Going in small in Afghanistan.

The villagers' reaction in this wheat- and corn-farming community is ambiguous. "Under the Taliban, things here were peaceful and good. Now, it is also good," says a tribesman named Maraha, as his neighbors squabble over the blankets. "We just want help," he says, adding that the village has no doctor and the local school was burned down.

This passive outlook bolsters the impression of US soldiers that Paktika villagers, whipsawed by decades of war, "will help whoever is in town at the moment," says platoon leader Lt. Bob Stone.

The tribal leader, Haji Sarver, blames any violence in the area on "people coming from Pakistan." He acknowledges, however, that many residents of the Gomal area "live in both Afghanistan and Pakistan."

"That's the reason these people are unbelievable," an Afghan interpreter tells me bluntly in English.

The mistrust goes both ways, however. Villagers are unsure when or if the Americans will return. A string of vehicle breakdowns, including a broken Humvee sling-loaded by helicopter down the road, underscores that US forces can police here only so often.

"If these villagers tell us something, maybe people will come the next day and kill them. Everyone is afraid," says Hamid, still limping slightly from his Khan Pass wound.

When the 1-87 convoy heads home from Gomal at the end of a four-day mission, tension rises as it enters prime ambush territory, a choke point of wooded hills south of the firebase at Orgun.

"I know this is when you need [air cover], but they have to refuel," the news crackles over the radio of Sgt. William Skerrett's mud-caked Humvee.

Without Apache attack helicopters hovering overhead, Sergeant Skerrett warns his men to keep their guns handy. His driver, Spc. Jack Horn, is more sanguine. "They're not gonna hit us with this large a force," he wages, but checks to make sure the jammer is on for remote-detonated road bombs.

It's an unenviable calculation for 10th Mountain soldiers fighting in Afghanistan, many for the second time: How to present a force small enough to invite an enemy strike, but still potent enough to defeat it.

Or, in soldier's terms: "We want to make contact, but I also want to get my 10 guys back," says Sergeant Davis, a squad leader in 1-87's Alpha Company.

The problem is rooted in a clever, virtually invisible enemy.

Indeed, ask almost any 10th Mountain infantryman on his second tour here, and he'll rattle off a list of what the enemy has learned. "They've adapted to our body armor - they know where to shoot us," says Alpha Company Sgt. Christopher Below. "These guys may be the hard-core survivors. They seem more trained than the guys in [Operation] Anaconda," he adds, referring to a major battle in March 2002 in which 1-87 fought.

Guerrillas in Paktika have a "robust" early warning system alerting them to US troop movements, according to a military intelligence officer. They communicate using radios and wireless phones.

They also easily disguise themselves. Some wear a second set of clothing under a black tunic, allowing them to drop their AK-47 and chest rack of ammunition, make a quick change, and melt into the countryside.

Others hide weapons under civilian robes, as did suspected Al Qaeda who approached three 1-87 snipers on Aug. 31. They dropped down and opened fire, killing two snipers at close range. Another fighter posing as a farmer shot from behind a tree at US troops who arrived at the scene. Once wounded, he blew himself up with a grenade, knocking two soldiers down.

Sgt. Jeffrey Grothause, an Afghanistan combat veteran whose Charlie Company squad responded that day, sums up the feeling of many troops about their enemy: "They pick and choose when to fight."

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