistan, I was finally able to visit Abdul and Mohammad at Camp Atterbury, Indiana, where they were being held until they were cleared to officially enter the US population. I gave them both a big hug and went to meet their families. Once they had finished all their paperwork, I picked them up for the final time and took them to their new home in Michigan where they now live right down the road from me.

I’m lucky enough to be able to visit them on Sundays for a traditional Afghan dinner. Over the past few years, I’ve watched their children grow into the fun, free kids they are today. As I look back on my experience, I can’t help but feel extremely lucky. Most people couldn’t get their friends and colleagues out. But thanks to the incredible efforts of the selfless men and women who created #DigitalDunkirk, I was able to make that happen for Abdul and Mohammed and their families.

To learn more about the Fall of Afghanistan and the heroic stateside efforts to save our allies, read Mikael’s extraordinary book Life and Death at Abbey Gate which provides an unflinching account of the final days of the U.S. evacuation from Afghanistan. As a member of the #DigitalDunkirk team, he was responsible for the evacuation of 20 individuals. By sharing the story of his bond with two Afghan brothers, Mikael gives all of us a context for understanding the deep connection and sense of responsibility so many veterans feel towards the Afghans they worked with. You can view last year’s VBC livestream with Mikael Cook here: veteransbreakfastclub.org/escaping-kabul-august-2021/

Published by Casemate, Life and Death At Abbey Gate is available through most major book sellers.