As I sit here, thinking, a culmination of the year's events come to mind. Everything from personal life drama to whizzing rockets to feelings of excitement, despair, and fear. While here, I've experienced the full range of the human emotion spectrum. I've felt them all. Right now I am excited and weary at the same time; we are getting ready to go home, but it's a definite obstacle course before we get to see our loved ones again.
Tomorrow we leave the sanctuary that is our small rooms divided by plywood walls, and head for a giant, smelly tent where we will live for the next 18 days with the rest of our company until we can leave this hole for a good, long while. Several chapters of my life have been lived out here among the dirt and rocks. I lost a love. I gained a huge respect for the people of the Armed Forces. I've seen the results of war. I've felt the need of the people. There's history in the making with our new President. And so I close these chapters, and permit them to marinate in my head until they are all filed away in long-term memory, where they will be dug up again sometime down the road. Hopefully not too soon though.
We've began packing all of our equipment and personal belongings. Several shipping containers have already left the FOB via long, flatbed trucks. Hopefully these trucks are not ambushed, allowing all of our things to make it back to the United States. Once again it is time to live out of heavy duffle bags and rucksacks filled to the gills with clothes and other military issued items. We were born to carry these things on our back! Moving here and there, and everywhere.
Our replacements will be here very soon; I remember being in their very position. Being the new guys at something is never very fun, and I can't say enough how good it feels to be the veteran. We've done our time, and now it is time to pass the buck. May you be able carry on the mission with absolute success. One of the pilots threw out a number the other day of how many insurgents we've killed during our year. It was triple of that of the previous unit. So I can't help but wonder how many bullets, rockets, or missiles that came directly from my hands ended the life of an enemy combatant. That is something that I will always wonder about. If I knew would it bother me? I don't think so. They kill us at every opportunity.
So these chapters close and a new one begins with a well deserved homecoming. It will all be different. There will be no sweetheart waiting for me, with her perfume and long hair and curls in little tufts. No kisses. But like everyone else says, there's someone for everyone. And even though I thought I knew who it was before and turned out to be horribly wrong, I think I know who this special someone is now. I guess only time will tell.
How will we feel when we get back? Will we feel weird being back amongst civilized people? Will driving a car feel like a luxury? I think I might look around for my rifle for a few moments before realizing that I don't need it anymore, as it sits on a rack in the armory. There are many things that got me through this experience, including family and friends with their loving words and support. I can't wait to see them again. I can't wait to be out in the world again, living my life as peaceful as possible.
I guess I'll end here for now. I would love to divulge my travel plans, so that readers may try to follow my journey home, but OPSEC forbids it. I would love to tell you everything we have to do to make it back to the States. I won't have regular access to the Internet after tomorrow, so either I can write of my journeys when chance allows me to, or I can wait to tell the story when I return home and am reintigrated back into the "real" world as some people call it. If that's real, then this is just plain RAW. And I suppose we couldn't have it any other way.
Cheers,
-J
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Saturday, October 25, 2008
I Don't Know
Yes, it has been quite some time since I have written in my blog (2 months, 5 days) and I apologize to those of you who look forward to my posts. I really meant for this blog to be at the least a weekly or bi weekly thing, but for some reason it just has not panned out that way. Right now I really don't have anything pertinent to write about, so I am writing for the sake of writing. There's a lot of things I could speak about, like what's been going on here, or how my leave was.
I went on leave in late July, and well, it didn't quite turn out as I expected. I had a great time with my family and friends, but the love life kinda disintegrated. I guess you'll have that being in the Army. Who would want to be with someone that's gone all the time anyways, right? Regardless, I've dedicated myself these last 4 years to my country, and it all comes with sacrifices. One right after the other. Over and over and over again. And we just keep taking it, because that's what we do.
It was strange to come home at first. When I am used to having my head on a swivel, it is unusual to come to a place where there is no one that wants to kill Americans and shoot rockets at their base and try to bust down fences. There's just the peace and tranquility of a nation that has all but forgotten that there's a war going on. The only reminder is maybe the gas prices or the upcoming election. I know for families that have a service member directly involved it is a daily thought. I may have already written about this stuff in previous posts, but I did not read my previous posts recently, as I only remember talking about the Battle for Salerno.
We've been working, and the fighting has continued. It's almost as if everyone depends on us to keep these cans in the air, but we manage to get the job done regardless of the stressful situations in which we find ourselves more often then not. I swear, if we ran out of parts we'd be using bubblegum and string to keep these machines alive. We are the McGyvers, the best of the best. When we leave in a bit, the aircraft will be staying here; a sad situation in itself to me. We've literally put our lives into these things, lost blood and sweat, and now we are just going to hand them over to some other unit. They need a break just like us, but unfortunately, the fight goes on for them, and someone else will be their caretaker. Like an old car, we know the funny quirks and creaks of these war birds. Guess all we can do now is pass that knowledge on.
Let me talk about civilian contractors for a moment. These people have been getting under my skin since I entered theater nearly a year ago. Sometimes I think there are more of them than actual US Soldiers in this country. They eat in our chow halls, take up our shower houses, and make ten times more money than we do. We have guys here that help work on our aircraft when they are in phase maintenance. They do the SAME JOB that I do, and usually know LESS, and make more than one hundred thousand dollars a year out here. Gimme a friggin' break. Throw me a bone. They use our tools, our equipment, and our knowledge. They aren't as professional as you might think and they get to go home dirty stinking rich. It makes my blood boil to see how much money the US Government blows on contracts and the worthless people who fill them. When an aircraft comes out of phase and is all messed up, who do you think has to fix it. My guys and I, that's who. A lot of these contract guys did their time in the service, but that doesn't excuse the fact that they don't live up to their end of the deal. I wonder if the ARMY knows how much money they send to the wind...Money that they could use on their own soldiers. I guess I sound a little bitter, but that's what happens when everything is ass backwards. If the civilian contractors want to fight this war, I'll gladly take the next plane home. They are like maggots leeching onto the carcass that is our war. It pisses me off to no end.
After awhile, being gone starts to get to ya. The food never gets any better, only worse. The hours never lessen. The fighting never stops. I'm not being negative, but I am pointing out facts because it is important for people back home to know what our soldiers deal with on a daily basis. It is the job of leaders to keep troops on the up and up, fighting the fight, and pushing forward. Regardless of how leaders feel, they have to be strong for their guys. Put on your smiley face and get the job done. That's the motto. Hopefully we live up to that.
Cheers,
-J
I went on leave in late July, and well, it didn't quite turn out as I expected. I had a great time with my family and friends, but the love life kinda disintegrated. I guess you'll have that being in the Army. Who would want to be with someone that's gone all the time anyways, right? Regardless, I've dedicated myself these last 4 years to my country, and it all comes with sacrifices. One right after the other. Over and over and over again. And we just keep taking it, because that's what we do.
It was strange to come home at first. When I am used to having my head on a swivel, it is unusual to come to a place where there is no one that wants to kill Americans and shoot rockets at their base and try to bust down fences. There's just the peace and tranquility of a nation that has all but forgotten that there's a war going on. The only reminder is maybe the gas prices or the upcoming election. I know for families that have a service member directly involved it is a daily thought. I may have already written about this stuff in previous posts, but I did not read my previous posts recently, as I only remember talking about the Battle for Salerno.
We've been working, and the fighting has continued. It's almost as if everyone depends on us to keep these cans in the air, but we manage to get the job done regardless of the stressful situations in which we find ourselves more often then not. I swear, if we ran out of parts we'd be using bubblegum and string to keep these machines alive. We are the McGyvers, the best of the best. When we leave in a bit, the aircraft will be staying here; a sad situation in itself to me. We've literally put our lives into these things, lost blood and sweat, and now we are just going to hand them over to some other unit. They need a break just like us, but unfortunately, the fight goes on for them, and someone else will be their caretaker. Like an old car, we know the funny quirks and creaks of these war birds. Guess all we can do now is pass that knowledge on.
