Speech given by me at the 2012 OA Shenandoah Lodge Winter Banquet

I know it has been a long time since I have posted anything new, but there is very little going on right now that I feel is blogworthy.  However, last night I did give this speech and decided I would like to share it with a larger audience.  Thanks for reading!

Ladies and gentlemen, distinguished guests, parents, friends, and Brothers:

I thank you for giving me the opportunity to return to my roots and speak to you.  Tonight, I have but one question: How are you fulfilling your obligation to lead in a life of cheerful service? There are many paths of service, but we were all called forth from our peers in recognition of something inside ourselves, of some spark or promise of the future.  The purpose of my speech tonight is not to showcase my accomplishments or to glorify the military as the only means of service, but I hope that my appearance here tonight will serve simply as an example of one way to fulfill our obligations. The pre-Ordeal ceremony is a blueprint of what we must do to truly live the ideals of the Order as we ponder the challenges given to us that night.  We must take the opportunity granted to us, as the chosen leaders of our fellow Scouts, to set the example and to do what is only right.

I will share with you briefly one story that illustrates many of the points I would like to make tonight.  It was the first time I came face to face against the Taliban with my Platoon.  On any patrol outside the wire, my small element of Americans and Afghan allies look to me for guidance and direction.  I can ask for advice from my subordinates, or call my commander if I have questions, but it is rare that the final decision does not rest on my shoulders.  It can be very lonely indeed, especially when the bullets begin to fly.  I was always able to call in assets to help us, but the final decision and responsibility for any action was mine. 

When we heard the first snap and whistle of the bullets overhead, my Soldiers and I had already been out for nearly five hours with the brutal wind and bright sun beating down on us in the tough Afghan environment.  We had already gone to several objectives, and had changed the plan more than once to accommodate on-the-spot intelligence.  It would have been very easy to lose our focus on the job at hand, but we knew that the mission came first, and discovering enemy weapons caches was of great importance.  So we continued on without gripe or complaint.  My unit was split into three different elements when the first shots rang out.  We all got behind cover, and searched for the enemy and returned fire, and did what we had to do to keep each other safe and coordinate our united actions -- in spite of our disconnected positions.  Combat was what we agreed upon when we joined the Army, and it is the way we all felt we should give back to our country.  It is not easy, but all of my Soldiers were willing to do the work they signed up for -- without regrets.  The greatest reward is in knowing there is no greater Brotherhood than that of men who have laid their lives on the line for each other.  We stayed put, beat off the enemy attack, consolidated our positions, and returned to base.  After completion of the mission, we pulled the unit together and conducted an After-Action Review to determine what we should do better in the future.  We reflected on what we accomplished and on what we failed to do, and improved as a result. 

In this short story, I believe we can all see the impact of the lessons from the Ordeal that show that regardless of the lives we choose to live, the challenges we face along the path of the Arrow continue from the moment we tested the bow until we lay down our heads for our eternal rest.

In the pre-Ordeal ceremony, Allowat Sakima bid us “to spend the day in arduous labor, working gladly, not begrudging.  Seek to serve, and thus be faithful to the high ideals and purpose of the Order of the Arrow.”  Regardless of the path you choose to follow, there is always some means or outlet for you to serve others.  I believe that leading American Soldiers in combat is my calling, but it is not for everyone.  Whether you give back to the Boy Scouts by volunteering, lead your community in charities or projects, or serve in a public position, the fact that you are actively trying to live up to the high standards of the Order is enough.  No one other than yourself can tell if you have or have not fulfilled your obligation.  At the end of the day, the only thing that matters is if you can look yourself in the mirror with no regrets.  If you looked right now, how would you appear to yourself?

No one, from E. Urner Goodman to the present, ever expected that fulfilling your obligation would be easy.  Kitchkinet spoke of loneliness as a leader, and the truth of that statement is known to every person who has stood in front of others.  In Afghanistan, I led 33 other men out into the unknown, with potentially deadly consequences.  I had a great deal of freedom to plan and act, and on patrol, I was it: the bottom line, the old man, the leader.  My Soldiers, many with years of experience, looked to me to lead them into and out of harm’s way. It was a weighty responsibility that aged me and imparted the deepest sense of duty to the mission and to my men.  Every day I was aware of the honor and trust bestowed upon me by both my subordinates and my superiors.  I will remember the experience with pride.  Regardless of the actual way or people or circumstances in which we lead, there will come a time when we have to stand up and make the unpopular decision and do what is right.  Can you stand up for what is right in the face of seemingly overwhelming opposition?  More importantly, if you do give in, will you forgive yourself for allowing the pressure to change your mind?   

