Tidbits

I am finally heading out on a real mission.. no ceremonies, no grip-n-grins, but out with a provincial reconstruction team (as far as I know, they do humanitarian-type work, and assessments of the villages) and the Cavalry for two whole weeks. Spc Steve has to cover one of our infantry battalions, so I am going alone. I am so excited/anxious/nervous... the way the 'activity' has been ramping up lately, Im sure to see... something. Yay, stories... and an opportunity to really do my job!! Assuming it stops raining, I leave in the morning.

I went to the hospital yesterday to cover some Afghan VIPs that came to visit the men that were hit by a suicide bomber a few days ago. Otherwise Ive been running silly errands and taking photos for graphics, and of course, pulling tower guard... I watched EOD play out in the field with some rather large mushroom-cloud-producing explosives... thrilling!

I had a random chat conversation with a local that apparently 'found' me through the Afghan media... the media that I escorted on base last week were taking my photo, and one of them got out, according to the chatter. Of course, we wear our names on our uniforms. He was very persistent in knowing my location and upon my refusal, mentioned that he will 'find' me. Great. Stalkers... Afghan style.

I dont know if I'll be able to blog or not over the next two weeks, so I apologize in advance for any resulting gap in entries... I'll try to hand-record any events so I dont leave anything out. :)

In the Tower

A recent conversation I had with a fellow tower-guard-er:

'This is why people need suicide prevention classes.'

'Yeah, the only way it could be worse is if they had giant clocks on the walls, so you had to actually watch the second-hand ticking.'

'Ha! Its like prison.'

'Except... prison has a damn toilet.'

'Yeah, and you can read. Or listen to music. Or write.'

'Or sleep.'

'And you dont have to sit in a straight-jacket-disguised-as-an-IBA that weighs a million pounds, and this fucking helmet.'

'Nope. This is nothing like prison.'

'This... ha. This is a tier of hell. You know, where the guys with no patience and ADD get sent.' '...begging for the burning and gnashing of teeth...'



Our brigade is really low on personnel at Salerno, so we've been tasked with tower guard... there are even e-7s and first sgt.s pulling guard... so every other day I sit in the tower on top of the hill for 8 hours, 'scanning my sector' for bad guys or any suspicious activity. This is literally as 'front-line' as it gets on our FOB.. the OPs (observation points) are the FOBs first line of defense. (Remember, this is the Army that doesnt allow females on the line....)
So, usually, it goes something like this:
We stare at the dull landscape. We stare at the wall. We pace. We stare at the ceiling. We count the nails (207, but thats still a source for debate.) We stare at each other, until our faces look alien.. warped shapes pieced together. (Eyebrows, by the way, are fascinating. Look at them long enough, and they look like hairy caterpillars morphed into leeches that are permanently latched onto your forehead. Its creepy.) We scan the terrain for enemies until we hallucinate them into existence. We discuss the severity of punishment we would receive for taking out a cow with the .50 cal. A justification of the cow's direct intent to harm our lives is conjured until it almost sounds rational. We call in spot reports and radio checks and listen to all the little incidents happening at the other 10 OPs... kids throwing rocks, guys taking pictures. We watch the choppers fly loops around Salerno. We get very excited when the large-arms (big guns) range goes hot, and America's finest down at BDOC failed to mention it. We chain-smoke and chain-snack. By hour 6, our eyes are glazed over, mouths hanging slack, and the most intelligent thought running through our heads is 'Duuh.' We wish that someone suspicious will happen along. We wish for an attack, a rocket, anything to jostle the monotony.
And yesterday... our wishes became reality.
The Afghan New Year is this week, and Aifu tells us that this time of year is 'busy.' Im already a bit jumpy from the previous day's rockets as Spc Steve and I head up to the tower of hell on a hill. We start sweeping the usually-empty mountains, and shortly find little guys peering back. All day we watch them, a few on a ridge here, a few on a ridge there... and all day, they appear to be watching us too. Traditionally, the insurgents will send out 'spotters' or observers that assess the situation and then watch the attack. We were certain that is exactly what these men were. Naturally, our binos (and later night vision) were attached to our faces all day, as we called in azimuths and distances to base.