Let me talk about civilian contractors for a moment. These people have been getting under my skin since I entered theater nearly a year ago. Sometimes I think there are more of them than actual US Soldiers in this country. They eat in our chow halls, take up our shower houses, and make ten times more money than we do. We have guys here that help work on our aircraft when they are in phase maintenance. They do the SAME JOB that I do, and usually know LESS, and make more than one hundred thousand dollars a year out here. Gimme a friggin' break. Throw me a bone. They use our tools, our equipment, and our knowledge. They aren't as professional as you might think and they get to go home dirty stinking rich. It makes my blood boil to see how much money the US Government blows on contracts and the worthless people who fill them. When an aircraft comes out of phase and is all messed up, who do you think has to fix it. My guys and I, that's who. A lot of these contract guys did their time in the service, but that doesn't excuse the fact that they don't live up to their end of the deal. I wonder if the ARMY knows how much money they send to the wind...Money that they could use on their own soldiers. I guess I sound a little bitter, but that's what happens when everything is ass backwards. If the civilian contractors want to fight this war, I'll gladly take the next plane home. They are like maggots leeching onto the carcass that is our war. It pisses me off to no end.
After awhile, being gone starts to get to ya. The food never gets any better, only worse. The hours never lessen. The fighting never stops. I'm not being negative, but I am pointing out facts because it is important for people back home to know what our soldiers deal with on a daily basis. It is the job of leaders to keep troops on the up and up, fighting the fight, and pushing forward. Regardless of how leaders feel, they have to be strong for their guys. Put on your smiley face and get the job done. That's the motto. Hopefully we live up to that.
Cheers,
-J
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
The Battle for Salerno
I guess we are more famous than ever, now. If you read the news online, you’ll see many stories about “Camp Salerno” as they call it, and the events that unfolded starting Monday night. As you recall in my last post, which I just put up, it talked about the car bombing at Salerno. As it turns out, the Taliban were not finished with us. The commanding general warned of increased activity due to it being Afghanistan’s Independence day; yesterday, August 18.
Probably around 200 meters to the south from where I sit now, a group of Taliban suicide bombers made their way through the small village there, where they gathered for an attack. Their plan was simple; infiltrate the perimeter and detonate within the vicinity of a target. When their attack began, all hell broke loose.
We were fortunate that they did not come through the perimeter, because all that stands between them and us is some c-wire and a chain link fence. There are guard towers around the perimeter as you might think, each housing a number of weapons, including the 240B machine gun. I awoke from a deep sleep when the attack commenced, as I am on shift during the day, and it began at night. From the rooftops you could see a spectacular show not unlike the 4th of July; tracer rounds going in every direction, small arms fire, large arms fire, and several of our aircraft made for a melee straight from hell. An air force bomber prowled the skies above, waiting to drop a five-hundred pounder.
Surprisingly, the Taliban attack group was taking ground, and we were getting nervous, but were finally driven back by barrage after barrage of helicopter munitions, as well as a ground force headed up by the Afghan National Army. The force included U.S. soldiers as well, none of which were harmed in the ensuing battle.
With the sounds and the sights it was if we were in the middle of some great war movie, but the surreal feeling that there were people trying to kill us with rockets and people took all of the glamour out of it. Finally, after an intense night of fighting, the remaining Taliban abandoned their plan and began to flee. All friendly forces converged to chase them out of Dodge. Our guys had to stay a great distance from the enemy, because when they were finally surrounded they simply blew themselves up. No value for life whatsoever.
Apaches and Kiowas continued to pick off stragglers well into the morning, when finally it seemed that the battle had ceased. This afternoon when I was helping ready an aircraft for a test flight for our company commander, a couple of Kiowas began doing strafing runs with rockets and .50 cal guns. Luckily I had my video camera so I recorded what I could. We later found out that there were several dead bodies left behind with vests that had not detonated, and the Kiowas were simply trying to “detonate” the vests in the safest way possible. One of the Kiowa pilots had taken enemy fire earlier in the fight; a bullet entered his flight helmet and exited the other side without touching his head. He was heard over the radio saying he was alright. A couple of aircraft took some potshots, too.
At the end of the day, FOB Salerno still stands, relentless and strong. Its soldiers tried and true in combat and hardship. We take their rockets, bullets, IEDs, and suicide bombers, yet here we are. Even though this is the last place we all probably want to be, we’ll be damned if some terrorist bums are going to piss in our Cheerios. Strike up another victory for the U S of A. Until next time…
Cheers,
-J
Probably around 200 meters to the south from where I sit now, a group of Taliban suicide bombers made their way through the small village there, where they gathered for an attack. Their plan was simple; infiltrate the perimeter and detonate within the vicinity of a target. When their attack began, all hell broke loose.
We were fortunate that they did not come through the perimeter, because all that stands between them and us is some c-wire and a chain link fence. There are guard towers around the perimeter as you might think, each housing a number of weapons, including the 240B machine gun. I awoke from a deep sleep when the attack commenced, as I am on shift during the day, and it began at night. From the rooftops you could see a spectacular show not unlike the 4th of July; tracer rounds going in every direction, small arms fire, large arms fire, and several of our aircraft made for a melee straight from hell. An air force bomber prowled the skies above, waiting to drop a five-hundred pounder.
Surprisingly, the Taliban attack group was taking ground, and we were getting nervous, but were finally driven back by barrage after barrage of helicopter munitions, as well as a ground force headed up by the Afghan National Army. The force included U.S. soldiers as well, none of which were harmed in the ensuing battle.
With the sounds and the sights it was if we were in the middle of some great war movie, but the surreal feeling that there were people trying to kill us with rockets and people took all of the glamour out of it. Finally, after an intense night of fighting, the remaining Taliban abandoned their plan and began to flee. All friendly forces converged to chase them out of Dodge. Our guys had to stay a great distance from the enemy, because when they were finally surrounded they simply blew themselves up. No value for life whatsoever.
Apaches and Kiowas continued to pick off stragglers well into the morning, when finally it seemed that the battle had ceased. This afternoon when I was helping ready an aircraft for a test flight for our company commander, a couple of Kiowas began doing strafing runs with rockets and .50 cal guns. Luckily I had my video camera so I recorded what I could. We later found out that there were several dead bodies left behind with vests that had not detonated, and the Kiowas were simply trying to “detonate” the vests in the safest way possible. One of the Kiowa pilots had taken enemy fire earlier in the fight; a bullet entered his flight helmet and exited the other side without touching his head. He was heard over the radio saying he was alright. A couple of aircraft took some potshots, too.
At the end of the day, FOB Salerno still stands, relentless and strong. Its soldiers tried and true in combat and hardship. We take their rockets, bullets, IEDs, and suicide bombers, yet here we are. Even though this is the last place we all probably want to be, we’ll be damned if some terrorist bums are going to piss in our Cheerios. Strike up another victory for the U S of A. Until next time…
Cheers,
-J
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Experiences
Boy, time flies when you’re havin’ fun, right? It seems like I apologize every post for letting an increasing amount of time go by in between blogs, and I think this one tops them all. But here I am now, so live and let live.
My last post was about how I couldn’t wait to go on leave and get back to Ohio. Well, I managed to do that (it only took me a week to get home from here!), taking 18 days of rest and relaxation. For the most part, it was well enjoyed and it was good to see friends and family. A couple of unexpected events occurred, but what does not kill us will only make us stronger. It was strange to be in a war zone where it seems like anything can happen, and then all of a sudden I find myself in a US airport, eating McDonald’s and having iced coffee (can‘t complain about the Big Mac though). No one there seemed concerned about a war going on; they dealt with the hustle and bustle of daily life. I received some applause and handshakes and a couple of thank yous, but it still felt like I’m fighting a forgotten war. I was out of place because there were no explosions, no vibrations from shockwaves, and no sirens telling me to take cover. After about a week or so I bounced back and was fine. But at first I felt like I shouldn’t have been there. It was weird because it’s home.
