Survivors in eastern Afghanistan recount deadly nighttime strikes

The house that once stood on the mountainside in Mughulgai village, Gurbaz district, is now only scattered stone and dust. Just hours earlier, it was a family home — filled with laughter, children, and the warmth of a late-autumn evening. By morning, it had become a burial ground.

Aslam, who was away on a work trip that night, returned to find that 10 members of his extended family — including several children — had been killed in an overnight airstrike.

“We had two homes — one lower down, one higher up in the hills,” said his brother, Shariat Khan, standing beside what was once their family home. “The upper house was hit around 11 p.m. Twelve people were inside. Two survived — a woman and a child. The rest are gone.”

The attack was one of several that struck Afghanistan’s eastern provinces of Khost, Paktika and Kunar late Monday night. The Taliban have blamed Pakistan for the strikes, which Islamabad denies. But for those who lived through the night, national politics feel distant.

“All of the dead were civilians. Children. Women,” Khan said quietly. “There was no military here. Nothing to fight over — just homes.”

In this part of Afghanistan, where mountain villages hug the border with Pakistan, accusations of cross-border fire and airstrikes have become almost routine. But the human cost is anything but.

Abdullah, a resident of Khost who lost multiple relatives in the same attack, pointed toward the ridge where the bomb had struck. “Ten people from my family were killed,” he said. “There is no checkpoint here. No government office. Not even a police post. Why did they target us?”

More than 100 miles to the northeast, in Kunar Province, Abbas was jarred awake by the sound of an explosion just outside his home. The first strike hit a water tanker. Minutes later, as neighbors emerged to investigate, a second blast followed.

“I was outside when the second one hit,” Abbas recalled. “My face was cut. My brothers were wounded too.”

For many families in these border regions, the trauma of conflicts never left. The sound of aircraft overhead still brings fear. Graves are still dug by hand.

“In the first strike, a water tanker was hit and rolled downhill,” said Abbas, who was wounded in the attack in Kunar Province. “When we went outside to see what had happened, about 20 minutes later, another strike hit. Parts of my face were injured, and my brothers were wounded too.”

After the latest strikes, Taliban in a statement vowed retaliation “at a time and place of our choosing.” The Pakistani government, meanwhile, issued a firm denial, saying it had no involvement in any operation across the border.

In the middle are the survivors: people like Aslam and Shariat Khan, who now sit among ruins, planning funerals instead of harvests.

“The children were so small,” Khan said, his voice barely above a whisper. “What kind of war is this?”