His position guarded a rural road, a small but vital route that connected some of the wheat farms and villages on the Shomali Plains to the main roads. Aref was confident of the position. Concrete barriers, piles of sandbags, and steel poles forced all vehicles to curve slowly in and out, stop and go, as they approached. Big irrigation ditches prevented much off-road movement. Aref folded his hands and blew on them for a puff of warmth.

The steep little single-lane road at the mouth of the Panjshir Valley had been used back when American special operations teams were chasing Osama bin Laden through the valley and into Pakistan, only a dozen miles away. That had given the entire region a mystique among Afghans. Whoever controlled this section of road held a lot more than a piece of dirt: If the Taliban could disrupt traffic here, the villagers might believe Osama would return, this time leading a mighty force to conquer the infidels. Afghans knew from their long, fierce history that eventually they always won, however long it might take and whatever the price.

Aref’s men were allowing one vehicle at a time into the cordoned parking space where a final search was done. It was a slow process, and the drivers were growing impatient as the long line of SUVs, private cars, jammed buses, big trucks, and pickups waited to be cleared. Diesel and gasoline engines spewed noxious fumes. Windows were down, and music came from radios. Some drivers and passengers got out of the vehicles to talk while waiting their turn at the gate. Soldiers were gathered around a small fire off to the side, brewing tea.

There was no moon tonight, but the sky was smooth and so clear that stars blinked like little warning lights, although they could not be seen from the checkpoint, where two racks of bright floodlights punched a bright dome in the darkness. Aref checked his wristwatch. Almost one o’clock in the morning. He decided to break up the soldiers around the fire and get them out on perimeter patrol. There was no reason for worry. Tonight seemed no different than any other in the past two weeks. Still, nervousness itched at him just like the rough blanket.