The track is stony and rugged. Greenery sprouts defiantly from dry soil. The landscape is fiercely picturesque. It is draped in silence except for the growl of the jeep as we power up the mountain towards the border with Afghanistan. Over there, look, an abandoned home built into the side of a cliff; and here, this way, tall trees bowing with humility over a stream gurgling its way through a rocky path. A bird screeches above, an eagle soars lazily against the blue sky, a monkey leaps across a downed timber, and a tank stands parked in natural camouflage.

A tank?

Tanks are metal beasts that hunt for prey in plains, not deep inside mountains at a height of nearly nine thousand feet. But this is Tirah in Khyber tribal district. This is a few sharp bends away from a dangerous border. And yes, this is in fact a tank manned by men in black dungarees of the armoured corps of the Pakistan Army.

This day, here on a crisp and sunny September morning, nothing exemplifies the complexity of the unfolding situation more than the sight of the tank positioned firmly in the lap of this mountain range ready for a threat, any threat, were it to pour down from the tops above. Kabul has fallen to the Taliban, TTP is glowering again and Daesh has already unsheathed its fangs with a terror attack. A new normal is gradually taking shape. Is Pakistan ready?

The journey to the Tirah valley in erstwhile Fata and beyond happened in the wake of a recalibration of threat perceptions inside the Red Zone since the Taliban takeover of Afghanistan last month. A tense calm may prevail on the western border but the strategic realignment unfolding in the neighbourhood has forced Pakistani officials to rush back to the drawing board. The subdued satisfaction at the ouster of the Ashraf Ghani government is coupled with quiet anxiety over the possible resurgence of a terror threat that had almost been completely eradicated from the regions comprising what was once Fata.

And yet, the wounds are raw.

Tirah valley was ravaged by militancy and terrorism for almost a decade. Situated inside the Khyber district, it was dominated by militants like Mangal Bagh, Omar Khalid Khorasani and Aslam Farooqi. Across the border lies Afghanistan’s Nangarhar province, which today is the home of the TTP and Daesh. Terror lurks in the neighbourhood.

Till only a few years ago, it stalked home. Known previously as Khyber agency, the district has seen five different operations against terrorists since 2013. The last one took place from August to September 2019 and since then, according to military commanders in Tirah, the area is secure and terror-free. A total of 94 soldiers laid down their lives fighting terrorists in this period here. During these operations, the civilian population had been evacuated to safe places. The process of rehabilitating them back into their villages is now under way.

It was sometime during these years that the military high command led by Army Chief Gen Qamar Javed Bajwa decided to proceed with the fencing of Pakistan’s complete 2,600km western border with Iran and Afghan­istan. The project entailed erecting the steel frame over unforgiving territory marked by snowy peaks and ridges. Forts and posts were then constructed all across the length of the fence for physical supervision. This was supplemented by electronic surveillance including drones that can fly — and detect movement — during nighttime. According to military officials, the aim was to ensure no cross-border movement took place, and to secure the homeland from instability across the border. Pakistan had learnt its lesson from the post-9/11 exodus of terror outfits through these porous borders into KP and Balochistan regions.

“The fence has been a game-changer for us,” says the commander of army’s formation that is responsible for securing the Tirah valley.

From this brigade headquarters, the journey to the fenced border takes nearly two hours. Five minutes into travel, the jeeps venture into the dirt track and then grind their way up over rocks, under trees and through waterways. Till a few years ago, these hills had witnessed a ferocious conflict between security forces and terrorists sheltering deep inside these natural hideouts.

Lumbering on across sharp bends and narrow turns, the jeeps finally climb up to the ridge of the mountain range. And there it is, shining in its silvery jagged frame and silhouetted against the clear blue sky — the fence.

Read: A mixed picture

In fact, it is a double fence. The space between the two fences — about ten feet — is covered by concertina wire. You stand next to the wire mesh and peer into Afghan territory. The posts on their side, manned by the Afghan National Army till a month ago, are now in Taliban’s control. But these posts are few compared to the ones on the Pakistani side. Far few.

“We have 1,238 posts on our side,” a senior military official in Rawalpindi said recently. “The Afghan side only has 377.”

These posts comprise forts, mini-forts, and smaller posts. The forts house nearly 40 troops. One such post is the Usman Shaheed fort that is situated at a height of 9,700 feet. It overlooks Afghanistan’s Nangarhar province. The jeeps claw their way up to the fort and disgorge their passengers at the foot of the imposing structure. It is imposing in the literal sense, as it imposes upon you to climb steps that never seem to end up a steep cliff which is now part of the fort’s structure. The top end of the fort is constructed on the ridge of the mountain. It is affixed with powerful cameras that can zoom nearly two kilometres across the border to detect any movement. Snipers lie in position with guns pointing into the cliffs beyond. Night vision telescopes decorate these long-range rifles.

These, here, are surreal environs — high above the peaks, ensconced in raw natural beauty and laced with danger and menace. In November the snow begins to fall and these heights, these fences, these posts and the soldiers who man them, they are all cut off from the rest of the world till at least March.

It is difficult to traverse this fenced border. Difficult, but not impossible. “There was an attempt three nights ago,” says the local military commander. “They use car jacks to lift the fence from below and crawl underneath,” he explains. But hardly anyone succeeds because there are posts every 500 metres and physical patrolling is done day and night. The solar lights connected to the fence brighten up the night over the steel mesh and create yet another deterrence.

And yet, deterrence has its limits. The fence may have secured our western border but the influx of terrorists through regular border crossings along with the civilian population, and possibly refugees, remains very real. Inside the Red Zone there is a weary recognition that the potential for trouble from across the western border could increase if a solution to the TTP threat is not found, and acted upon. This frames the significance of border posts like the Usman Shaheed fort against larger diplomatic and military policies of Rawalpindi and Islamabad. With operational deterrence through border management system in full deployment, Pakistan now grapples with the strategic realignments needed to counter the unclear situation in Afghanistan.

For the cavalry crew deployed on the lonely tank high up in the jagged mountains of Tirah, however, the mission is clear. Crystal clear.

Published in Dawn, September 9th, 2021