Of course, getting back was much quicker then getting home, even though I went from Dayton to Atlanta, then to Ireland, spent the night in Kuwait and Bagram, Afghanistan, and then finally made it back here to Salerno. My flight from Bagram to here was delayed because a raging battle in Khost had shut down the dirt airstrip. Good thing we were still sitting on God’s green earth when they found that out. I was sad to leave loved ones, and when I got back I was glad to be finished with flying for the time being.
Being back in it is more comforting than not; I am not falling in love with war, but it’s all I’ve known for the last 8 months. I’m not complacent, but it’s not a stranger to me. Today confirmed that.
A large blast ripped through the Khost Police Force’s main entrance to Salerno this morning. They have a gate before a vehicle gets near our main gate, and it was attacked by a suicide bomber. The blast rocked the FOB and everyone immediately went into defensive mode. A buddy of mine recalls seeing “truckloads” of bodies in the back of beat up Toyotas being moved to the hospital. Some were dead, some were alive. None were US soldiers.
Later on, an abandoned vehicle was found; the enemy had gotten one of their vehicle born IEDs stuck in a ditch. Explosive Ordnance Disposal personnel came out and had a heyday turning the explosive laden vehicle into dust. They announced the controlled detonation over the loudspeaker, which was a good thing because the explosion sounded world ending. It was the biggest boom to date for me, and would have been dastardly had the ditch not ended their mission. Thank God for ditches that eat heavy, bomb ridden trucks.
The stupid thing about the whole situation is that the world could have known the details about what had exactly happened before we did. Forty-five minutes after, an article was found on Yahoo! describing the events. So much for operational security. There must be an Associated Press guy around here somewhere, sniffing around for trouble or monitoring all radio channels. I picture a little sniveling man with a CNN hat and 4 cell phones hooked to his belt, typing away on a laptop with a grin on his face. I want to knock out the guy I just pictured in my head. It’s ironic that I went to college in earned a degree in his very craft.
With ever increasing hostilities and an endless supply of fighters coming from everywhere to get a piece of the Americans, it doesn’t look like we will be leaving this country anytime soon, regardless of who wins the race for the presidency. I just hope that we can continue to see victory as we have these past 8 months, and that we can all make it home alive come the end of the year. Must be signing off for now, because I need a few hours of shuteye. I hope you are all enjoying the Summer Olympics in Beijing, as we try to watch via satellite whenever and wherever we can.
Cheers,
-J
My last post was about how I couldn’t wait to go on leave and get back to Ohio. Well, I managed to do that (it only took me a week to get home from here!), taking 18 days of rest and relaxation. For the most part, it was well enjoyed and it was good to see friends and family. A couple of unexpected events occurred, but what does not kill us will only make us stronger. It was strange to be in a war zone where it seems like anything can happen, and then all of a sudden I find myself in a US airport, eating McDonald’s and having iced coffee (can‘t complain about the Big Mac though). No one there seemed concerned about a war going on; they dealt with the hustle and bustle of daily life. I received some applause and handshakes and a couple of thank yous, but it still felt like I’m fighting a forgotten war. I was out of place because there were no explosions, no vibrations from shockwaves, and no sirens telling me to take cover. After about a week or so I bounced back and was fine. But at first I felt like I shouldn’t have been there. It was weird because it’s home.
Of course, getting back was much quicker then getting home, even though I went from Dayton to Atlanta, then to Ireland, spent the night in Kuwait and Bagram, Afghanistan, and then finally made it back here to Salerno. My flight from Bagram to here was delayed because a raging battle in Khost had shut down the dirt airstrip. Good thing we were still sitting on God’s green earth when they found that out. I was sad to leave loved ones, and when I got back I was glad to be finished with flying for the time being.
Being back in it is more comforting than not; I am not falling in love with war, but it’s all I’ve known for the last 8 months. I’m not complacent, but it’s not a stranger to me. Today confirmed that.
A large blast ripped through the Khost Police Force’s main entrance to Salerno this morning. They have a gate before a vehicle gets near our main gate, and it was attacked by a suicide bomber. The blast rocked the FOB and everyone immediately went into defensive mode. A buddy of mine recalls seeing “truckloads” of bodies in the back of beat up Toyotas being moved to the hospital. Some were dead, some were alive. None were US soldiers.
Later on, an abandoned vehicle was found; the enemy had gotten one of their vehicle born IEDs stuck in a ditch. Explosive Ordnance Disposal personnel came out and had a heyday turning the explosive laden vehicle into dust. They announced the controlled detonation over the loudspeaker, which was a good thing because the explosion sounded world ending. It was the biggest boom to date for me, and would have been dastardly had the ditch not ended their mission. Thank God for ditches that eat heavy, bomb ridden trucks.
The stupid thing about the whole situation is that the world could have known the details about what had exactly happened before we did. Forty-five minutes after, an article was found on Yahoo! describing the events. So much for operational security. There must be an Associated Press guy around here somewhere, sniffing around for trouble or monitoring all radio channels. I picture a little sniveling man with a CNN hat and 4 cell phones hooked to his belt, typing away on a laptop with a grin on his face. I want to knock out the guy I just pictured in my head. It’s ironic that I went to college in earned a degree in his very craft.
With ever increasing hostilities and an endless supply of fighters coming from everywhere to get a piece of the Americans, it doesn’t look like we will be leaving this country anytime soon, regardless of who wins the race for the presidency. I just hope that we can continue to see victory as we have these past 8 months, and that we can all make it home alive come the end of the year. Must be signing off for now, because I need a few hours of shuteye. I hope you are all enjoying the Summer Olympics in Beijing, as we try to watch via satellite whenever and wherever we can.
Cheers,
-J
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Summer Thus Far
It's definitely been more than a month since I've last posted, and for that I apologize. I know there are some who look forward to reading these quaint afterthoughts that I post as a blog, so I am writing for them.
Summer has been harsh and unapologetic; unlike any other summer that I've experienced in 26 years of existence. There is nothing cheerful about Afghanistan in the summertime. We tend to joke a lot more these days; either a coverup of true feelings or the instanity bug making it's way into our heads. Regardless, the solemn humor keeps us alive and gives us something to hold on to. You might see a picture here and there of someone sticking their crotch on someone else's head, or maybe even humping a rocket or missile. That's the shit I'm talkin' about. Keeps us alive. Not alive like WOAH there's bullets everywhere and at any second I could die, but alive like "hey, we are still here doin' this thing, time is passing, and eventually we could make it home. So don't stop now."
Apart from the heat, the terrorist groups are out and about daily. Not a day goes by without chatter of engagements and aircraft coming back, needing more bullets and rockets. We've even fired hellfire missiles. Targets requiring missile shots are usually few and far between, but I guess "coming out of the woodwork" fits quite nicely nowadays.
This morning, an outlying FOB, smaller than our own, was attacked by thirty-some rockets. Unfortunately, the numbers worked out for the enemy, as one of their shots found its way to a fuel blivet. Of course it exploded, and nearly the entire place went up. Fire and chaos ensuing, the enemy planned to overrun the FOB, but we already knew that. We sent flights of Apaches and infantry out to control the madness, and soon thwarted the enemy plan. Needless to say, I don't think there were many left to do much of anything. In the end, it isn't apparent what casualties there were, but I hardly think that such an event could leave our forces unscathed. What I do know is that our Apaches took fire, some of our Chinooks took fire, and everyone was on edge for a while. Some people sit around the radio, listening to the chatter like it's a movie dialogue. And it almost is, except that it's real. I prefer to stand outside and watch our birds come back, like a kid at the air show.
