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.

Air Assault

The air was hot and heavy.  Not wet, but oppressive nonetheless.  Dust lay thick over the ground as my small column of Soldiers moved semi-silently through the night.  Occasionally the radios crackled to life, bringing small sounds other than heavy breathing to the desert:

"43 this is 46, radio check."  "46 this is 43, lima charlie." 

Then silence.  And footsteps.  And stumbling.

It was early morning, and my platoon's mission was to set up blocking positions around the town the rest of the company was going to search.  Even though it was only 0430, our day started much earlier, at around 0100.  We awoke well before the choppers arrived, prepping ourselves for the day's mission.  Final packing for the mission, checking equipment, putting on said equipment, and waiting.  In the Army, there is always waiting.  For everything. Earlier in the night, I remember lying awake, looking up at the stars, noting the clarity of the evening.  By the time we got on the helicopters, that changed.

Thump.  Thump.  Thump.   Riding on helicopters gives little time for anything other than thinking.  It is much too loud to talk, and before going into a potentially dangerous situation, talking is not desired by most Soldiers anyway.  I felt the bird slow, and begin to descend.  We felt the first touchdown  of the wheels, followed quickly by the other wheels slamming hard and fast onto the ground.  Looking outside, all I could see was dust, which explained why the touchdown was so hard.  All of the Soldiers on my helicopter quickly ran out the back door and quickly established local security in the dust and dark.  After a few moments more, we all began to get hammered by the rocks and dust kicked up by the helicopter.  And then it was gone and the night was quiet again.

It took a couple of moments for both sections on the chopper to get organized and oriented to begin movement.  My platoon set down on two different helicopters, and had to move to various blocking positions that over-watched the approaches to the town.  We had to move quickly to get in place before the other platoon landed and began the search immediately following dawn.  All elements were in place as smoothly as could be hoped.  Day came quickly, and my element made the final establishment of our position in the gray moments before full light.  And then, waiting.

Waiting in the early morning.

After full dawn, we made small adjustments to improve our location and better secure the area.  Only the conversations between us and the radio chatter broke the silence of the morning.  The other platoon began their movement, stopping to search most of the compounds in the village and the likely cache locations.  The morning passed slowly, with the heat beginning to press greatly on those of us unfortunate enough to be in full sunlight.  Then, at a seemingly quiet time, the air burst with the sound of gunfire.

But that was it.  A single burst of perhaps six shots fired at me and my Soldiers.  I didn't even see or hear the bullets impact nearby.  We could not find the shooter, and he did not want to be found.  After the helicopters swarmed like dangerous dragonflies over the area in a vain attempt to find the shooter, the clearance went on like before. 

Near the height of the sandstorm.

We sat and watched and waited and baked in the sun until we noticed that the sun began to darken and the horizon grew mountains where there were none before.  The air stilled, giving meaning to the proverbial calm before the storm.  Then the wind picked up, and the dust began to gather and blow, and we soon lost sight of each other.  The dust storm, when it came, slowed all movement from both our forces and those of the enemy.  We heard or saw no movement during the duration of the tempest.  The wind blew and blew, and the sand and small pebbles beat against us as we tried to get under the best cover possible.  Eight hours the storm lasted, with only a few breaks in the dust in which to see farther than one hundred feet.  The sun disappeared, and in our blocking positions, for me and my Soldiers, there was only the storm.  We heard, with less than one hundred percent of our interest, 1st Platoon find and then destroy a cache of weapons and drugs and fertilizer.  For hours, only the radio communications, and the single explosion from the cache BIP, broke the monotony of dust and wind.  But then the storm ended.

My interpreter after the worst of the storm.

We were dust covered and tired, but otherwise unharmed.  And we continued watching and waiting.  At one point, the ANA co-located with me fired a warning shot at a motorcycle to force them to stop.  We were all on edge, primarily due to the high level of radio chatter we could hear from the enemy.  They kept talking, and organizing, and maneuvering, but we could not see anything in the area.  We heard them begin the fire command of "Allah akbar," but heard no firing.  We were confused, and somewhat disappointed.  We are all adrenaline junkies to some degree, and we had a long, relatively unfruitful day, and we were in strong fighting positions where we could easily repel the enemy.  But nothing happened near us.  The fighting took place several kilometers away where the ANA and ANP were destroying poppy fields. 