In addition to the loneliness of the path we have chosen, we have to present the best possible face to those we lead.  Much of the attitude of our followers comes from our personal mood in the midst of adversity.  That is the point of the day of fasting.  Not to prove that you can go on with only a small amount of food, but that in the face of unpleasantness you have the ability to persevere and even thrive under conditions that would make others shrink from the challenge.  We expect our leaders to be capable of more than the ordinary, and we here are all Leaders.  Remember that we are a Brotherhood of Cheerful Service, and that our leadership effectiveness is determined in great part by the attitudes of those we lead.  Please, look at the people sitting around you.  Who do you admire, respect, or wish to emulate?  Please look again.  Who around the room do you think looks up to you?  Take a moment to consider that the next time you want to complain about the rain or the heat or the work.  How do your words and actions affect the behavior of the Arrowmen around you? 

My final point relates to Meteu’s challenge to remain silent throughout the Ordeal.  As we attempt to fulfill our obligation, the only way we can determine if we remain on the path of cheerful service is to pause and reflect.  It is not necessary to write a journal or take drastic steps like a daily vow of silence, but the requirement for introspection is there.  We can head off into the woods on a straight line like a headstrong boy on an orienteering course, but without pausing to check the map or your compass bearing, the natural terrain of life will throw you off course.  And without a backstop, you can wander forever forward while only getting farther and farther away from your destination.  Taking the time to self correct or ask those on the journey with you is not a weakness.  I constantly seek feedback because I know that perfection is a goal, and not an actuality.  As good as we were on patrol as a unit, regardless of enemy contact or the lack thereof, after every mission my Soldiers and I determined what we did well and what we needed to improve.  No one was spared constructive criticism, including myself, and we developed into a more effective organization as a result.  In your service, if you continue on a path that seems good in the beginning, but you do not check yourself, where is it possible for you to end up?

Allowat Sakima, Nutiket, Kitchkinet, and Meteu did not just love the sounds of their own voices.  Every word they spoke was a guide to help us fulfill our obligation as a leader in cheerful service.  Regardless of the path we choose, the place we serve, or the people we work with, we can all aspire to make the world a better place one service project, one positive message, one tough decision, or one inspired future leader at a time. 

I want to thank you again for giving me the opportunity to speak tonight.  I will remain after the Lodge Closing Ceremony if anyone would like to ask me about the speech or my experiences.  I will close with just one question: How are you fulfilling your call to service?       

Why I Sometimes Hate Others

I am not a particularly spiteful person, but there are a few people that so disturb me that I can feel nothing but contempt and anger when I think of them and their actions.  Very few of these people I know intimately.  Most are just names from history, but I reserve special contempt for those that are not even names, but simple memories.

From 1975 to 1979 Pol Pot's evil Khmer Rouge kept Cambodia under an iron thumb and during his reign of terror murdered, tortured, raped, and killed nearly 3 million of the 7 million Cambodians living at the time.  The Khmer Rouge were pure evil.  Period.  They wanted nothing less than to keep the people of Cambodia in the dark about everything outside of the country.  They wanted a regime that would remain unchallenged by education or courage or love or religion.  To achieve these ends, the Khmer Rouge set up a series of prisons for torture, and various locations around the country to murder the victims after no further information was gained.

"The Killing Fields" is the most infamous mass murder site of its type, and it is associated with the most notorious prison, Tuol Sleng, or S21.  Between the two locations (both small) more than 35,000 people had their lives ripped apart and ended prematurely through some of the most horrific torture and murder methods available.  They raped women and children, they beheaded captured soldiers with a palm branch, they smashed small children against the "Killing Tree."  To say the least, it was a somber site, full of the remains of 20,000 innocents, filled with laconic signs describing the horror.

But one couple decided it was an appropriate place to laugh and have a good time.