I've been trying to understand and trust the locals since I set foot in this place, but it has finally been set in stone that they cannot be trusted. Some braniac in all his infinite wisdom has found it suitable to let locals work on our airfield, as they are installing cement taxiways to reduce the brownout effect every time an aircraft leaves for or returns from a mission. So now we have these folks leveling, pouring concrete, and playing with rocks amongst our aircraft. They are under guard, but obviously not too far under. This morning someone working on an aircraft across the way saw two locals come out from behind an Apache. Relying on the fact that they are to be nowhere near the aircraft, the mechanic came over to size up the matter. I happened to be in the area, and was in fact working on that same aircraft earlier. Upon further investigation, we found that these men were stuffing cigarettes up in the engine louvres of our beloved Apaches. Perhaps they were trying to burn them to the ground? Regardless, it was an act of sabotage and was reported immediately. More and more of our guys came out to the spot, many with knives in their hands. A fight was bound to ensue, but was derailed when an officer came out to question the accused. Eventually those men disappeared; hopefully to be interrogated. The sorry private that was supposed to be guarding the workers sure got an earful.
And so we continue with the missions, the repairs, the guarding, the dirt, the thoughts of home and the tastes of Big Macs and memories of long summer days at swimming pools with the smell of sunscreen in the air. We all miss it horribly. Maybe too much. All I can think of is July and R&R time. I'm going to try a catch a little summer vacation my self, back in Ohio. A little slice of heaven. Thank God for Ohio.
Cheers.
-J
Summer has been harsh and unapologetic; unlike any other summer that I've experienced in 26 years of existence. There is nothing cheerful about Afghanistan in the summertime. We tend to joke a lot more these days; either a coverup of true feelings or the instanity bug making it's way into our heads. Regardless, the solemn humor keeps us alive and gives us something to hold on to. You might see a picture here and there of someone sticking their crotch on someone else's head, or maybe even humping a rocket or missile. That's the shit I'm talkin' about. Keeps us alive. Not alive like WOAH there's bullets everywhere and at any second I could die, but alive like "hey, we are still here doin' this thing, time is passing, and eventually we could make it home. So don't stop now."
Apart from the heat, the terrorist groups are out and about daily. Not a day goes by without chatter of engagements and aircraft coming back, needing more bullets and rockets. We've even fired hellfire missiles. Targets requiring missile shots are usually few and far between, but I guess "coming out of the woodwork" fits quite nicely nowadays.
This morning, an outlying FOB, smaller than our own, was attacked by thirty-some rockets. Unfortunately, the numbers worked out for the enemy, as one of their shots found its way to a fuel blivet. Of course it exploded, and nearly the entire place went up. Fire and chaos ensuing, the enemy planned to overrun the FOB, but we already knew that. We sent flights of Apaches and infantry out to control the madness, and soon thwarted the enemy plan. Needless to say, I don't think there were many left to do much of anything. In the end, it isn't apparent what casualties there were, but I hardly think that such an event could leave our forces unscathed. What I do know is that our Apaches took fire, some of our Chinooks took fire, and everyone was on edge for a while. Some people sit around the radio, listening to the chatter like it's a movie dialogue. And it almost is, except that it's real. I prefer to stand outside and watch our birds come back, like a kid at the air show.
I've been trying to understand and trust the locals since I set foot in this place, but it has finally been set in stone that they cannot be trusted. Some braniac in all his infinite wisdom has found it suitable to let locals work on our airfield, as they are installing cement taxiways to reduce the brownout effect every time an aircraft leaves for or returns from a mission. So now we have these folks leveling, pouring concrete, and playing with rocks amongst our aircraft. They are under guard, but obviously not too far under. This morning someone working on an aircraft across the way saw two locals come out from behind an Apache. Relying on the fact that they are to be nowhere near the aircraft, the mechanic came over to size up the matter. I happened to be in the area, and was in fact working on that same aircraft earlier. Upon further investigation, we found that these men were stuffing cigarettes up in the engine louvres of our beloved Apaches. Perhaps they were trying to burn them to the ground? Regardless, it was an act of sabotage and was reported immediately. More and more of our guys came out to the spot, many with knives in their hands. A fight was bound to ensue, but was derailed when an officer came out to question the accused. Eventually those men disappeared; hopefully to be interrogated. The sorry private that was supposed to be guarding the workers sure got an earful.
And so we continue with the missions, the repairs, the guarding, the dirt, the thoughts of home and the tastes of Big Macs and memories of long summer days at swimming pools with the smell of sunscreen in the air. We all miss it horribly. Maybe too much. All I can think of is July and R&R time. I'm going to try a catch a little summer vacation my self, back in Ohio. A little slice of heaven. Thank God for Ohio.
Cheers.
-J
Thursday, May 8, 2008
The Fallen
I don’t really know how else to put it. I guess I will just say it straight. Today was a messed up day. It is with a heavy heart that I write the following lines, and I don’t even know if they should be written. I don’t even feel like writing them, but the experience must be somewhat shared.
Eleven miles from FOB Salerno a 101st Airborne Division patrol hit an IED and took indirect fire. The Apaches were scrambled to intercept the enemy, but upon arrival the cowards fled. After some time, the Apaches, not able to engage, departed and returned to base. As soon as the aircraft left, the indirect fire returned. Medevac units and an Apache chase aircraft were sent to pick up the casualties. Without giving specific numbers, there were several American KIA.
Today I saw things that I wish I hadn’t. It would be disrespectful to the fallen if I described that which fell upon my eyes, so I will leave it at that. All you may know is that before one of the Medevac Blackhawks went back out, they power washed the blood from the floor of the aircraft; crimson water splashed endlessly upon the pavement.
Shortly after, an emergency blood drive was announced over the loudspeaker. Anyone who had O positive blood needed to report to the field hospital immediately. Having that blood type, some buddies and I rushed to the clinic to find a line already forming. At least 70 people showed up to donate their blood to those who lay injured and dying in that very building. Before we could donate, we had to quickly fill out paperwork and have our vitals taken. The officer who took my blood pressure and body temperature had her right boot covered in fresh blood; those of the fallen. For some damned reason National Geographic was filming the entire process for a documentary. That, among many other visuals, are burned into my memory permanently.
I don’t know how much blood they took from my body, but it filled up a good sized bag. Hopefully it was able to sustain life, and give our soldiers a chance at survival.
Afterwards, I slowly walked back to our shop, mulling over all that I had witnessed in such a short period of time. It’s difficult to just go about your day when such things happen. My mind wonders, and my emotions jump around the spectrum from rage to sadness.
Some time after dark, it was announced that the “hero flight” would begin in 20 minutes. A hero flight is something that occurs when soldiers give the ultimate sacrifice. We all went out to the air strip, where a C-130 sat with idling engines. Medevac humvees drove past, carrying the fallen inside. Following, in a column, marched the soldiers who survived the same attack that took their buddies. Caskets draped with American flags were moved from the vehicles to the aircraft, while onlookers stood and watched solemnly. Surrounded by darkness, we watched the C-130 taxi down the dirt strip, turn around, and take off with engines blaring. As they passed all soldiers went to attention and saluted the fallen. They disappeared into the night, and the loudspeakers announced another emergency blood drive.
Ironically, after all of this, some Muslim prayer began to play over a loudspeaker in the distance around Khost. They should pray hard. Rest assured that someone will pay for what has happened. I feel that we are about the unleash an unholy hell upon those responsible for today’s events. We will not falter.
I do not think that anyone can understand the true cost of war until they experience it for themselves. I know what those families are going to go through when they first learn of their loss. Memories of similar experiences have been flooding my mind all day. We must learn to trudge through the grimness of war, as there is still a job to be done. How do the comrades of the fallen carry on? They cannot just stop. They may go out again tomorrow. I only wonder if these sacrifices are worth it. I pray that I do not relive this day in my dreams.