The sun started to set. The men in the mountains disappeared.

Then, sure enough, the ground shuddered, and off to the side, smoke rose from the explosion. The radio starts buzzing with all the tower's reports, and my blood starts to race. A few minutes later, impact number two... Then the third, and I was watching for it this time. I saw the flash (fire when it hits) then felt the impact shake the earth, rattle my bones, as the bang followed. At this point, I was in awe. It is strangely beautiful, the power of it, the finality. Fascinating and terrifying... and I was high on adrenaline, bouncing off the walls, wanting so badly to spot a little man in the mountains again so we could utilize the glistening .50 cal.... I never imagined I would see something like that, not really. As I stood there watching the smoke clear, everything finally sunk fully in. These bastards are trying to kill us. They dont care who, or how, and they are going to sit in those mountains all summer long and lob rockets at us, praying for success.

Its a good thing they are pathetic at aiming.

Happy Afghan New Year!

Rockets

Gun-fire, and the thud of mortars and rockets are pretty normal around here, but they are generally coming from our ranges. The hours that I have spent in the tower have been full of suspicious activities, and even a few threats... local children warning the OPs of imminent attacks, people cutting the fences and digging holes, toting small arms and taking pictures of the FOB, but nothing drastic. The insurgents cant get into the FOB, so anything that happens tends to be outside the wire. We feel as 'safe' here as you can in war.
Then today, Im sitting in my office and I hear a big thunk that sounds about 10 feet away... then the whistle of a rocket... and a bang. Shaking, I look out the window and see people running to the bunkers.
Oh. Shit.
I pace a little. If I heard the whistle, Im too close. Then again, they say it's when you dont hear the whistle that you're really in trouble...
My sgt is gone on another FOB, for the first time.
My armor is back in my room, with my ammo.
Aifu shrugs his shoulders and says 'In this country, all there is are bangs, explosions.'
I decide to walk the quarter mile back to my room... hastily.
The voice comes over the loud speaker "Attention on the FOB. Force protection 3." Uh... which one is that again? Shit.
Then the sirens. The loudspeaker blares, and people are running past me in full battle-rattle. I get back to the room, throw my armor on, and peek outside. A few people are emerging, some in their gear, some just looking around like... what the hell?
We all look at each other, I tell them about the rocket I heard, which is unnecessary, because they obviously heard it too. We laugh. We shrug our shoulders.
I smoke a cigarette and wait for the all clear.
It finally comes, and a few minutes later, a casualty announcement. I wonder if its an injury or something worse.
It amazes me, the day of the official transfer of authority, and it starts. They know. They know we are here, they know we are new, and they are testing us, day one. My Colonel literally took command of the area an hour prior.
Its going to be a long year.

First Mission

The black hawks here have to fly abnormally high, as not to create a bullseye for men who hide in the mountains looking for targets. This translates into passengers that feel each shudder as the rotors grasp at too-thin air, the sways and jolts threatening of the hawk's possible failure. Out on my first mission, I was too excited to care, and too intent on taking in the vast beauty of this foreign land sprawled far below in patches of green farmland, piecemeal villages, and ragged snowdusted mountains. Watching the gunners swivel, constantly scanning, I couldnt help but grin, despite the epiphany of reality nagging at the back of my mind. But this is it, what Ive been waiting for... and I love it!

Then.... we had been on the ground 10 minutes when we were told our unit had its first KIA (killed in action.) Less than an hour into my first mission I was looking through the obituary photos that I had taken of these guys a few weeks prior. This Soldier's face stared at me... He had been at several of the Cav functions, had a good sense of humor and had always joked with me. He joined the Army the same time I did, just over a year ago... and had been deployed here barely more than a week. His humvee hit an IED and burned, he never got out. The unit's transfer of authority -what I was on mission to cover- hadnt even taken place yet, and already, one life given. He had a daughter that will never see her daddy again. As I thought about the nightmare she was enduring, that his mother must be living... of two things I became certain:

1) These are our guys, heroes giving the ultimate sacrifice.
2) I hate these fucking insurgent bastards.

