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.