Today is the 7th of May, 10:32 pm...I do not know when this will post because when something like this happens all phones and internet are shut down for operational security purposes. Word cannot get out to the families before it is officially supposed to. Do not be worried, we are ok. I will call when I can.
12:20 am: A report of rockets falling on Salerno. I didn’t hear anything.
Another day, another dollar.
-J
Eleven miles from FOB Salerno a 101st Airborne Division patrol hit an IED and took indirect fire. The Apaches were scrambled to intercept the enemy, but upon arrival the cowards fled. After some time, the Apaches, not able to engage, departed and returned to base. As soon as the aircraft left, the indirect fire returned. Medevac units and an Apache chase aircraft were sent to pick up the casualties. Without giving specific numbers, there were several American KIA.
Today I saw things that I wish I hadn’t. It would be disrespectful to the fallen if I described that which fell upon my eyes, so I will leave it at that. All you may know is that before one of the Medevac Blackhawks went back out, they power washed the blood from the floor of the aircraft; crimson water splashed endlessly upon the pavement.
Shortly after, an emergency blood drive was announced over the loudspeaker. Anyone who had O positive blood needed to report to the field hospital immediately. Having that blood type, some buddies and I rushed to the clinic to find a line already forming. At least 70 people showed up to donate their blood to those who lay injured and dying in that very building. Before we could donate, we had to quickly fill out paperwork and have our vitals taken. The officer who took my blood pressure and body temperature had her right boot covered in fresh blood; those of the fallen. For some damned reason National Geographic was filming the entire process for a documentary. That, among many other visuals, are burned into my memory permanently.
I don’t know how much blood they took from my body, but it filled up a good sized bag. Hopefully it was able to sustain life, and give our soldiers a chance at survival.
Afterwards, I slowly walked back to our shop, mulling over all that I had witnessed in such a short period of time. It’s difficult to just go about your day when such things happen. My mind wonders, and my emotions jump around the spectrum from rage to sadness.
Some time after dark, it was announced that the “hero flight” would begin in 20 minutes. A hero flight is something that occurs when soldiers give the ultimate sacrifice. We all went out to the air strip, where a C-130 sat with idling engines. Medevac humvees drove past, carrying the fallen inside. Following, in a column, marched the soldiers who survived the same attack that took their buddies. Caskets draped with American flags were moved from the vehicles to the aircraft, while onlookers stood and watched solemnly. Surrounded by darkness, we watched the C-130 taxi down the dirt strip, turn around, and take off with engines blaring. As they passed all soldiers went to attention and saluted the fallen. They disappeared into the night, and the loudspeakers announced another emergency blood drive.
Ironically, after all of this, some Muslim prayer began to play over a loudspeaker in the distance around Khost. They should pray hard. Rest assured that someone will pay for what has happened. I feel that we are about the unleash an unholy hell upon those responsible for today’s events. We will not falter.
I do not think that anyone can understand the true cost of war until they experience it for themselves. I know what those families are going to go through when they first learn of their loss. Memories of similar experiences have been flooding my mind all day. We must learn to trudge through the grimness of war, as there is still a job to be done. How do the comrades of the fallen carry on? They cannot just stop. They may go out again tomorrow. I only wonder if these sacrifices are worth it. I pray that I do not relive this day in my dreams.
Today is the 7th of May, 10:32 pm...I do not know when this will post because when something like this happens all phones and internet are shut down for operational security purposes. Word cannot get out to the families before it is officially supposed to. Do not be worried, we are ok. I will call when I can.
12:20 am: A report of rockets falling on Salerno. I didn’t hear anything.
Another day, another dollar.
-J
Saturday, May 3, 2008
Stripes
So it's no longer the life and times of a Specialist...but of a Sergeant.
As it turns out, the long and arduous journey from peon to non commissioned officer has come full circle; I have finally been promoted. Just as I've hit my 3 year anniversary in my Army career, things have fallen into place. I am now the same rank as all of those before me who yelled, screamed and bashed the brim of their hat on the bridge of my nose during the first year and a half of training. Even though it's been a long time since then, I will probably never forget. Let them call me "college boy" again...hah.
It's pretty funny how 3 stripes can change the way people look at you. As a specialist, you have no decision making abilities whatsoever. Give it a day, and a promotion, and it seems as if you can run the entire Army if you so feel. Strange.
Everyone has been very supportive of this recent change in my life, and I am very thankful for that. With it comes a lot of stress and a lot more responsibility, but I can handle every bit of it.
Things in Afghanistan have not slowed any, but have rather sped up. The warm weather makes way for infidels (hah that's what the natives call US) to come out and try their best to wreck our day. There was quite the fight the other night, as both sides were shooting back and forth with tremendous blasts and no end in sight. Finally, when the roar turned to a waning whimper, the enemy packed up and humped it back to the caves. Either that, or they were asphyxiated by our artillery barrage. Chalk up another one for us, Osama.
The Apaches have been doing their part as well. When there is trouble out in the dirt our pilots rush to the aircraft (which sit loaded, waiting for the call), spin the blades and go. It's safe to say that if Ahkmed decides to ambush a convoy or try to plant an IED in the cover of darkness, he and his buddy Jafar are going to have a nasty fight on their hands. I can't say how many of our boys have been in a real pickle when the Longbows show up and get them out of it. There isn't an infantryman out their who doesn't love the Apache.
It's been hot as hell out here lately, too. After 10 minutes the sun has taken all of the moisture and energy from my body. I walk around like a mummy with cotton mouth, lookin' for a bottle of water. It doesn't really matter what the weather is doing; when infidels act up we have to fly and shoot. And shoot. And shoot some more.
Well, I suppose that's all I have for now. It's definitely time to sleep, as I almost passed out writing this mess. Hitting the pillow is my favorite time of day; I can go wherever my dreams take me, and not have to worry about FOB Salerno.
Cheers.
-J
P.S.-Give me Ciarra and beer.
As it turns out, the long and arduous journey from peon to non commissioned officer has come full circle; I have finally been promoted. Just as I've hit my 3 year anniversary in my Army career, things have fallen into place. I am now the same rank as all of those before me who yelled, screamed and bashed the brim of their hat on the bridge of my nose during the first year and a half of training. Even though it's been a long time since then, I will probably never forget. Let them call me "college boy" again...hah.
It's pretty funny how 3 stripes can change the way people look at you. As a specialist, you have no decision making abilities whatsoever. Give it a day, and a promotion, and it seems as if you can run the entire Army if you so feel. Strange.
Everyone has been very supportive of this recent change in my life, and I am very thankful for that. With it comes a lot of stress and a lot more responsibility, but I can handle every bit of it.
Things in Afghanistan have not slowed any, but have rather sped up. The warm weather makes way for infidels (hah that's what the natives call US) to come out and try their best to wreck our day. There was quite the fight the other night, as both sides were shooting back and forth with tremendous blasts and no end in sight. Finally, when the roar turned to a waning whimper, the enemy packed up and humped it back to the caves. Either that, or they were asphyxiated by our artillery barrage. Chalk up another one for us, Osama.
The Apaches have been doing their part as well. When there is trouble out in the dirt our pilots rush to the aircraft (which sit loaded, waiting for the call), spin the blades and go. It's safe to say that if Ahkmed decides to ambush a convoy or try to plant an IED in the cover of darkness, he and his buddy Jafar are going to have a nasty fight on their hands. I can't say how many of our boys have been in a real pickle when the Longbows show up and get them out of it. There isn't an infantryman out their who doesn't love the Apache.
It's been hot as hell out here lately, too. After 10 minutes the sun has taken all of the moisture and energy from my body. I walk around like a mummy with cotton mouth, lookin' for a bottle of water. It doesn't really matter what the weather is doing; when infidels act up we have to fly and shoot. And shoot. And shoot some more.
Well, I suppose that's all I have for now. It's definitely time to sleep, as I almost passed out writing this mess. Hitting the pillow is my favorite time of day; I can go wherever my dreams take me, and not have to worry about FOB Salerno.