Picture in your mind a typical mid-twenties couple.  He of middle height, brown hair, solid build, cargo shorts and polo shirt.  She of the same height, blonde, slim, and wearing a pink sundress.  Both are carrying cameras, and he has a small backpack. 

Now imagine this same couple walking up to signs describing such gems as "Most of the women and children had no clues because they were raped before they were murdered" and laughing about it.

I don't care who you are or where you are from, that behavior is simply unacceptable.  I've seen people joke around at the Holocaust museum, and laugh inside a crematory in Dachau Concentration Camp, but I never did anything about it.  I was afraid of being judged by other people for me trying to enforce others to do the right thing.  So I remained silent, and fumed.  And did nothing.

Now the vast majority of people wouldn't and won't do anything in this situation.  Whether for reasons similar to my own or due to other causes, people such as the ones I have described manage to go through life thinking that they are not rude and disrespectful and irreverent.  I will stand aside no more, and I did not.

I did not go talk to them the first time I saw them laughing and joking, nor even the second time.  But the third time I saw them laughing in the space of just a few minutes, I took action.  Before they had even finished laughing I walked up to them and said, "I'm glad that you are laughing and having a good time on the gravesites of 20,000 murdered people."

The dude responded in either an Australian or New Zealand accent, "Chill out dude, that's not even what we were laughing about."

"I don't care what you are laughing about, you don't go into places like this and disrespect the dead," I responded.

"Get the fuck out of here, man, you're being really rude," said the jerk.

"You know, you two really need to grow the fuck up," said I as turned away.

"Same to you buddy," was the final reply I heard as the two walked away from me.  I rejoined my tour group, received an unnecessary apology from the guide, and tried to stop my hands from shaking in rage.

Did I make a difference?  I don't know, nor do I care.  I didn't confront them to try and change their minds about what they were doing, nor did I use the most tactful means available.  I'm sure that if I wanted to, I could have approached them and had a more reasonable discussion.  But they didn't deserve it.  They needed to feel my contempt and know my displeasure.  I was not the only person to be angered by the couple, but I was the only one to do anything about it.

Death is only funny when you are the one that is facing it.  Gallows humor is a great way to try and stay sane  when faced with situations that will quickly bring down the mind into a vortex of despair and fear.  I almost sat on an IED.  Did I worry about it?  Yes, a bit.  But instead of focusing on what could have been, I joked that had the IED exploded, the whole left side of my body just wouldn't look right.  Funny?  Not really, unless you are there.  But I'm not about to joke about anyone that stepped on a mine and lost both of their legs.  Not funny.

There is a time and place for everything, but joking and having a good time at the "Killing Fields" is not one of them.  I am over standing aside and watching people get away with the wrong thing.  I was raised better than that, and so if I am in a position to do something about it, I will.  I am not going to make any friends, but I will consider it a small penance in memory of those that have gone before, and honor their memory.

As it has been said before, we must study history so that we do not repeat the mistakes of the past.

Happy Fourth of July from Hanoi, by the way.

South-East Asia

Busy streets, bamboo huts, food vendors, exotic smells, long bus rides and gorgeous landscapes dominate my thoughts as I sit in a small internet cafe in the Laotian city of Vang Vieng.  So much of what we take for granted is not present here, but happiness is certainly commonplace.  As I have mentioned before, I am on leave for thirty days, and chose to visit here instead of home in Virginia.  Even though I do miss my family, I am quick to jump on the opportunities that arise in my life.  I am currently on day seven of my adventure, and I have already seen two countries (Thailand and Laos) and four cities (Bangkok, Chiang Mai, Luang Prabang, and Vang Vieng).

My days have been varied and interesting as I have seen numerous temples, decorated  from golden opulence to understated elegance.  I am having fun and meeting new and interesting people, mostly tourists like myself, but also some locals.  I have jumped off of a waterfall, gone running through the early morning streets, and browsed at numerous local markets.  The things I will see and do here I will take with me as I go forward in life and continue to appreciate both what I do have and remember to try and be happy with whatever I am doing. 

I still have a lot left to do in the 23 days remaining of my vacation: more of Laos, then Cambodia, Vietnam, and Singapore to finish up the trip.  Each culture of the various countries and cities are unique but similar to western eyes.  I will try to post again soon, maybe with an interesting story, but either I haven't had anything that interesting happen or I just need to practice telling it in person before I want to put in down on paper.  So we will see. 