After the search of the town was complete, my platoon began to collapse onto my position for the next step in the operation.  With only a few minor land navigation errors, they found us.  From there, my platoon was ordered to cross the wadi and search a historic cache location.  At this point, we were all exhausted, and dark was close to arrival.  We moved over, searched the area, found nothing in either of the compounds we searched or in the karez lines (ancient irrigation lines).  I reported nothing significant to my CO and he ordered the final phase of the operation: ground movement in the dark to return to the COP.

The other platoon moved past us and began the three mile walk back to base.  We chose our route carefully because of the high IED threat on the roads in the area.  It was a long walk in the dark, especially after a long day, so it was no surprise when one of my Soldiers hurt himself.  We were most of the way back to base, and I had since moved all the way to the back of the formation and back to the front when one of the Soldiers in front of me fell in one of the fields.  He fell hard, and could not get up.  My medic came forward and treated him briefly.  We redistributed his weapon and assault pack and continued forward.  I took his M240 machine gun, and kept moving like I learned in Ranger School.  One more step, just keep walking, it's almost over, not much farther, they need you, keep going, don't stop, just a few more steps...  A litany of encouragement always plays through my head, especially when I am tired, but I knew that there were men much worse off than me, and I am the patoon leader, and must always set the example, so it was not so difficult to keep going.  

We were almost back when a few shots rang out in the dark.  I think they were fired at us, but I could not tell, and none of my Soldiers were hurt, so we kept walking after reporting the "audible" to higher.  Random shots in the dark are not a worthwhile reason to stop.  We stopped briefly to say goodbye to the ANA who had worked with us throughout the day, and kept trudging the last two hundred meters back to base.  And then the long day was over.

The end result: one cache found, one confirmed instance of small arms fire, another probable attack, and a really long day for everyone involved.

That was my second combat air assault, but my first and only experience as a platoon leader.

The Death of Osama Bin Laden and the Poppy Harvest

Two posts in one, because each by itself would be rather short.

I woke up yesterday and heard the good news from my Soldiers.  I am glad that the old terrorist is finally dead, and did not have the leisure of a natural death.  I am also glad that no one will ever be able to honor him at a burial site.  The brave men that finally got to take down one of the evil men who changed our worldview in many ways have done a very good thing.  Some so-called men do not deserve to breathe.  Osama Bin Laden was one of those men.  He was an ulcerous tumor that darkened the sky and made the world a worse place.  Sometimes the best way to destroy a tumor is through surgery, and the SEALs that killed him were the scalpel that removed him for good.

I do not believe that there will be much effect on operations here as a result of his death.  The people are too ignorant to have a true idea of Osama Bin Laden as a person.  They are much more concerned with their daily lives and ensuring a good poppy harvest rather than idolizing a non-Afghan.  As for my Soldiers, they were happy about his death, but there was no undue celebration.  We have a job to do still, and there is no reason to celebrate before we all get home.  One of my Team Leader's did ask if we could have the day off and cancel the mission, and establish yesterday as a national holiday, but we went out on mission anyway.

Poppy.  As I sit in my bed and write this entry, I am less than fifty meters from a vibrant opium field.  It is the lifeblood of Maiwand and all of southern Afghanistan.  Opium feeds all of the various enterprises in the area.  There are no banks, so opium is used as collateral for loans.  Although the harvest is labor-intensive, relatively little effort is required for a huge gain.  A small field can provide enough income for a family for an entire year, much more than what the farmers stand to gain from wheat. 

On patrol, surrounded by poppy fields.

The district has begun to eradicate poppy, but it is a slow process, and the district leader is unwilling to destroy the fields close to the center of town.  Most of the time when the ANA would go to destroy a field, they would get attacked by the Taliban.  All of the insurgency depends on the poppy harvest for funding as it serves as the primary income to buy weapons, IED materials, and support from the populace.  Taking down poppy will destroy the ability of the local Taliban to operate, but if we go about it the wrong way, we will lose the support of the populace entirely, and feed the fire of hate against ISAF and the government of Afghanistan.  The gains we have made over the past year will disappear if we go about destroying the opium trade too quickly.  Only through a concerted effort to both destroy and replace opium as the primary cash crop of the Taliban.  Here in Maiwand, we will continue to observe the poppy harvest for the next week or so, and then we will see what happens after that.

