When I went to Afghanistan in 2006 and 2007 it was clear even then that Western forces in the country had no end plan. In late 2001 a US-led force was sent to Afghanistan to avenge the Sept. 11 attacks in New York, that saw thousands of civilians killed when two passenger jets were flown into the twin towers of the World Trade Center. US President George W. Bush’s intentions were clear: The US — backed by an international force — would wipe out Al-Qaeda and overthrow the Taliban government. This despite the fact none of the hijackers were Taliban members, or even Afghan nationals. After airstrikes and operations by ground troops saw the leaders of both Al-Qaeda and the Taliban killed, captured, or flee, Western forces remained in the country. Their task was seemingly to become nation builders — overseeing the creation of infrastructure and to train the Afghan National Army — although others saw them as an occupying force. In 2005 I was appointed defense correspondent of the UK regional newspaper I was working for. Very quickly in the months that followed, it became apparent that the Western military presence in Afghanistan would increase. I went to Helmand province in 2006 and 2007 to report on British troops and the work they were doing. I watched as they took part in patrols and fought members of the Taliban — I interviewed various members of the military and NGOs working from the vast military bases. I asked the same question over and over: How long was it going to take to defeat the Taliban and win the war in Afghanistan? The answers I received varied from five years to generations (two, maybe three). “Not in our lifetime” was a response I received from several. I asked one Royal Marine why the West was even there. “Those mountains over there,” he said, nodding in the direction of the colossal rock faces in the distance, “they are filled with minerals: Uranium, lithium.” Whoever controlled Afghanistan, he explained, would control the enormous wealth held in the mountains. This impoverished country could become very rich overnight. No one seemed to be of the view that the Afghan National Army were in any state to operate without the support of Western troops — once the latter had left, it seemed inevitable that the Taliban would simply reclaim what they once held. In 2007 I spent nearly two weeks in a forward operating base in Kajaki, Helmand, where Royal Marines were based close to a hydroelectric plant that powered much of the country. The Taliban were just a few kilometers away — you could easily see the buildings in the distance where they were based. The day I arrived a 19-year-old Afghan interpreter had been killed when he stepped on an improvised explosive device (IED) — also injuring a Royal Marine. The young man’s blood was still splattered across the vehicle he was standing next to when the blast happened, ripping his leg off. Conventional warfare is a thing of the past — the last 20 years have proved that. Peter Harrison Over the days that followed there were two nighttime operations where the Marines went out and shot dead two members of the Taliban. And on one day, I watched for eight hours as the Royal Marines and Afghan National Army took on the enemy — killing approximately 12 more of the militia. In the debrief that followed, the commanding officer expressed his pride that they had pushed further into Taliban-held territory in the area than any other troops. I asked him if they would then deploy troops to hold the area. “No,” came the reply, “this was a show of strength.” The aim was, he said, to let the Taliban know the resident Royal Marines were the dominant force — even the Taliban commander in the area admitted defeat on that day, describing the Marines as having fought an impressive battle, over a radio transmission intercepted by allied forces — but he also said there would be more battles. Indeed it was quite apparent that patrols carried out by allied forces were just that – a show of force and little more — there was no push into Taliban-held territory to hold new ground. When I asked any member of the armed forces why they were there, the answer I got, without fail, was “to protect the guy next to me.” On Sunday, March 30, 2008, three months after I had left Afghanistan, Royal Marine Lt. John Thornton and Marine David Marsh were killed when an IED detonated under their vehicle in Kajaki. Just months before, I remember standing face-to-face with Thornton saying goodbye as I was about to leave Kajaki. We had met once before in the UK, so I joked about what ridiculous scenario we would meet in next. “That’s if I make it out of here alive,” Thornton replied. He was right. He died on a hospital bed at Camp Bastion. He was just 22. He was one of at least 241,000 known fatalities since 2001, including tens of thousands of civilian men, women, and children. During my time in Afghanistan, no one seemed to be of the view that the Taliban would ever be defeated, and in my limited knowledge of military operations, it seemed that all that was achieved was a series of skirmishes. In the years that have followed I have regularly expressed the view that the Taliban would return once the Western forces left. And on Sunday, I watched on TV as the Taliban entered Kabul, apparently unchallenged, my suspicions confirmed. In the past 20 years we have seen the death of Osama bin Laden. Numerous Taliban commanders have also been killed, and Daesh were apparently defeated — and yet all still operate, killing largely innocent civilians trying to live their lives. Conventional warfare is a thing of the past — the last 20 years have proved that. There are no frontlines. What happens next, we can only speculate, but I am surprised at the world’s shock at the Taliban’s advance. Peter Harrison is a senior editor at Arab News in the Dubai office. He has covered the Middle East for more than a decade. Disclaimer: Views expressed by writers in this section are their own and do not necessarily reflect Arab News" point-of-view