Back in 2021, Ian Fritz published an article in The Atlantic: “What I Learned While Eavesdropping on the Taliban.” He says the article was not enough to unload his feelings, so he wrote this What the Taliban Told Me (Simon and Schuster, 288 pages, $30), a memoir of his time on active service and the aftermath. The book is written as if the author were talking to his buddies in a bar on base. It is full of Air Force jargon and riddled with profanity. Us GIs don’t care about that, but others might.

The author served in the Air Force, attending the Defense Language Institute (DLI) in Monterey to master two languages: Pashto and Dari. Then it was on to special operations and AC-130 gunships in Afghanistan. There, he served as a Direct Support Operator (DSO, inevitably pronounced “dizzo”), aka Airborne Cryptologic Linguist. His job was to listen to Taliban radio traffic, figure out if they were planning an attack on U.S. troops, and advise the crew and people on the ground. He chose targets and the gunship would whack them. He is officially credited with killing 123 people this way. Were they all Taliban troops? Probably not; the troops melt into the populace, and the people use their radios for mundane daily life as well as operating against US troops. As time went on, he began to think the entire Afghanistan exercise was futile. As he puts it, killing a “talib” -- the term he uses -- only resulted in another appearing, to continue the fight against the “monsters.” After several deployments, he knew he’d had enough. He finished his Air Force hitch training new DSOs. Then went to medical school.

It’s hard to disagree with the guy. Since World War II, how often has the USA ever stopped to define goals and strategy to achieve them before sending the troops? Yes, a few times, in limited operations, but not nearly enough. And never, it seems for protracted wars such as Vietnam or Afghanistan.

The text is full of dialog: Taliban conversations he monitored, and crew dialog as they flew missions. His gunship mission descriptions are excellent, as are stories of his time at the DLI. You are in the airplane with him. He had a tough job, trying to figure out what the talibs were really up to, while also listening to many distractions. In one fascinating example, he discovers the talibs are planning to gather at a school. Then they arrive, heavily armed. To do what? To play a game of volleyball, surrounded by women and children who watch the game. “The war wasn’t going anywhere, so why shouldn’t they hang out… maybe play some games?” No one got shot that day.

Fritz’s disgust with the Taliban culture is clear. Yet he rightly observes that we would leave the country sooner or later, but the Taliban would remain. Theirs is an ancient culture compared to ours. The Afghans must change their country, if they want to. We cannot do it for them.

The book is an easy read, though some might wish he included a glossary. He defines a GI term once and that’s it, no matter how often he uses it. Example: “U-boat.” No, it’s not a German submarine. It’s the AC-130U gunship, nicknamed “Spooky.” Similarly, the GI nickname for the AC-130W is “Whiskey.” But this book’s point is not the weapon systems Fritz flew. And, in truth, that is how GIs talk. Their chatter is distinctive. On a side note, that makes it easy for GIs to spot “stolen valor,” i.e., someone who never served, but poses as a GI. Those people talk funny. Some of his more introspective chapters could be shortened, but that is a minor point.

Someone who was shooting at the Taliban needed to write this book. It should be required reading for every self-important politician who thinks if we just send enough troops and drop enough bombs, the enemy will adopt our culture and love us. But they will not read it. The lesson Ian Fritz learned over there? “Afghanistan is ours” -- sayeth the Taliban.

Julius Sanks retired from the Air Force before 9/11. He watched the smoke rise from the Pentagon that day.

Image: Simon and Schuster