Back in Germany

I am safe and sound back in Germany.  However, I still don't have internet in my apartment, so posts will be a bit more infrequent until it finally gets set up.

I do want to say a few words in remembrance of my peers 1LT's Omar Vazquez and John Runkle.  While it has been a couple of years since our paths have crossed, the harsh reality of combat always manages to come back to bite you.  The Army is a very small place, and there are never really any "good byes," more like "see you laters," so it is always a shock to read the names of friends on the casualty list.  Both men lost their lives due to IED strikes, one in Afghanistan, the other in Iraq.  The Army is a poorer place without their vitality and energy and hope. 

I won't forget you.

Escalation of Force

It started out like any other patrol, but it ended sharply, abruptly, with a lot of work required to fix the mess in the aftermath.

It was a mission we were not planning on going on, and one which would not take very long to complete, had it not been so rudely interrupted by events beyond my (our) control.  For the past week and a half, our base had come under attack in the late afternoon/early evening every few days.  Around dinnertime, there would typically be a large number of Soldiers in the dining facility and there usually was a pickup game of basketball going on.

The first attack occurred while I was playing a video game on my computer.  I heard gunfire outside, stopped playing, walked outside to listen, and decided it was nothing.  A couple of moments after returning to my room one of my Soldiers ran inside yelling, "The base is under attack!"

My Soldiers immediately threw on their body armor, grabbed their helmets, and ran outside.  I was still completely dressed from an earlier mission, so all I had to do was put on my plate carrier and helmet and I was set.  I ran outside, and was asked by one of my NCOs, "What do you want us to do, Sir?"  I told him to man the wall, and that I was going to run to the TOC to find out what was going on.  My Soldiers scattered to the walls, spacing themselves out, prepared for anything.  They did great.

With one of my interpreters in tow, we ran from my building to the TOC, and I went inside while he waited outside for the word.  I came to a halt, and looked around for my CO.  We saw each other at the same time; he looked at me in my combat equipment, and at one of my fellow platoon leaders, and continued talking to him.  Turns out, the base was not under direct attack, and the enemy were also attacking some of the local police just to the north of our base.  I went back to my platoon, and ordered them off of the wall.  One of my Soldiers was playing basketball at the time of the attack, and so he went with another platoon to the wall and had multiple rounds fired at him.  He was able to gain PID (positive identification) of the enemy, and returned fire.  Other than that, and a few rounds impacting throughout the base, there were no friendly casualties, and the enemy retreated after a ten minute fight.  These events were repeated several days later, and for a third time soon after.

In an attempt to stop future attacks, and hopefully kill the enemy, my CO and I decided to emplace an SKT (Sniper Kill Team) in an overwatch position over the enemy's known attack locations.  To make a long story short, the operation, although the most thorough plan I came up with my entire deployment, was disapproved.  My CO told me to not waste the day now that the mission was canceled, so I pulled out an old CONOP, and decided to do a mission we had not been able to accomplish for several weeks due to other mission requirements. 

That afternoon we were going to go and talk with a local Malik (village chief, mayor, elder, etc.) about security in the area, his previously submitted project disapproval, and the recruitment of local police in his village.  We never had the opportunity to accomplish the mission.

Our pre-mission prep went forward like a normal day.  One hour before the mission my Soldiers began to move, some on their own, others with the verbal assistance of a Team Leader to encourage the proper actions.  Check magazines, stage equipment, top off on water, distribute mission essential equipment.  Done and checked by my NCOs.  Thirty minutes prior to the mission I gave the mission brief, describing the most likely and most dangerous enemy courses of action, the mission statement, the scheme of maneuver, and a few other details that help Soldiers understand why they are out on patrol and believe it is not a complete waste of time.  I made sure to cover the rules of engagement and the escalation of force procedures as always, and I reminded my Soldiers that I trust them and they will do the right thing.  Following my brief, my squad leader briefed the Medical Evacuation (MEDEVAC) plan in case of casualties. 

The last few minutes before stepping off always consists of a last minute toilet break, putting on the final pieces of equipment, throwing the plate carrier over my head, buckling up all four plastic buckles, adjusting my radio, and finally putting on my helmet. 