Cheers.
-J
P.S.-Give me Ciarra and beer.
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Thin the Line, the Mission's a Go
Imagine going to your favorite restaurant. One of the main reasons you love this restaurant so much is the endless baskets of delicious rolls being delivered to the table every so often. The taste combination of butter and roll melts in your mouth, and you are so happy that nothing can spoil the moment. When you grab for another roll, you realize you only have half a butter pat left for the entire thing. The waitress tells you they are out of butter for the time being, so you take that half pat and spread as far as it can go, right to the limits..right to every edge, even though it is very, very thin. Then you take a bite and realize...there's not enough butter...This isn't going to work.
We are the butter.
Not only is our group (of around 30 people) split 3 ways in this country, but here at Salerno we are tasked out so heavily that there isn't room to breathe. Most of the time three or four people are handling the workload of an entire armament platoon, which is that 30 I mentioned earlier. Not only do we maintain 10 aircraft, but we do guard duty, DART missions, run FARPs, do PHASE maintenance, and send people out to two other forward operating bases for a month at a time. Some soldiers have started going on leave, which thins our numbers even more. Nerves and stress are taking their toll on everyone; there is constant tension in the air. Aircraft have to fly, because others depend on them. We are only four months in, but I think some peoples' heads are about to pop off, and it will be expected.
I guess this is how it is..Like I said in a previous post, from the time we leave Ft. Campbell it's hardcore, hard and heavy, death and destruction, all day every day, no shit ARMY all the way, grit your teeth, pull your hair, in your face, slap your sister, livin' the dream in the SUCK.
The past three days we have had IEDs just outside of the FOB. Convoys have been getting ambushed, and the Apaches have been killing. The full moon was supposed to bring heavy attacks on the base, but no ordnance fell within the fences. Our aircraft were involved in a fight where a terrorist ended up losing his head; he also had an RPG in his hands that exploded and left him as nothing more than dust in the wind.
Today I was in, of all places, the latrine, when I heard a MEDEVAC crew during a bathroom chat session speaking about a man they had brought back that survived a barrage of 30mm from our aircraft. How he survived, I do not know. If he makes it through the night he'll be in for several days of interrogation and blindfolded fun, maybe. I find it funny that we shoot the enemy, and then our MEDEVAC helicopters pick them up if they survive and bring them back to our facilities for treatment. The Taliban would never do such things, but I guess the Geneva Conventions is the ultimate ruling in such a case.
In closing, I would like to say that the Soldier is the most adaptatious of all creatures. No matter the situation, a soldier will overcome. I wish people knew half the story.
Cheers.
-J
We are the butter.
Not only is our group (of around 30 people) split 3 ways in this country, but here at Salerno we are tasked out so heavily that there isn't room to breathe. Most of the time three or four people are handling the workload of an entire armament platoon, which is that 30 I mentioned earlier. Not only do we maintain 10 aircraft, but we do guard duty, DART missions, run FARPs, do PHASE maintenance, and send people out to two other forward operating bases for a month at a time. Some soldiers have started going on leave, which thins our numbers even more. Nerves and stress are taking their toll on everyone; there is constant tension in the air. Aircraft have to fly, because others depend on them. We are only four months in, but I think some peoples' heads are about to pop off, and it will be expected.
I guess this is how it is..Like I said in a previous post, from the time we leave Ft. Campbell it's hardcore, hard and heavy, death and destruction, all day every day, no shit ARMY all the way, grit your teeth, pull your hair, in your face, slap your sister, livin' the dream in the SUCK.
The past three days we have had IEDs just outside of the FOB. Convoys have been getting ambushed, and the Apaches have been killing. The full moon was supposed to bring heavy attacks on the base, but no ordnance fell within the fences. Our aircraft were involved in a fight where a terrorist ended up losing his head; he also had an RPG in his hands that exploded and left him as nothing more than dust in the wind.
Today I was in, of all places, the latrine, when I heard a MEDEVAC crew during a bathroom chat session speaking about a man they had brought back that survived a barrage of 30mm from our aircraft. How he survived, I do not know. If he makes it through the night he'll be in for several days of interrogation and blindfolded fun, maybe. I find it funny that we shoot the enemy, and then our MEDEVAC helicopters pick them up if they survive and bring them back to our facilities for treatment. The Taliban would never do such things, but I guess the Geneva Conventions is the ultimate ruling in such a case.
In closing, I would like to say that the Soldier is the most adaptatious of all creatures. No matter the situation, a soldier will overcome. I wish people knew half the story.
Cheers.
-J
Friday, March 21, 2008
Guard Dog Six
I apologize, as it's been awhile since I've written. Recently I had a chance to step away from my usual job and have a go at guarding the base from intruders and the like for a week. Needless to say, it was an interesting experience.
The perimeter of our little FOB has ten towers and a main gate; it is the duty of the guards to man these towers and operate the gate in twelve hour shifts. There's also a duty that people can volunteer for called speed bump. The idea is to drive a Humvee outside of the wire, park it on a road and monitor everything and everyone heading towards the FOB. Sitting atop the Humvee is a beautiful swivel turret with a large Browning .50 cal machine gun mounted to it. This gun was fired at cement barriers; the titanium tips ripped through the concrete and cut the barrier in half like a hot knife through butter. Impressive. Speed bump was my favorite duty because we were the first line of defense. They started speed bump after the car bomb mentioned in my last entry went off, and that wasn't going to happen again. The .50 would stop anything dead in its tracks long before it got anywhere near our gates.
At first I wasn't too happy about drawing guard duty. I had already been up for 14 hours and did not want to do another 12. I was also pretty sick, so I hopped myself up on Vitamin C, gathered my body armor, helmet, weapon, and night vision goggles and went on my merry way to the towers.
When I reached the tower I was impressed at how high it stood above the countryside. I could see for miles. If the things that were going on here weren't so ugly, Afghanistan might actually be a beautiful land. The tower I was on the most had an M240B machine gun perched on a nice strong turret. The 7.62 rounds are the same shot from the enemy AK-47, only this one can get rid of them a lot quicker. My partner and I sat out on the balcony most of the time, looking like a bunch of hawks watching for prey through binoculars, and reporting anything suspicious on the radio back to base.
Writing about everything that happened out there would take a lot of time, which is a commodity I don't have a lot of right now. I think I'll just highlight some interesting occurrences:
A lot of the locals just go through their typical day of wondering around, herding sheep and goats, or farming rocks and dirt. Many of the children will come to the fence and demand PEPSI or water, or food and candy. When you refuse to give up the goods, they cuss you like the dirtiest sailor and curse the mothers, and even the grandmothers! At some point they even began to throw rocks and use slingshots. A quick draw of the rifle usually breaks up the gaggle and things go back to calm. I still need to get one of those slingshots.
It's normal to see local nationals carrying around AK-47s or other weapons. It's not normal if they point them in your general direction; if they start firing there's going to be a gunfight not unlike the OK Corral. We always win. Usually.
Night is probably the most interesting time, and when the most things happen. Metal is a precious item in Afghanistan, as anything made of metal can be sold for a profit. Some Afghanis are so hard up for cash I guess that they try to steal the barbed wire that accompanies the perimeter fence. Even though darkness is good cover, an efficient guard can catch them in the act with night vision goggles. The only time I fired my rifle during guard duty was when I caught two men stealing the wire from a low visibility area. I just happened to be looking in the right place at the right time. Of course I had to radio back to base for permission to fire, but the approval came quick. My intention was not to harm anyone, so I zipped two warning shots over their heads. I'm pretty sure they received the message loud and clear, as the bullets went closer to them then I initially intended. They stopped dead in their tracks, dropped the wire and ran for the hills like madmen. Mission accomplished.
