PASHMUL, Afghanistan — It’s a quiet spooky place of crumbling, mud brick compounds set among fields of grapes and squash watered by a maze of irrigation ditches that are as deep as a man is tall.

The decaying structures stand like forlorn sentinels among the fields of green. Many appear to be abandoned, but whether that happened yesterday or a hundred years ago, it’s impossible to tell.

The mission is basically a fishing expedition. Canadian soldiers with Operational Mentor Liaison Team 73 Alpha are accompanying a patrol of Afghans to see if the Taliban are still active in the area. The previous group of Canadians posted in Zhari district had engaged in gunbattles nearly every time they stepped foot here.

Monday morning would be no different.

Around 9:45 a.m., distant gunfire marks the beginnings of a firefight somewhere south along the Arghandab River. The brisk rattle of machine-gun fire is punctuated by the deep swoosh of heavy explosions.

Then the firing erupts much closer. Another group of Canadians and Americans on patrol with Afghans report taking fire just 300 meters away. Suddenly, the rounds are cracking loudly overhead. A little boy and an old man pushing a bicycle disappear from the road in front of the compound where the Afghans and 73 Alpha have taken cover. Several of the Afghans begin firing back toward the sound of the shots. Others shoot indiscriminately into the air.

But it’s not clear where the shots are coming from. Capt. Rich Tarrant thinks 73 Alpha might be taking fire from the other patrol by mistake.

No sooner has Tarrant called out his order to cease fire then the fire picks up again. An Afghan soldier crouching in a shallow hole points his M-16 rifle at a 45-degree angle in the air. He turns his head slightly, and fires off two quick bursts.

A confused pause ensues, and the shots start cracking loudly overhead again. It seems the patrol is taking fire from two separate locations off to the south and west. The patrol to the south has confirmed they’re not firing, so it has to be the Taliban.

The 73 Alpha patrol has already taken refuge among

two collapsing mud brick compounds, so they’ve got good cover. Cpl. Kevin Foster climbs up onto a small parapet in a corner and starts searching for targets. Warrant Officer Mike Saunders and Cpl. Peter Mitchell squeeze hurriedly through a hole into another part of the compound where they can get a view of the dirt alley outside.

They can’t see much, so they come back to where Foster is. Saunders climbs on top of the parapet with Foster. They start shooting. Saunders says he’s spotted the head of one gunman come up over a wall about 150 meters away. They’re soon joined by Sgt. Luc Piquette, and take turns trading fire with the gunmen.

The Canadians shoot in concentrated bursts. But they soon begin to run low on ammo. Saunders tries to raise Tarrant on the radio. He wants some of the Afghans to come up. But he can’t get through. Most of the Afghans, it seems, are still taking cover down in the weeds.

Little puffs of dust are kicking up on top of the far wall where the Taliban rounds are hitting.

Tarrant has taken cover across the way. His interpreter lies flat on his back behind a low wall. For a moment, it appears as if he’s been shot dead, but he’s only taking cover.

Tarrant calls in an artillery strike, but it seems to take forever. Finally, around 10:15 a.m., he yells, "Shot! Shot! Everybody get down!"

Seconds later, a 155 mm round comes ripping in, groaning like a freight train. It explodes to the west in a thunderous crash, but nobody can see exactly where.

Because the shot can’t be confirmed visually, the artillery section back at the fire base can’t shoot another one. The radio soon goes down anyway.

The artillery strike, however, seems to have quenched the Taliban’s appetite for a fight, at least for a while. About 30 minutes pass. During the break, the Canadian soldiers recount how the events of the past hour have just transpired, and they speak with a begrudging respect for the Taliban who’ve pinned them down

"They’re smart little bastards, eh?" said Saunders.

Because he can’t get the fire base on the radio, Tarrant decides to withdraw. The soldiers have confirmed what they’ve come to find out anyway — the Taliban are indeed still active in Pashmul.

They pull out, moving in small groups across a field and taking cover along the remains of another mud brick wall. But no sooner have they reached the position when another gunman begins firing on them from the north. It becomes clear that the Taliban have done either one of two things: they’ve called in reinforcements or they’ve flanked the troops.

Suddenly, there’s another fusillade, this time just on the other side of the wall. For a brief minute, it seems that the patrol has walked right into an ambush.

"Jesus, they’re right there!" somebody shouts.

But the interpreter yells out that Afghan soldiers are on the other side of the wall. He says they’ve spotted a gunman about 300 meters to the north.

The radio is working again, and the patrol hunkers for cover while Tarrant works up another artillery strike. But the artillery is already engaged in another fire mission. To the south, where the first firefight started, automatic weapons fire and explosions start up again.

Soon, artillery and mortars are tearing overhead, exploding in the distance. Some are much closer too, and it’s unclear for a moment if the Taliban have begun firing a mortar on the patrol. But no explosions can be seen.

A staccato burst of AK-47 fire echoes from the compound that 73 Alpha has just left. There’s another burst, followed by several more. It sounds as if the Taliban are moving up behind the patrol. By this time, it’s after 11 a.m.

The sun overhead is broiling, and the temperature is well above 100 degrees. Everyone has begun to run low on ammunition and water. The Afghans, who have been fasting because it’s the last day of Ramadan, haven’t had any water all morning.

To cover their withdrawal, the soldiers move out through an irrigation ditch. The water comes up to their knees in places, and it’s filthy, but the grass on either side is taller than their heads, so they can’t be seen.

Afterward, when they’ve reached the other compound where another gunner and artillery observers have been waiting in reserve, they all drop down and sip the last of their water. Several of them remark aloud about how good the filthy ditch water feels on their feet.

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