We watched the Afghan National Army recruits on a sunny, cold morning as they ran through a series of training scenarios on a vast, muddy plain on the outskirts of Kabul, a tall mountain range at the far end of the camp.

These men started by doing a low crawl for about 20 yards or so so along a line of rocks that slowly descended. The job was to hug the earth deeper so your head, back and butt weren’t exposed to enemy fire as you snaked toward the next obstacle.

So far, so good, but moments later I heard an echo and sensed trouble.

“When we move, the weapon will be in both hands,” the instructor said, his words repeated in a pair of languages I didn’t understand but had heard a lot by that time.