My Soldiers lined up in the correct order of movement, accompanied by Cujo.  We moved out the gate, and my RTO called the company operations center and said, "Hawk X-ray this is Hawk 46 Romeo.  SP time now to CP North.  Hawk 46 Romeo out."  And we moved out like every other patrol.

Spacing.  Timing.  Footsteps.  Breathing.  Focus.  Children.  Pedestrians. Bicycles. Motorcycles. Automobiles.  Buses.  Thoughts like one-word sentences pass through my head as we head out the gate and I observe the motions and movements of both my Soldiers and the civilian population in which we operate.

As we walk out the gate we have a MWD with us in addition to Cujo.  The MWD is distracted greatly by Cujo's comings and goings, and slows our formation greatly by her distractions and the frustrated efforts of her handler to control her actions.  We moved toward the first intersection approximately 300 meters from the gate to the base.  In the walk out we had the school on the right, and some government slums on the left, both surrounded by ten-foot high adobe walls.  The final hundred meter approach to the intersection opened up a bit, giving better visibility to the right, towards the bustling highway, although the route from the left was still  obscured by high walls.

We paused short of the intersection to allow a motorcycle and a car to pass, moving in opposite directions.  My lead element then moved into the intersection to halt traffic coming from the right, and began to move into the wadi past the wall.  My lead team leader, my interpreter, and the dog handler were all moving forward when a white car driven by what appeared to be a lone adult male came zooming from the north toward the intersection.  I could not see it for much of its journey, but when I did, I knew it was going to get shot.

My team leader and interpreter tried to get him to stop like any other vehicle traveling towards our formation: yelling and waving.  They started initial warnings as soon as they saw the vehicle at a distance of some 150 meters.  The car did not slow.  Additional members of my platoon began to yell and wave in addition to my TL and terp.  The car continued on its course, if anything, increasing in speed, bouncing back and forth on the various ruts and potholes present on the dirt road stretching to the north.  At approximately 55 meters, my TL fired a pen flare in front of the vehicle (a pen flare is a small flare that makes a loud bang and is a brightly burning flare that is very distinctive and hard to miss).  It was at this point that I could finally see the vehicle, and knew what was going to happen.  And the car continued.

At 25 meters, the car was about to make the turn into the intersection, and my Squad Leader fired a second pen flare at the same time that my TL fired a disabling shot at the vehicle.  The car continued, moving more quickly and bouncing with more violence.  After the car made the turn with no intention of stopping, my TL opened fire with additional rounds, starting from the engine block up to the driver, as he walked backwards in order to give himself more space.  The Squad Automatic Weapon (SAW) Gunner opened fire with a single burst at the vehicle in an attempt to stop it.  Additionally, my SL fired a single round and my RTO fired several additional bullets into the vehicle before it finally came to a halt within 10 to 15 meters of my Soldiers.

My SL yelled, “Cease fire! Cease fire!” 

Maybe 10 seconds had elapsed since we began our efforts to stop the car.

The world went quiet, but I was not still.  As I mentioned, I knew when I first saw the car that it was going to get shot, so my mental wheels were turning and I began to process the necessary steps to mitigate the situation.  There was still the very real threat that the car was a Suicide Vehicle Borne IED (SVBIED) and could kill or seriously injure most of my Soldiers.  I ran forward as soon as the shooting began, to get into the position to best control the situation.  I told my interpreter, David, to go and get the ANP and ANCOP from the adjacent district center to assist with security.  To secure the site and be able to search the vehicle effectively, we probably needed around 10 Afghans.  What we ended up getting was a horde of probably close to thirty dirty, ill-equipped, and stubborn security forces that in fact more hindered than helped the efforts. 

An Afghan police chief driving in his personal vehicle was one of the first Afghans on the scene.  With several additional policemen in tow, he began to search the vehicle.  Once the men reached the rear seat they saw the small boy curled up in the back seat, with blood seeping through his clothes.  They grabbed him, and ran him to the health clinic on my base within three minutes of the incident.  At this point, the Afghan horde had surrounded the vehicle, and pronounced it safe and not a bomb. 

