Afghanistan Without a Look Back

By Jill Smolowe

Along the streets of the sleepy Soviet border town of Termez, anxious wives, restless children, curious journalists and proud military officers began to assemble shortly after dawn. As local Communist Party officials arranged a banquet of fruits and nuts on a long white-clothed table, a small troupe of Uzbek dancers rehearsed their steps. Seven Young Pioneers, their trademark red scarves flapping in the breeze, clutched flowers. Just after 11:30, a military band burst into lively music to greet the first of 60 armored personnel carriers rumbling into sight across the steel "Friendship Bridge" at the border. When the lead vehicle clattered past the last checkpoint and onto Soviet soil, the six young soldiers on board broke into ear-to-ear grins.

After nine years and two months of humiliation, frustration and defeat on the battle grounds of Afghanistan, the Soviet Union was bringing the last of its boys home. For the demoralized Soviets, the deceptively festive homecoming in Termez marked the closing phase of a nine-month pullout that is scheduled to conclude this week with the return of the last 20,000 Soviet troops.

In an effort to patch together a political future for the Moscow-backed regime of Afghan President Najibullah, Soviet Foreign Minister Eduard Shevardnadze made a quick trip to Islamabad, where he conferred with Pakistan's leaders. But this attempt to cloak the embarrassed retreat with some diplomatic fig leaves failed, surprising few Soviet citizens, who have long since made up their minds about the misdirected war effort. "It was a noble cause," said a returning soldier last week, "and a mistake." Moscow's task will be to resurrect dignity from the rubble of a bitter defeat that cost 15,000 Soviet lives and produced no tangible gains.

For shattered Afghanistan, the outlook ahead is far grimmer: more war, more bloodshed, more despair. With 1 million dead, 2 million uprooted from their homes and another 5 million claiming temporary asylum in neighboring countries, Afghanistan is bracing for a duel to the death between Najibullah's shaky regime and the U.S.-backed mujahedin rebels. No one knows whether the Soviets will mount cross-border air raids to thwart the rebels' designs, or if Washington intends to keep open its not-so-covert arms pipeline through Pakistan to the rebels. But even if the superpowers bow out entirely, both sides in the Afghan conflict have enough stockpiled arms to keep the conflagration raging for months. "No one is operating under any illusions," warns a U.S. specialist on Afghanistan. "The situation is going to get a lot nastier."

Afghanistan's only hope for a halt to the savagery rests with the shura, or consultative council, that convened in the Pakistani city of Rawalpindi last Friday. The 526-member council is composed of representatives from the seven- party mujahedin alliance that operates out of Pakistan and the eight mujahedin parties based in Iran. Their aim is to designate an interim - government that would supplant the Najibullah regime. But last week's meeting, attended by 420 delegates, gave little cause for optimism. The council's session lasted just 40 minutes, then disintegrated into chaos over the question of just how much power should be allocated to the Tehran-based groups. At week's end the shura was postponed indefinitely. "It is like trying to make a circle from a square," sighs a rebel commander. "You cannot make a coalition out of bitter enemies."

As the factions disagreed over everything, from the role that ex-King Zahir Shah should play in the rebuilding of war-torn Afghanistan to the composition of the shura itself, some spectators had the eerie feeling of watching a car accident taking place in slow motion. "This is the last chance for Kabul," says a Western diplomat based in Islamabad. "If it collapses, Afghanistan will collapse into fratricidal bloodshed."

Even if by some miracle the squabbling mujahedin political leaders and their allied military field commanders reach agreement, their determined resistance to any Communist representation in the new government all but ensures that Najibullah will continue to struggle for his political life. Last week, his voice cracking uncharacteristically, Najibullah proclaimed, "God is with us. The people are with us. We will win the war." But the extent of the President's fear was evident as the regime summoned the 30,000 members of the ruling People's Democratic Party who have been newly armed with automatic rifles and are intended to serve as the core of a neighborhood militia for the defense of the capital city of Kabul. Only 6,000 party stalwarts turned out for the rally, and all of them had to undergo body searches by security forces.

For the moment, Afghanistan's major cities remain in government hands, thanks largely to massive Soviet bombing attacks in recent weeks. But no one expects Najibullah's tenuous grip on the country to hold for long. Rebel commanders in the field, who sense that a military victory is within reach, are not going to let that long-sought opportunity slip away. The only remaining question seems to be precisely how they will take the cities. Full- scale assaults are tempting, but the mujahedin insurgents fear that the civilian toll may be high and that a successful attack may draw Soviet retribution from the air. That is what happened last August, when rebels took the northern city of Kunduz, then were forced to flee under a hail of fighter- bomber fire.

The more likely strategy, if the rebels do not divide and self-destruct, is a slow and steady strangulation of the major cities. "We want to collapse the city from within," explains Abdul Haq, a powerful commander whose men are positioned around Kabul. Key targets include the shutdown of airports, the closure of the government's arms pipeline and the cutting of the Salang Highway, the 264-mile road that stretches from Kabul into Soviet territory.

Heavy fighting and rebel attacks on food convoys have made many of the roads virtually impassable, giving rise to deepening food and fuel shortages. Last week when the United Nations attempted an emergency airlift of food, medicine and blankets to Kabul, the effort was temporarily stalled because crew members of the EgyptAir cargo plane feared rebel attacks. Two days later, however, Ethiopian Airlines delivered the first supplies from the U.N.

By breaking down the morale of government troops, the rebels hope to trigger defections or even rebellion within the army ranks. Some rebel commanders boast that army garrisons around the country have arranged for their own surrender, and that soldiers will turn themselves over to the mujahedin shortly after the last Soviets pull out. But according to one scenario making the rounds in Washington, the rebels will not need to manipulate the economic and military noose for very long. The ruling party, these analysts conclude, will hang itself. "The rot within the ((ruling party)) is already pronounced," says a State Department official. "It will only get worse after the Soviets are gone." According to U.S. officials, contingency plans are already in place for the evacuation of Najibullah and as many as 5,000 members of his party to Moscow.

As for the U.S., which has given $2 billion in aid to the rebels over the past decade, the Soviet pullout provoked smug smiles among State Department officials. At the American Club in the Pakistani city of Peshawar, a hangout for aid workers, diplomats and intelligence types, the champagne was already flowing. Still, the U.S. has difficult decisions to make in the months ahead, as do the Soviets. In the ten months since the accord was signed in Geneva securing the Soviet withdrawal, the operating word has been "symmetry." Last week the Bush Administration held a one-hour high-level review of U.S. policy toward Afghanistan that resulted in no announced changes. That means that Washington would continue to fund and arm the rebels as long as Moscow supplied Najibullah's forces.

Were the Soviets to continue cross-border raids after this Wednesday, the U.S. might maintain its own involvement, though any sort of step-up is unlikely. Some statements suggest that Washington has formulated no policy beyond the expulsion of the Soviets and is eager to wash its hands of the entire mess. "We're not interested in a proxy war," says one official. "The Afghans should be allowed to settle this themselves."

That challenge will begin this week, if all goes according to plan. At precisely 10 o'clock on Wednesday morning, Lieut. General Boris Gromov, the commanding officer of Soviet troops in Afghanistan, will walk alone across that steel bridge into Termez, the final Soviet soldier to leave Afghanistan. According to the daily Komsomolskaya Pravda, Gromov will then deliver a short, private speech that "would not be written down or listened to." Then he will continue on his way, "without looking back."

With reporting by Paul Hofheinz/Termez and Cristina Lamb/Islamabad