We must work to remove opium as a source of income for the Taliban without alienating the population.  This is one of the greatest challenges facing the leadership here in Afghanistan today.

Short Post

I don't have much to say right now, not because my life is boring right now...but because I'm so busy.  I have several topics that I want to cover in the future: Relief-in-Place operations, Escalation of Force, and I want to talk about Fear and Courage.  So those three topics plus several more will be on my list in the next few weeks as I get more time to post and get closer to getting out of here.

Since my unit didn't approve it...

SGT Dixon on the left before the patrol on 20FEB11

A little background on this post:  a couple of weeks ago I wrote an entry titled 20 February 2011, about my first experience of combat as a Platoon Leader.  To make a long story short, I wrote up one of my Soldiers for the Army Commendation with Valor.  It did not get approved.  In spite of that, I still want to honor his performance by letting all of you read it and for him to get some of the recognition he deserves.  Even if the award didn't get approved, I still want him to know how much I value what he did and for him to know that his actions did not go unnoticed. 

Without further ado:

Sergeant Jonathan O. Dixon, United States Army, distinguished himself by heroic conduct in Kandahar Province, Afghanistan, as a Team Leader of 2^nd Squad 4^th Platoon, Hawk Company, 3^rd Squadron, 2d Stryker Cavalry Regiment, during a clearance patrol in the Maiwand district of Afghanistan during Operation Enduring Freedom on 20 February 2011.

On 201728FEB2011, SGT Dixon was part of a combined patrol of Americans, ANCOP, and ANA to conduct small, platoon-sized clearances of several locations near the villages of Pir Zadeh and Eshqabad, and to conduct a Key Leader Engagement with a local Malik.  During the clearance of the final objective, 4^th Platoon came under fire from two directions by approximately five to ten enemy fighters.  At the same time, the ANP checkpoint south of 4^th Platoon’s position came under fire from a third enemy position. 

While separated from both his squad and platoon leader, located with the majority of the ANSF forces to the south, SGT Dixon took control of the squad and remaining ANSF to engage the enemy.  SGT Dixon moved all of his Soldiers into positions of better cover, including the attached ANCOP policemen.  Under heavy enemy fire, SGT Dixon selflessly moved back and forth from Soldier to Soldier to control their rates of fire and encourage them in the heat of battle.  On at least three occasions, SGT Dixon had to completely expose himself to enemy fire to move to the point of decisive contact and direct his Soldiers in suppressing the enemy. SGT Dixon’s decisive repositioning of his Soldiers, under heavy fire, enabled the platoon to gain fire superiority, which caused the enemy fighters to withdrawal. 

Following the initial firefight, SGT Dixon efficiently redistributed ammunition and physically checked each of his Soldiers to ensure no wounds were sustained.  When the ANP at the checkpoint mistakenly fired upon Fourth Platoon’s element, SGT Dixon ensured his men were safely behind cover and restrained their fire at the confused friendly forces.  SGT Dixon consolidated his Soldiers with minimal guidance and moved south under the best cover and concealment available to link-up with the remainder of the platoon element.  SGT Dixon led the platoon on point back to COP Rath, selflessly exposing himself to the greatest risk following the firefight.

Through these actions SGT Dixon successfully fought off the enemy attack with no friendly casualties.  His disciplined and selfless actions exceeded the highest standards of leadership and character expected of a Non-commissioned Officer and are in keeping with the finest traditions of military service.  They reflect distinct credit upon himself, Hawk Company, 3^rd Squadron, 2d Stryker Cavalry Regiment, and the United States Army.

Everyone can judge for themselves whether they feel it is a worthy or unworthy award.  As for myself, I believe I have already made my opinion clear.  One of my major sore spots that can get me on a soapbox quickly is the Army awards system today.  I will spare you today, as it is a conversation best heard in person.  If enough interest is shown on here (in the comments), I will elaborate further.  

Rest and Relaxation

Sometimes the pace of operations keeps us very busy.  Other times, we are bored for much of the time.  Most often, it is somewhere in between.  A yearlong deployment is a long time, and I am only serving a six month tour, so I don't have quite the same experience most of my Soldiers have had.  Getting time in to relax and refocus is one of the most important tasks facing us on a daily basis.

