Jæger - at war with Denmark's elite

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Western special forces operating in Afghanistan is not a big secret. But when relatively detailed descriptions are published, they do stir things up. Thomas Rathsack was a member of the Danish special forces, the Jæger Korpset. When his book "Jæger – I krig med eliten" was due to be published in 2009, the defense ministry wanted to prevent its publication. The newspaper "Politiken" then published the entire text. Our friends at SOFREP had the book translated into English, and we bring an excerpt from it: Undercover in Afghanistan as close protection for the 'spooks' of the intelligence service.

I don't look like an Afghan - I never have, and I never will. My heavy build, broad jaw, and Scandinavian facial features are far removed from the narrow face of the average Afghan with his long, hooked nose. But I dyed my beard and eyebrows almost black, painted my face and hands with a brown skin cream. I wore an Afghan turban on my head and the traditional Salwar Kameez on my body, consisting of a khaki tunic and a wide-cut pair of pants.

Under the tunic, I was equipped with a bulletproof vest, a holstered 9mm H&K USP pistol in my belt, two extra magazines, a Gerber folding knife, and a radio with a discreet, flesh-colored earpiece at the end of the cable. My Lowa Desert Boots were the only equipment that would have given me away as a soldier at first glance. But if anything went wrong, I would need the firm footing.

After a few years away, I was back in Afghanistan. This country just couldn't let me go. I was in one of the larger cities in the central part of the country, along with five other Jægers. I found myself in the most anonymous and at the same time the most secretive role of my career. The task was "Top Secret." We operated undercover in the midst of the local population. No uniform. No visible weapons. No military vehicles.

In daylight, we would have stood out immediately. But at night, in this Toyota with the dirty windows and the poor street lighting, our chances of not being discovered increased dramatically.

With me in the car was Mikkel, my old friend from the reconnaissance operations in the surrounding Afghan mountains. We were disguised and at work at night, as always, while the city slept. In daylight, we would have stood out immediately. But at night, in this Toyota with the dirty windows and the poor street lighting, our chances of not being discovered increased dramatically. We had decorated the interior of the car with local color and hadn't washed it in ages, so it blended perfectly into its environment.

The miserable appearance of the car belied its perfect mechanical interior. Engine, gearbox, shock absorbers, brakes, and tires were all fairly new. We also pumped fluid into the tires so we could drive another 25 kilometers if they got a flat.

Because we were undercover, we would only use our weapons if we were under extreme pressure. Still, if the worst-case scenario occurred, we could fight very decently, despite our sparse equipment. Our C8 carbines - Close Quarter Battle (CQB) versions with shortened barrels - were ready, hidden under a dark cloth between the front seats of the car. A pistol in a holster was also between the seats as a backup. Six magazines, each filled with 28 rounds, were attached to the door and discreetly covered with fabric. Hand and smoke grenades were hidden under the seats. That's where our emergency bags were also hidden, containing extra ammunition, night vision devices, a satellite phone, batteries, 500 dollars in cash, water, and emergency rations. If we were forced to leave the vehicle, it was crucial for our survival that we take our stuff with us.

Involved in the operation was an information gatherer, a secret agent in his mid-thirties, whose code name is Eric. His task was to gather information for decision-makers at the government level in the Western military coalition. Information of this kind is always very sensitive, and those who had it were usually influential people or had close relationships with very important individuals. Eric met with them and tried to gain the trust of such sources, which was not something that could happen over a cup of tea in the afternoon. Such infiltrations are slow and risky.

Eric's work was often lonely and required great cultural, political, linguistic, and social understanding. Having a technical understanding of a job is one thing, but for an agent who simply lacks the social skills to handle his source, he will not be able to deliver anything. While some informants have no principles and simply want payment for information, the most valuable ones are those driven by an ideology. And they require a particularly delicate treatment.

Naturally, Eric's success was based on the fact that his true identity was never uncovered. He was constantly incognito. Eric and his colleagues were very quiet, not only professionally, but also in their private lives. Only a few of their friends knew how they earned their living. In Eric's case, not even his own family knew...

Eric preferred to work alone, without us as a shield. The more people involved and the larger the setup, the larger the operation's signature and the greater the risk of being exposed. Being exposed would not only put us in immediate danger but also undermine the credibility of his organization. His organization, nevertheless, considered Afghanistan currently so dangerous that they hired the Jæger Korpset to protect their man.

Our task was to protect Eric and transport him to meetings with his informants. It was actually quite simple, but it challenged our creativity because we were not familiar with this type of operation.

Normally, we could count on support if something went wrong. Here, we were completely on our own.

Normally, we could count on support if something went wrong. Here, we were completely on our own. If something went wrong here, there would be no Quick Reaction Force, no Gunship, and no fighter bomber we could call. Our radios were only there to communicate between our two cars. There was no one else we could call. No one, except a few of the most trustworthy comrades, even knew we were in the area. And of course, it was particularly important that our identity not be exposed. If we were recognized as Western soldiers, not only would we be killed, but it would also make it impossible for our comrades and allies to operate in the same area.

For months, we had trained in Denmark with the Jæger Korpset for this mission. The main focus was on how to operate in and around a vehicle that would be our operational platform - and one that we would only leave in emergencies. We practiced driving techniques in old, beat-up vehicles. We had a lot of fun when we could turn the car into a wannabe race car, training high-speed 180-degree turns and evasive maneuvers. We practiced vehicle shadowing on country roads and in small provincial towns in Denmark. When using multiple vehicles that overlap during shadowing, the likelihood of being discovered is reduced. We also learned what to watch out for in advance to avoid being shadowed ourselves. If we were being followed, we learned to flee at breakneck speed. We particularly enjoyed this part, especially when we practiced it on the narrow, dark country roads at home. More than one of our dummy agents sat afterward curled up with a white face on the back seat...