Immediately after telling David to talk to the ANP and ANCOP, I had my RTO report to the company that we had to go through all of the Escalation of Force procedures, and I gave my SL my camera and told him to take photos of everything: the wounded man, the viewpoint form the positions of the vehicle at each of the locations in which we took a new action in the EOF procedures, and my Soldiers’ views of the stopped car.  My medic moved over to treat the civilian, and did an outstanding job, in spite of the crowd of Afghans.  My Soldiers continued to pull security around the site, and my part at this point mostly consisted of trying to manage the Afghans and ensure enough pictures were taken for the upcoming storyboard. 

Approximately 10 minutes after the incident, my medic completed treating the casualty’s multiple wounds to his leg, arm, and face.  The ANP loaded him onto the back of one of their green Ford Rangers and drove him to base for further treatment.  My commander called and gave me instructions, many of which I had already completed, but we had to get the vehicle secured and away from the locals to prevent theft.  Fortunately, real life is not a movie, so the car did not explode due to the gunshots, and was easily started and moved to the district center.  I was able to convince the ANCOP commander to come to base and record a message to help minimize the consequences of the shooting.  Once he was ready, we walked back to COP Rath and I began the long paperwork necessary following an escalation of force.

The man still lives, as far as I know, but we found out later by talking to his son (who only had minor lacerations from glass shards) that he very much did see us, and had no intention of stopping, in spite of his son’s emphatic pleas.  He told his son that we wouldn’t shoot them.  He was wrong.

I made all of my Soldiers, including myself, sit down and write sworn statements about the incident to create the best picture possible.  I also had to send up “impression reports” to discuss what happened and the intervening steps taken by us to mitigate the negative after effects.  The ANCOP commander recorded his message, the District Leader promised to tell the people to use caution around ISAF patrols, additional EOF posters were handed out to locals, contact information for the hospital was given to the family, and we adjusted our techniques for crossing danger areas to help prevent future EOFs.  The storyboard of the EOF told the whole picture as best as possible, and presented a timeline as well as a map and pictures to assist higher commanders in understanding the events that took place and the mitigation efforts by Hawk Company. 

Unfortunately, in an urban area EOFs happen.  There are too many dumb people in the world for there to never be an EOF incident.  That being said, all efforts must be made to limit the numbers that occur because they negatively impact what we are trying to do here.  It is difficult to protect the population yet still balance security for Americans on patrol.  We are foreigners, and therefore unable to ever fully comprehend the societal and cultural norms present in Pashtun culture. 

A few days after the incident, a major arrived to begin investigating the EOF.  I believe that his investigation found that we were completely justified.  I haven’t heard anything else since I left COP Rath.

Please Keep Writing

Recently I have received multiple emails from those of you that follow this blog.  I certainly appreciate the feedback and wanted to encourage those who have thought about writing me to do so.  I answer every email that gets sent to me, even if it takes me several days to respond. 

The emails I've received have given me food for thought, and let me know that there are those out there that are reading what I write, which is most definitely a good thing.

Right now I'm working on several posts, but I don't feel comfortable putting them online yet, but as soon as I complete them I will post them.  The original three posts I listed earlier (Fear and Courage, Escalation of Force, and RIP operations), are still the main ones I am working on.  In addition to those three, I plan on talking about some of the other stories I have accumulated and any other random debris that pops out of my head. 

I only have a couple of weeks left here in Afghanistan, but it feels like time can't go fast enough to get me out of here...

The Death of Cujo

I can’t sleep. I have not cried in a long time, months certainly, perhaps years. But this afternoon my chin trembled and one lone tear fell from my eye, smearing the dirt and dust on my right cheek, partially hidden by the sunglasses that give me the look of a raccoon. I have not cried in a long time, but I cried today.

It’s late. I have an early morning and long day, but I still can’t sleep. I’ve seen a lot in the few short months I have been in Afghanistan. Not as much as some, but enough. Is there a darkness in my soul eating at the light? Are the two fighting for space, hoping to force the other into submission? Or is it just a reinforcement of my nature as a human being to be a Killer Angel, and to have the capability for both good and evil? Why am I still awake?

An image of two dogs playing leaps into my head, forcing out all other thoughts like a bully pushing and shoving his way to the front of the lunch line. One is a puppy, small and full of cheer, the other massive, unknown age, but friendly. And kind. And gentle. But sad. Both are playing on the concrete, oblivious to the shuffling of feet nearby, the taunts thrown from person to person, the gentle swoosh of the ball going through the basket. All each can see is the other. And it is fun, and it is right.