Aside from all the gunfights happening in Khost and in the distance, the scariest thing about night time is the rockets. My last day/night of guard duty was a full moon, and it also happened to be the Afghani new year. The locals had been acting crazy all day, firing their rifles and standing on the roofs in their mud villages. Everyone figured that the darkness would bring about interesting events. Around 1030 pm towers began calling in flares from the distance, which usually happens at night with nothing to follow. All of the sudden I heard a swoosh, a loud BUZZ, and then BOOM! The explosion rocked the tower like a huge tree in a brisk wind. It hit about 500 meters out, which is far enough I suppose to keep from alerting the entire FOB, but there is no way the explosion went unnoticed by other personnel. After that, everything fell silent. Only one rocket thankfully, and poorly aimed. Happy New Year Afghanistan.
All in all, I learned a lot about the people, their resourcefulness, and that not all of them are evil. Some are just living their lives, raising their families, and probably hoping for the best, much like us here on FOB Salerno, minus the family part. I try not to hold everyone under a stereotypical view, and my recent duty made it a little easier to do so.
I hope everyone is doing well back home; I miss home greatly right now. I might be going on a mission soon, sometime in the coming days. Either myself or a buddy of mine, or both of us are headed off. It's supposedly something big, but I can't say much. Of course you know I'll write about it later if it ever comes to be. If not, old Afghanistan will produce something for me to blabber about. Take care everyone.
As a side note, I believe I've caught myself spelling Al Qaeda incorrectly. If so, I apologize, as incorrect spelling is a pet peeve. Maybe I've spelled peeve wrong. Who knows. Cheers!
-J
The perimeter of our little FOB has ten towers and a main gate; it is the duty of the guards to man these towers and operate the gate in twelve hour shifts. There's also a duty that people can volunteer for called speed bump. The idea is to drive a Humvee outside of the wire, park it on a road and monitor everything and everyone heading towards the FOB. Sitting atop the Humvee is a beautiful swivel turret with a large Browning .50 cal machine gun mounted to it. This gun was fired at cement barriers; the titanium tips ripped through the concrete and cut the barrier in half like a hot knife through butter. Impressive. Speed bump was my favorite duty because we were the first line of defense. They started speed bump after the car bomb mentioned in my last entry went off, and that wasn't going to happen again. The .50 would stop anything dead in its tracks long before it got anywhere near our gates.
At first I wasn't too happy about drawing guard duty. I had already been up for 14 hours and did not want to do another 12. I was also pretty sick, so I hopped myself up on Vitamin C, gathered my body armor, helmet, weapon, and night vision goggles and went on my merry way to the towers.
When I reached the tower I was impressed at how high it stood above the countryside. I could see for miles. If the things that were going on here weren't so ugly, Afghanistan might actually be a beautiful land. The tower I was on the most had an M240B machine gun perched on a nice strong turret. The 7.62 rounds are the same shot from the enemy AK-47, only this one can get rid of them a lot quicker. My partner and I sat out on the balcony most of the time, looking like a bunch of hawks watching for prey through binoculars, and reporting anything suspicious on the radio back to base.
Writing about everything that happened out there would take a lot of time, which is a commodity I don't have a lot of right now. I think I'll just highlight some interesting occurrences:
A lot of the locals just go through their typical day of wondering around, herding sheep and goats, or farming rocks and dirt. Many of the children will come to the fence and demand PEPSI or water, or food and candy. When you refuse to give up the goods, they cuss you like the dirtiest sailor and curse the mothers, and even the grandmothers! At some point they even began to throw rocks and use slingshots. A quick draw of the rifle usually breaks up the gaggle and things go back to calm. I still need to get one of those slingshots.
It's normal to see local nationals carrying around AK-47s or other weapons. It's not normal if they point them in your general direction; if they start firing there's going to be a gunfight not unlike the OK Corral. We always win. Usually.
Night is probably the most interesting time, and when the most things happen. Metal is a precious item in Afghanistan, as anything made of metal can be sold for a profit. Some Afghanis are so hard up for cash I guess that they try to steal the barbed wire that accompanies the perimeter fence. Even though darkness is good cover, an efficient guard can catch them in the act with night vision goggles. The only time I fired my rifle during guard duty was when I caught two men stealing the wire from a low visibility area. I just happened to be looking in the right place at the right time. Of course I had to radio back to base for permission to fire, but the approval came quick. My intention was not to harm anyone, so I zipped two warning shots over their heads. I'm pretty sure they received the message loud and clear, as the bullets went closer to them then I initially intended. They stopped dead in their tracks, dropped the wire and ran for the hills like madmen. Mission accomplished.
Aside from all the gunfights happening in Khost and in the distance, the scariest thing about night time is the rockets. My last day/night of guard duty was a full moon, and it also happened to be the Afghani new year. The locals had been acting crazy all day, firing their rifles and standing on the roofs in their mud villages. Everyone figured that the darkness would bring about interesting events. Around 1030 pm towers began calling in flares from the distance, which usually happens at night with nothing to follow. All of the sudden I heard a swoosh, a loud BUZZ, and then BOOM! The explosion rocked the tower like a huge tree in a brisk wind. It hit about 500 meters out, which is far enough I suppose to keep from alerting the entire FOB, but there is no way the explosion went unnoticed by other personnel. After that, everything fell silent. Only one rocket thankfully, and poorly aimed. Happy New Year Afghanistan.
All in all, I learned a lot about the people, their resourcefulness, and that not all of them are evil. Some are just living their lives, raising their families, and probably hoping for the best, much like us here on FOB Salerno, minus the family part. I try not to hold everyone under a stereotypical view, and my recent duty made it a little easier to do so.
I hope everyone is doing well back home; I miss home greatly right now. I might be going on a mission soon, sometime in the coming days. Either myself or a buddy of mine, or both of us are headed off. It's supposedly something big, but I can't say much. Of course you know I'll write about it later if it ever comes to be. If not, old Afghanistan will produce something for me to blabber about. Take care everyone.
As a side note, I believe I've caught myself spelling Al Qaeda incorrectly. If so, I apologize, as incorrect spelling is a pet peeve. Maybe I've spelled peeve wrong. Who knows. Cheers!
-J
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
The Beast Unleashed
A Car bomb exploded in Khost yesterday, the town right outside our little base. There were two US KIA among several nationals; medevac helicopters kept bringing in litter after litter. As of right now, they are expecting more attacks on Salerno; none of the Afghanis who worked on base in construction, cleanup, etc. are allowed on the FOB until further notice. This isn't the entire post, but as of right now I only have time to write a small blurb. I will finish it when time permits.
continuing on....
I figured I would leave the first part I wrote up there simply because it is a pretty good summary of what happened.
After the car bomb exploded and several (a number I do not know) people were killed and injured, FOB Salerno went into a frenzy. Medevac helicopters flew into the site, picked up casualties, and came back to unload with the code words for mass casualty blaring over the loudspeakers. It is reported that the first crews in unloaded their casualties, and loaded up on litters (stretchers) because there were far more victims then first thought. And then, off they go again, in a cloud of dust, to try and save the day. Before the medevacs arrived, everyone (doctors, surgeons, nurses, etc.) just stood outside of the hospital. I don't know if it was because they were waiting or because they were in such disbelief.
Our end of the deal turned into a frenzy as well. Apaches were launched as an effective counteroffensive in case there were still enemy forces in the area. Apparently there were, because, according to some of my buddies, some aircraft came back empty; no ammo.
This proved to be another problem, as we seemed to be short on assembled rockets. Officers and enlisted men alike rushed to ammo crates and began assembling rockets. This doesn't sound very good on our part in regards to operational preparedness, but initially we thought our ammo stock was good to go. How much did they fire that day?