We were the first Danish soldiers who were allowed to complete a makeup course for work: we learned how to dye eyebrows, darken the skin, and attach beard parts.

Another scenario we practiced was picking up an informant at a specific location at a specific time. Alternative meeting points and emergency plans had to be organized in advance. We also practiced combat techniques in the cars for close combat situations in case we encountered a resistant enemy. We had to learn phrases and vocabulary in Pashto, the most widely spoken language in Afghanistan. And lastly, we were the first Danish soldiers who were allowed to complete a makeup course for work: we learned how to dye eyebrows, darken the skin, and attach beard parts.

Exercises are one thing, real operations a completely different matter. I was at the wheel of the old Toyota as we drove out of the hangar over a narrow dirt road, toward a gate in the far corner of our base. If we didn't use them, the vehicles were parked in an old, abandoned hangar that only we had access to. There we also changed clothes and applied makeup for our nightly excursions.

Mikkel sat in the passenger seat, discreetly checking the GPS and city map. I got along well with Mikkel and had absolute confidence that he, as always, would handle his task flawlessly. Years ago, he was my partner in an extreme and exhausting operation in the mountains in southeastern Afghanistan. Back then, he had earned my highest respect. He was a great partner.

Behind the gate, we turned left and headed toward the city center. The four other men on our team were about a hundred meters behind us, with no line of sight, in an old Toyota HiAce minibus. However, it was in equally good technical condition as our vehicle. It had curtains on the rear windows, which was normal in the area and gave us the opportunity to speak with informants in the vehicle without being seen.

Eric was expected at a meeting in the city today and needed to be picked up at a small alley. The drive toward the city took us through dark, pothole-ridden streets, mostly without pavement. It was a peaceful and quiet place, almost devoid of any traffic. It would have even been advantageous if there were more cars here so we could hide between them. There were no mullahs calling the faithful to prayer. No lights in the houses. We saw only a few people on foot and occasional cyclists on their old bikes. No women or children. But there were plenty of dogs, always searching for water and food.

A surprise checkpoint could be a disaster for our mission. A flashlight in my face would immediately expose me.

Mikkel focused on the planned route. I drove slowly so he had enough time to check the map and GPS with a small flashlight. We more or less knew where the Afghan government troops had set up their checkpoints, but we were cautious in case they had shifted. That would be bad news if they had; a surprise checkpoint could be a disaster for our mission. A flashlight in my face would immediately expose me. If one of the sentries was stubborn and insisted on knowing who we were and what we were doing, the confrontation could escalate, even though we were actually fighting the same enemy, the Taliban and al-Qaeda.

The other car, the minibus, drove on a route parallel to us. We had set some waypoints on the map that were communicated over the radio. This way, we always knew where the other vehicle was. Sometimes we drove together on certain stretches and loosened the bulbs at the rear left and front right of both vehicles, so we could identify each other in the darkness. The risk of being stopped in Afghanistan due to incorrect vehicle lighting didn't exist.

Mikkel instructed me to turn left on a street with a large intersection. About 100 meters down the road, we could see the outlines of military vehicles and traffic barriers channeling the traffic. That was a checkpoint that was not marked on our map. Mikkel cursed. There was no way to turn back. If I had reversed or turned around, it would have shown that we had something to hide. We had no choice but to continue.

Mikkel hid his map and GPS under the seat while I checked for the weapon in place. It was 1 o'clock after midnight. I hoped the Afghan sentries would be tired and wave us through. But as we approached, one of the guards with an AK-47 stepped onto the street and gestured for us to stop. Now Mikkel and I cursed. I rolled down the window and drove slowly toward him.

"Salaam Alaykum," he greeted us.

He was young and had a bright, clear voice. And he hadn't seen my face yet.

"Wa Alaykum as-Salaam," I replied softly, hoping he wouldn't recognize my accent.

He took out his flashlight. I prepared for the worst. He turned on the light and shone it into the car.

He took out his flashlight. I prepared for the worst. He turned on the light and shone it into the car. The beam found Mikkel, but the guard didn't seem interested in him, instead he came back to me and shone it directly into my face. There he stood for long seconds, and I felt like a little child caught red-handed - unprotected, vulnerable, and expecting to be punished immediately.

Then the guard said something I didn't understand. But his tone was friendly and showed no sign of aggression. He leaned toward my face and must have immediately recognized that I was not a native.

"Tha tsanga ye," I asked in a friendly voice. "How are you?"

He nodded, but he said nothing. There was no doubt he had seen through my disguise. It would only be more suspicious if I continued with my limited repertoire of Pashto phrases.

I reached for a small bundle of 50-dollar bills hidden in a crevice in the vehicle lining. My emergency money.

I played with it a bit, slowly gave him one of the bills, and said in English, "Thank you."

He remained silent, but the light shone on the 50-dollar bill, examining it with interest. The sum probably equaled several months' salaries for him. The flashlight was switched off. He looked over at the other sentries, who were chatting by a Jeep. Then he pocketed the money.

"Okay," he said very softly.

What luck that he saw no reason to cause trouble and that he could treat himself to a nice little bonus.

"Tashakkur," I thanked him. I shifted into gear and slowly drove down the street.

Mikkel and I breathed a sigh of relief. Long live my emergency money.

We bring the excerpt from the book with the kind permission of SOFREP.com. Unfortunately, Thomas Rathsack's book is not yet available in German, but our friends at SOFREP.com have published it in English in the USA. "Jaeger - at war with Denmark's Elite Special Forces" is available for Kindle for 9.21 euros. It is supposed to be released in German in the spring of 2016.

Thomas Rathsack on the Internet: www.thomasrathsack.dk