Some of my Soldiers after an all-day mission and sandstorm.

I'm sure some of you have heard me mention it, I really never actually know what day it is unless I look at my watch.  The days run into one another and lead to a droning monotony that stretches from memory and into the dim conceptualization of the future.  One day is much the same as another, droning, timeless, and dreary.  We feel this in spite of the typical baby blue sky and plentiful sunlight.  The infrequent contact with the enemy only heightens the very real boredom we experience on a daily basis.  Another way to think of a deployment is to think of the longest, straightest road you know.  Now picture it without any trees, hills, buildings, or markers except for those in the distance in front and behind you.  Haze covers the buildings and objects, dulling all the shapes and making indistinct what was crystal clear moments before.  You have an idea of what is coming up in the future, but with all of the haze, you tend to focus on the here and now so it is difficult to see problems that might be on the chosen route ahead.  Of course there are moments that stand out with sharp definition: the pit of nervousness before landing in Afghanistan; nearly sitting on an IED; the sound of bullets snapping around your head; the sight of wounded children.  With this in mind, you can get a better idea of why it is extremely important to take the time to relax.

All of us are different and recuperate in various ways.  The one commonality is that we all have to do something to unwind.  Our COP has a basketball court, and even though I really don't like basketball to watch on TV, it is extremely relaxing to go shoot some baskets (or at least try in my case) for ten minutes.  Other people play hardcore games that can last for up to an hour, and involve bloody noses and hurt knees and ankles.  Of course, there is the gym as well.  I like to get in there and workout, but I haven't been as diligent as I should be.  However, there are people lifting in the gym from about seven in the morning until midnight, depending on mission requirements and time available. 

Karaoke!

My platoon lives pretty well here on COP Rath.  We have some great barbeques courtesy of my SLs, and break out the karaoke machine on occasion.  There is a lot of singing involved, not all of it good, but definitely fun.  I personally like to read a lot, but there are many others who do not read at all.  Music is a huge part of my relaxation, and I like to sit back and enjoy music whenever I can.  Other Soldiers love video games.  I do too, but I choose not to play them over here.  I'll probably get back into them when I return to Germany.  Of course, there are always movies.  I've watched a lot of movies in my time here, and watch TV shows and mini-series, depending on what I have available and what I want to watch. 

Probably my favorite way of relaxing is to simply talk to my Soldiers.  They are all so interesting to learn about and hear their life stories, dreams, and hopes for the future.  Sitting around the fire and joking about everything we experience helps us to pass the time and forget what we do everyday.  One of the most important things that we must do as deployed warriors is to take the time we have available and maximize its use for work, and increase the time we have to relax.  Otherwise, we wouldn't be any good for each other out on patrols, when our main goal is to complete the mission we set out for many months ago here in Afghanistan, and to bring everyone home.

A Note on my New Pictures

So I was looking at my blog and realized that I had only added a few photos over the entire deployment.  That was due to several causes, not least being the lack of a high powered internet.  So I decided to add another slide show.  This one has 50 photos from my time here.  I think I've published all of them on Facebook already, but for my other readers I thought you might like to see some of what I see. 

When I'm out on patrol I don't always take photos, especially when things get busy.  I can be a bit forgetful when I have other things to deal with.  I a lot of times like to just hand my camera over to my interpreter, David, especially when we aren't talking to a lot of people.  Unfortunately, he tends to take pictures mostly of me, so I have to warn him to point the camera at someone else.  He apologizes, and goes back to taking more photos of me. 

I chose these photos because they covered most of my time here and are good representation of what I get to see and experience everyday.  One photo I wish I could add (but I can't because I don't have it) is from the Islamic New Year's feast yesterday.  Wow, was that food good.  The guards here at my base were very proud to serve us food, and even though it was their holiday, they insisted we get food first before they would rest and eat.  It was a pretty funny sight seeing other Soldiers come in with a message for the commander and get pulled into dinner.  The Afghans would rush over to the serving table and bring back a huge tray of rice, french fries (I know), chicken, lamb, a delicious salsa, and fruit and vegetables.  And of course naan bread.  Afghan hospitality is truly a good experience. 

That's all I've got for today.  Reference my last post for what I have to go do now.