In his visa application dated May 23, Romal begged for his life.

       An interpreter for the U.S. military and government contractors for more than a decade, the 30-year-old Afghan man predicted that he would be among those the Taliban hunted and killed when the Americans withdrew.

       “I have been well-known to the locals and I don’t feel safe,” he wrote. “The (U.S. government) has announced they are leaving Afghanistan and day by day the situation is getting risky, and I don’t have doubt that I will be the first target to the insurgents.”

       Romal’s pleas went unanswered and less than three months later, Kabul swiftly fell to the Taliban. Romal went into hiding with his wife and mother, unsure of how they’d ever obtain the necessary documentation to flee their homeland safely.

       Since U.S. troops invaded Afghanistan in 2001, the government has promised safe harbor to Afghan allies in exchange for their services. In Romal’s case, he believed there would be an immigration visa for him and his family as repayment for his services at Camp Mike Spann, a northern military base where the locals knew he worked alongside American soldiers.

       U.S. Army veteran Chris McClanathan shows a 2011 photo of one of his fellow soldiers with their Afghan translator, Romal, who they are now trying to help evacuate from Kabul. Romal's face is obscured for his family’s safety. (Brian Cassella / Chicago Tribune)

       The United States, however, did not uphold its end of the deal before the Taliban gained control of the Afghan capital earlier this month, according to interviews and documents obtained by the Tribune. Romal is now stuck and, by all accounts, in grave danger.

       Some 7,000 miles away near Chicago, U.S. Army veteran Chris McClanathan watched Kabul’s collapse on television. His thoughts instantly turned to Romal, the outgoing, extremely effective interpreter he worked with when he deployed to northern Afghanistan in 2011.

       The two had remained in casual contact over the years, mostly through hitting the “like” button on each other’s Facebook posts as they both went about their lives. McClanathan took a chance last week that Romal still had internet access and sent a message to him via the social media app. The reply was almost immediate.

       Romal, whose surname is being withheld for his family’s safety, wrote that he was moving from relative’s house to relative’s house and had, so far, evaded the Taliban. McClanathan said his friend expressed confidence that he would qualify for a refugee flight, but he needed the paperwork to pass through the airport checkpoint. To go to the airport without it and try to talk his way in would be a suicide mission, he said.

       After learning of his friend’s plight, McClanathan became one of the many Afghanistan War veterans trying to help their former interpreters and their families leave Kabul and uphold America’s promise. It’s a reflection of the unique bond between soldiers and their translators, who do far more than just parrot conversations in different languages.

       “These interpreters put their lives on the line, the same as us,” McClanathan said. “It’s in the soldier’s creed: You don’t leave your comrade behind. We made a promise, and we have to keep it. We cannot just leave him there to be beheaded.”

       Interpreters have been the lifeblood of U.S. military operations in Afghanistan for the past two decades, providing cultural insights, muscle and consistency as American troops rotated in and out of the country, said Army Lt. Fahim Masoud of the Illinois National Guard. Before immigrating to the United States and becoming a citizen, Afghanistan-born Masoud risked his life as an interpreter for the U.S. military.

       “There is nothing else like the bond between a soldier and the interpreter,” Masoud said. “A soldier goes to a foreign land and typically knows nothing about how that country works, even though they have taken courses about it. That interpreter becomes a window to the country and the culture.”

       Masoud became a translator at 17, with the promise of a shot at the American Dream for him and his family at the end of his service. At his job interview, a Marine captain asked what he would do if he was in a convoy and the American next to him was shot and badly wounded. Masoud replied that he would pick up the service member’s weapon and continue fighting. He was hired on the spot, according to his National Guard biography.

       Within a few years of taking the $600-a-month interpreter’s job, a U.S. soldier was so appreciative of Masoud’s service and sacrifices, he offered to sponsor him on a student visa. Masoud arrived in the United States with $99 in his pocket, became an American citizen in 2015 and joined the Illinois National Guard in 2018. He works as an intelligence officer for the Guard, in addition to his civilian job with a global intelligence firm.

       For several months earlier this year, he supervised the Illinois National Guard mission at seven suburban mass vaccination sites.

       Now he spends most of his waking hours trying to evacuate his family, including his parents and two siblings, from Afghanistan, where their lives are at risk because of their connection to him. The sense of urgency increased exponentially this week after CNN reported the Taliban issued a death warrant for a man whose brother was an interpreter. Illinois National Guard leaders and retirees have been helping him in his effort, he said.

       “The veterans’ community is doing everything it can to help,” Masoud said. “I hope the policymakers will do the same. We have to honor our end of the deal. The credibility of the United States is at stake.”

       Masoud estimates there are thousands of interpreters and their families still in Afghanistan. Leaving them there, he said, is tantamount to a death sentence.

       “Even if they aren’t targets today,” he said, “they will be tomorrow. Something must be done.”

       Spearheading an extraction — or, at the very least, making it a priority for the U.S. government — is an arduous task for any civilian and perhaps an impossible one for McClanathan, a dad from northwest Indiana with no political connections or social media following.

       But the Dyer man is trying anyway. He makes a dozen phone calls each day to the State Department and elected officials, hoping someone will find a way to get an airport checkpoint pass to Romal and his family so they can get on a refugee flight to Qatar.

       More than a week into his effort, McClanathan said he has confirmed the State Department received Romal’s visa application. He has heard Romal is eligible for an airport pass, but he doesn’t know how he will get to the airport safely. Romal tried to get to the airport Monday, but he couldn’t make it through the crush of people, McClanathan said. The two men speak with WhatsApp, an encrypted text messaging service, almost daily.

       McClanathan provided the Tribune with Romal’s visa application, a packet of forms, personal statements and recommendation letters that a military official involved with its submission verified for this story. The documents paint a portrait of a 19-year-old Afghan boy who volunteered in 2010 to help U.S. forces secure Camp Mike Spann, a military base near Mazar-i-Sharif and home to roughly 2,000 troops at its peak.

       Romal worked gate security at the site and went on patrols with U.S. soldiers for years, assuming all the risks and obligations of a potential firefight. He also played the role of peacemaker when local culture clashed with military protocols. A chatty college student who lived in a nearby town, Romal’s friendly demeanor and easy explanations often bridged the divide.

       “There were a lot of misunderstandings and he was always smoothing things over,” McClanathan said. “Our front gate was never attacked during my time there, and I give Romal a lot of credit for that.”

       The job paid better than most in northern Afghanistan, and Romal spent his paycheck on western fashion — he had a penchant for T-shirts with American expressions on them — and his education. Enrolled at a nearby university, he occasionally brought his English homework to the base, where he found dozens of willing tutors among the U.S. troops. During long, overnight shifts, he talked about immigrating to the United States and giving his family a better life, McClanathan said.

       The Indiana man wants his Afghan comrade to have that chance. He believes Romal, like so many interpreters, has more than earned it.

       “He became one of us,” McClanathan said. “Turning our backs on him would be like turning our backs on a fellow soldier. We owe him this.”

       sstclair@chicagotribune.com

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