Afghan Official Says NATO Airstrike Killed 14 Civilians

Local officials said the strike was aimed at Taliban fighters and missed. NATO said it was investigating.

Civilian deaths have strained relations for years between the NATO-led military coalition and the Afghan government, and NATO has made efforts to reduce them.

President Hamid Karzai, who has frequently condemned NATO for civilian casualties, called the deaths in Helmand “shocking,” and said in a statement that “NATO and American forces have been warned repeatedly that their arbitrary and improper operations are the causes of killing of innocent people.”

Witnesses said that an unknown number of bombs fell about 11 p.m. Saturday, landing on two family compounds in the Salaam Bazaar area of Now Zad District, a small farming community about 50 miles north of Lashkar Gah, the capital of Helmand Province.

Five girls, seven boys and two women were killed as they slept, the provincial governor’s office said in a statement. An additional six people were wounded.

Grieving friends and relatives drove through the night transporting eight bodies to the provincial hospital in Lashkar Gah, a resident of the village, Haji Janan, said. The other bodies remained buried under rubble as villagers tried to dig them out, he said.

The governor’s office released photographs of men carrying the dusty, bruised bodies of dead children swaddled in sheets into the hospital.

“We brought the dead bodies to show it to the officials, to show that the dead are innocent civilians, not the Taliban,” Mr. Janan said.

Lt. Tyler Balzer, a spokesman for the NATO-led military coalition, said several bombs were dropped but said he could not provide more specifics, including what kind of aircraft were used, until the investigation was complete.

“We are aware of the governor’s claims, and there were airstrikes in the area,” he said. “And right now we have an assessment team on the ground working with the Afghan government.”

Local officials said the airstrike came in response to an insurgent attack on a nearby American Marine base earlier in the night, but that the strike hit the wrong homes.

NATO was also investigating an air assault last week in Nuristan Province that drove out Taliban fighters after they had overrun part of a district center. A joint force of NATO soldiers and Afghan commandos called in airstrikes on Wednesday when they came under fire in the district center of Do Ab. The airstrikes drove hundreds of insurgents out of the town and killed more than 10 of them, NATO said then.

But provincial officials now say that NATO helicopters also killed more than 20 police officers dressed in civilian clothes. Qazi Anayatullah, head of the provincial council, said that as coalition forces arrived, the Taliban fled, leaving their white flags flying over police checkpoints they had overrun. When the officers in civilian clothes re-entered the checkpoints, the Taliban flags were still flying, and NATO helicopters bombed them, he said.

“They mistakenly thought they were Taliban because the police were wearing local dress,” Mr. Anayatullah said. Another local official said the police officers had changed into civilian clothes after the initial Taliban assault, hoping to avoid capture.

Lieutenant Balzer said a NATO assessment team had been in Do Ab for several days. “We’re hoping a clearer picture will come out soon and we’ll be able to release the findings,” he said.

But the episode points to the murky nature of the war and the difficulty of distinguishing between Taliban fighters and armed officers or civilians dressed in traditional garb.

In February, Afghan investigators accused NATO of killing 65 civilians in airstrikes in eastern Afghanistan. But NATO maintained that the people were killed were insurgents, and there were conflicting reports, even among the Afghan investigators, about the number of casualties.

Sharifullah Sahak contributed reporting from Kabul, and an employee of The New York Times from Lashkar Gah, Afghanistan.

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Modern Love: What Is Carved in Stone

A few days later we were discussing the details in person. I would join AmeriCorps, a roving volunteer organization. I would be stationed in Denver but moving around. She would visit at Thanksgiving. I’d return to Boston during winter break.

Then I said, “I’m not bringing my laptop,” and her lip turned over and she started to cry. I realized later that she saw my rejection of technology as an assault on the very core of our relationship.

We had gone to the same high school in New Jersey, and when we both ended up at colleges in Boston I fell in love with her familiar face. Together we nursed our dying childhoods, going to the circus and calling each other pet names.

I would call her as I walked to class, alternating my phone hand when it turned pink from the cold, and she would text me during lectures. We’d video chat from our dorm rooms, half-talking while surfing the Internet, calling out occasionally to make sure the other was still there.

This was after communication had become nearly limitless but before people thought much about boundaries. Taking advantage, we fell in love like addicts. All day long the contents of my heart would slide down my arm, past my sleeve and into my phone. When we were together I chafed from overexposure, but when we were apart I would lose my sense of identity and grab my phone.

Our ultimate break-up was confusing and explosive. I landed in Denver around the time the housing market crashed. Deep in heartache, I called my friends while pacing outside my new dorm. Sometimes I called Sarah, until we agreed to stop talking.

During the monthlong orientation I explored and grieved and went to bed early. New friends would invite me to the Mexican bar across the street, but I was dedicated to my loneliness.

I met Patti in an airport van full of idealistic AmeriCorps members. I liked her eyes, which looked like those of the Afghan girl from that famous National Geographic cover. While everyone was discussing the best ways to save the world, she was taking in the passing public art. Forced to weigh in on the conversation, she expressed a bold realism that I found refreshing. Back at the dorms, I watched as she crossed the parking lot and sailed off into the sunset in her boxy 20-year-old Crown Victoria.

Soon I was inventing reasons to hang out with her. She was quiet, pausing for several seconds before answering questions. I would talk until I exhausted myself, fearing that her silence meant she didn’t understand. Then, like Muhammad Ali coming out of the rope-a-dope, she would say something astoundingly true. Knocked out, I couldn’t repress my smile.

We started sitting together during the AmeriCorps meetings. Still, I was resistant to love, fearing a repeat of my past relationship. I opted to join a wildfire-fighting team, assuring that I would spend a majority of the year in isolated mountain towns and away from Patti.

Upon separating she suggested we write letters. A few weeks later I addressed an envelope to Texas, where she was living in a tent city and working for FEMA. At first I poured thoughts onto the page like I was sending a long text message. By the time I finished, the words at the beginning seemed untrue or melodramatic. I crafted and reworked. Sometimes I would rip the letter up and start over.

Her letters were often entirely visual, scattered magazine collages. I would hold an unopened letter for a while, delaying gratification. After reading them, her intimate stories wouldn’t fall to the bottom of my in-box and disappear, but stay with me, under my bed, waiting to be reread.

We started to call each other at night. She told me about her love for the sprawl and beaches in our home state, New Jersey. She told me that, despite her tall, slender frame, she hated sports. I was falling in love, but Patti hesitated, wanting time to allow her feelings to settle. I struggled to accept the uncertainty.

David Mark Simpson, a runner-up in the Modern Love college essay contest, is a senior at Rutgers University.

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