Spc Steve and I spent the rest of the day trying to stay out of the buzz of activity, give the leaders their space to process the incident. FOB Gardez is much smaller than Salerno, with significantly fewer amenities, but they do have a quaint Afghan restaurant where we found ourselves reflecting over some tasty kabobs and rice, and savoring a calming chai. We spent a restless night on cots in a room off the MWR.

In the morning, we had tea.
A dozen Afghan interpreters were lounging around the restaurant and asked us to join them. Casual conversation quickly turned to an informal interview as we asked them every question we could, and they obligingly answered. They filled and re-filled our cups of chai, and explained their outlook on this war.

In the afternoon, we had tea.
This time with the Afghan commander for the Paktiya Province. We discussed politics and history with him through his broken English. He too filled, and re-filled, and re-filled our chai. He is a small, humble man who is respected and feared throughout the area. The interpreters that morning had told us the 'legend' of him, how he ruthlessly killed the enemy after a rocket attack, and has not been rocketed since. The FOB less than a mile away is rocketed often, but because of the respect this 'war-lord' maintains, they do not receive attacks. He talked about the area, his rise to his position, his culture, and his wives (giving Spc Steve a big thumbs-up upon finding that Steve only has one wife.. following with cat-fighting noises and shaking of the head.)

In the evening, we had tea.
The interpreters from that morning invited us into their house, where we found ourselves bare-foot and cross-legged on the floor. We conversed for hours about politics, Islam, tradition, culture, economy, and their view on the coalition forces. They expressed heartfelt gratitude to the mothers and fathers of the US Soldiers, explaining that they understood the sacrifices, and the people of Afghanistan would never forget what America has done for them. They also expressed grievances with the coalition forces, the hardships of dealing with some Soldiers who still view them as the 'enemy.' These men are fascinating to me, they sacrifice as well, missing their families for months at a time, putting their lives on the line to assist us, to serve their country. They work long days, enduring threats from insurgents and stereotypes from Soldiers, US and foreign. They were gracious and hospitable, offering us tea, food (home-made raisins, dried peas, Mahtayee... like juicy donuts), and perspective. I learned much more from them, sitting on that floor, than I ever could from briefs and books. Im falling in love with this part of the world, their culture. We have seen, in America, only the portrayal of the extremists, the Taliban (simply means 'Student'... not all are bad guys), Al Qeada (foreign fighters, not Afghans), and insurgents. Contrarily, the Afghans are a peaceful people, founded on honor, respect, and humility.

The following morning we interviewed the outgoing Cavalry commander, and our Cav commander (called sCo, for Squadron Commander.) The 101st has truly made tremendous progress, despite the hard sacrifices they made over the last year. Our commander is anticipating great things from his Squadron, and I am eager to tell their stories! The transfer of authority ceremony smoothly transitioned one group of dedicated Soldiers for another, and marked the official beginning of the Cav's mission, after they had already sacrificed one man.

The sCo and Sgt Maj were returning from visiting the FOB where the Soldier was lost, and they were hustling away from the black hawk as we ran up to it to leave. The wind from the rotor wash was pushing against me, the noise pounding my ears, as the Sgt Maj grabs me and pleads with an intensity I have not yet seen: 'You tell the world.. Im proud of my boys!'
Tears sting my eyes. 'I will, Sgt Maj, I will.'
As the weight of that promise bears down on me, I fling myself into the hawk and watch the FOB disappear below me. It takes the entire ride back, biting my cheeks, to turn the ache of the lost Soldier to anger, to resolve. This Soldier has not died in vain. His family will know the truth of that, America will know, the world will know... or I will die trying. This war, right or wrong, is being fought by brave young heroes who give up their freedom, their lives, to ensure those at home can have both. They deserve to be remembered, honored. I will make good on my promise.
By the time we land, Im smiling, knowing that I am here to do an immensely vital job, and that, to me, makes this all worth it.