Another image bursts into my brain, although I was not there to see it. The same gentle giant is alone this time, without friends, pushed against the wall, surrounded by Afghans kicking and punching the poor animal. He does not fight back, only his sad eyes and his whimpering and cries betray his unhappiness. No friends nearby to help him, he who had many amongst the Americans. Alone and forlorn and without protection from the cruelty the Afghans consider fun. It is wrong, but they are too ignorant to know it. Or do they know better?

I see my hand next to a massive paw, heads near touching, tail wagging, him hoping for attention. I oblige, and smile at the dirty, sad, gentle, newly adopted canine. We left him water on our porch, enjoying the sight of our honorary pet. We called him Cujo/Bruce.

Images flash through my mind like a slideshow on fast forward. Walking on patrol with an additional member of the patrol not accounted for on our trip ticket. A massive beast sprawled out in the middle of the basketball court, ignoring the game swirling around him. Cujo’s gigantic jaw swallowing an entire steak in one bite. The gentle resistance put up by him as we led him to his last resting place. A final rush of images: his sad look, the resigned stance, the lack of any effort by him to escape his fate during his last seconds on earth.

Pop!

The dog seems to sit down, but collapses onto his right side and begins convulsing. There is no pain, only muscle contractions. His paws flutter briefly, futilely. My heart hurts. I watch the whole thing. I must watch. I can’t look away. I cry. Did he know what was coming? Why didn’t he try to escape?

I can’t stop watching. I know he’s dead. He is certainly not the first animal I have seen die. Had I been the one to pull the trigger, he still would not have been my first animal or my first dog. But watching him die still stung my heart.

He died as he lived: sad and gentle with no fuss or struggle against human hands. We sent him to the canine afterlife on a funeral pyre of diesel fuel and trash. The smoke blackened the earth, twisting up into the sky, dispersing into the wind, leaving only ashes below. I stood vigil over him as he burned, watching his fur catch on fire, then burn off entirely into ashy flakes that joined the wind. I grieved, but not just for him.

Why am I mourning a mongrel? What about HIM makes me melancholy? Is there a reason for his death? Is there a reason for any death? Why is he killed but another spared? Was he diseased? He had bloodshot eyes, but they were always bloodshot. His latent vomiting and diarrhea? Isn’t that a typical symptom for anyone, human or animal, beaten severely in the ribs and abdomen? Does the new unit just hate local dogs? He was killed with dignity and respect, served a last meal of several juicy steaks, and given attention up to the bitter end. But he is still dead, killed by our hands.

Regardless of the reason behind his death, he is dead. He no longer walks among the living. He will never place his huge head in my lap again, hoping for attention. He will never roll over onto his stomach, wanting only a belly-rub. He will never eat another steak. He will never walk on patrol with us again, a silent guardian, a gentle coward.

The night goes on, I still cannot sleep. Life and death. Death and life. Change. Movement. Thought. The brutal reality of life is that life is brutal. Why did my friend Daren step on a landmine and not me? I was close to stepping on an IED on multiple times, but I didn’t. I don’t know how many occasions we simply did not find an IED on patrol. But that does not mean they were not there. How many times have my Soldiers nearly died? I am fortunate. I know I am. I have never had to write home to any of my Soldiers’ parents or wives. Not all of my friends and peers can say that. I know I am indeed fortunate.

Time has no meaning. Days blend from one monotonous day into another. How much longer do I have in this purgatory? I am going to be back in Germany in less than a month. I am going to travel throughout south-east Asia on my block leave. I will see my family in spurts throughout the next year. I will go home. I will tell my story, such as it is. Many will hear me, others will listen, and some few will comprehend. Life does not end for me here. I did not cry when Daren died. I do not know why. But I cried for one lonely, gentle dog. I think I cried for all of the times I did not. I think I cried for the friends I have lost, the friends I will lose. I cried for my continued growth as a man. I cried for the loss of my boyhood. I cried for all of those who cannot.

I cried one teardrop for all of this, making a clean streak on an otherwise dirty cheek. One teardrop.

Cujo is dead, but I am going to live. And remember.