Eventually the numbers came back up and everything was good..well, good as far as ammo goes. By darkness, the helicopters were still out doing their rounds, until a lightning storm forced all aircraft to be grounded. Luckily, all evacs were complete, although the situation was still grim to me. No one felt as if they needed to speak. There was a quiet, contemplative aura everywhere I went. What was everyone thinking? I was thinking that I don't like walking around outside with a lightning rod (M4) on my hip. I wasn't about to take it off, though.
As it stands now, no Afghani national is allowed on our base. Maybe the higher ups suspicion about the locals has been raised to the level mine has been since I set foot in this hell hole. The only bad thing is, there is no one now to clean the shitters. I guess it's a good job for ARMY privates, but who knows. Maybe I'll end up on the job.
We are taking up defensive/offensive positions on behalf of the Taliban and Al Qaida, or whoever the hell is doing this to us. We regret the fact that there were any US casualties at all, and pray to God that there will be no more, although we know the harsh reality. All you can do is suck it up and move on, especially if it turns out to be someone you know. Hell, that's pretty much all you can do with ANYTHING in this God forsaken land. I feel the battle between us and them will go on for eternity. No matter, the soldier puts on his helmet and grabs his rifle. Silently, selflessly, he puts his life on the line. And sometimes, most of the time, in the moment, he doesn't even know what for. There are people who slander him and degrade him and hold signs that read "THANK GOD FOR IEDs" and yet he still does it because there are others back home who depend upon it. The only reason I can give for putting myself through this shit is so people I love and care about don't have to. I need them to be safe, and if it means US occupation for eternity then that's what we do.
-J
continuing on....
I figured I would leave the first part I wrote up there simply because it is a pretty good summary of what happened.
After the car bomb exploded and several (a number I do not know) people were killed and injured, FOB Salerno went into a frenzy. Medevac helicopters flew into the site, picked up casualties, and came back to unload with the code words for mass casualty blaring over the loudspeakers. It is reported that the first crews in unloaded their casualties, and loaded up on litters (stretchers) because there were far more victims then first thought. And then, off they go again, in a cloud of dust, to try and save the day. Before the medevacs arrived, everyone (doctors, surgeons, nurses, etc.) just stood outside of the hospital. I don't know if it was because they were waiting or because they were in such disbelief.
Our end of the deal turned into a frenzy as well. Apaches were launched as an effective counteroffensive in case there were still enemy forces in the area. Apparently there were, because, according to some of my buddies, some aircraft came back empty; no ammo.
This proved to be another problem, as we seemed to be short on assembled rockets. Officers and enlisted men alike rushed to ammo crates and began assembling rockets. This doesn't sound very good on our part in regards to operational preparedness, but initially we thought our ammo stock was good to go. How much did they fire that day?
Eventually the numbers came back up and everything was good..well, good as far as ammo goes. By darkness, the helicopters were still out doing their rounds, until a lightning storm forced all aircraft to be grounded. Luckily, all evacs were complete, although the situation was still grim to me. No one felt as if they needed to speak. There was a quiet, contemplative aura everywhere I went. What was everyone thinking? I was thinking that I don't like walking around outside with a lightning rod (M4) on my hip. I wasn't about to take it off, though.
As it stands now, no Afghani national is allowed on our base. Maybe the higher ups suspicion about the locals has been raised to the level mine has been since I set foot in this hell hole. The only bad thing is, there is no one now to clean the shitters. I guess it's a good job for ARMY privates, but who knows. Maybe I'll end up on the job.
We are taking up defensive/offensive positions on behalf of the Taliban and Al Qaida, or whoever the hell is doing this to us. We regret the fact that there were any US casualties at all, and pray to God that there will be no more, although we know the harsh reality. All you can do is suck it up and move on, especially if it turns out to be someone you know. Hell, that's pretty much all you can do with ANYTHING in this God forsaken land. I feel the battle between us and them will go on for eternity. No matter, the soldier puts on his helmet and grabs his rifle. Silently, selflessly, he puts his life on the line. And sometimes, most of the time, in the moment, he doesn't even know what for. There are people who slander him and degrade him and hold signs that read "THANK GOD FOR IEDs" and yet he still does it because there are others back home who depend upon it. The only reason I can give for putting myself through this shit is so people I love and care about don't have to. I need them to be safe, and if it means US occupation for eternity then that's what we do.
-J
Friday, February 22, 2008
Misspent Youth
I have had a bit of writer's block lately; I don't know if it's because a lot of the same things that I've already written about keep happening, or if I am just in an uncreative slump. Either way, I try to wait until I have things to discuss before I make a post. But I don't want it to be a month in between posts, either.
The jib-jibs have apparently found someone to take the place of those previously responsible for the rocket attacks (you know, the ones we snuffed earlier). It had been a bit since we got hit, and I thought that maybe it would be done until summer. Well, as soon as I came up with this theory it was shattered by a series of explosions. The funny thing is, it always seems to be in my vicinity; I can only pray that big guns upstairs doesn't have it out for me yet. So we hear the booms, 20mm rounds coming in, and we get trapped in the chow hall because there is a hero first sergeant who won't let anyone leave. Because of his heroism we missed the first all clear, and when our platoon sergeant came to get accountability of the night crew we were nowhere to be found.
Finally, this guy let us out so we hurry back to our buildings to make the shift change at the airfield, and we get hit AGAIN. This time we were near our building so we just stayed in there until the all clear. During which, our howitzers made metal rain from the skies on our attackers. Their booms shook Bird Tree and the buildings, but by this time its occupants had vacated. The muzzle flashes lit the entire night sky for a split second, time and time again. It's funny how during an attack you see no one because they've all retreated into cover or onto the lines as a member of the quick reactionary force. After the all clear, people come out of the woodwork; reminds me of The Wizard of Oz when all the little munchkins come out of hiding to greet Dorothy. Regardless, after it was said and done we headed to work like nothing had happened. Just another day.
Some of the guys in my platoon had to go to a shooting range the other day to re qualify with their M4. From the pictures I saw, it looks like they went off base, set up a perimeter in the dirt, and laid some targets. Whenever this happens, all of the little children come to the perimeter and try to get through; they must be used to the firing, but they don't get used to the pathfinders holding the perimeter not letting them past. In response, one little boy told the pathfinder that Al Qaida was going to kill us all. IN response to that, the pathfinder pointed his weapon at the boy and gave him the wicked eye. The boy understood clearly and took off running.
I found out why the kids gather at the range as well. As soon as everyone finishes firing and gets in the trucks to roll out, the kids envelope the range, kicking and hitting each other in hopes of being first to the mass quantities of spent brass ammo cartridges scattered among the dirt and rocks. I don't know why they want them so bad, but I have my ideas. Perhaps they can sell them to someone who melts them down and makes more bullets or other objects. Or, perhaps, they use them to put into IEDs that will explode and send shrapnel into our humvees and soldiers. If it were up to me, those kids would be nowhere near the range. Nonetheless, the mob stays there, fighting and screaming and clawing each other, until every last piece is gathered up. Very strange, if you ask me.
I try not to hold stereotypes of the children, but I cannot shake the idea that the wild, extremist beliefs of their forefathers will be passed along to them as well, and they will take their place one day. Children are innocent until corrupted by those around them, and it bothers me a great deal that this is the law of the land in Afghanistan. So, the way I feel about a large percentage of Afghanis remains the same.
I hope some prove me wrong.
Cheers,
-J
The jib-jibs have apparently found someone to take the place of those previously responsible for the rocket attacks (you know, the ones we snuffed earlier). It had been a bit since we got hit, and I thought that maybe it would be done until summer. Well, as soon as I came up with this theory it was shattered by a series of explosions. The funny thing is, it always seems to be in my vicinity; I can only pray that big guns upstairs doesn't have it out for me yet. So we hear the booms, 20mm rounds coming in, and we get trapped in the chow hall because there is a hero first sergeant who won't let anyone leave. Because of his heroism we missed the first all clear, and when our platoon sergeant came to get accountability of the night crew we were nowhere to be found.
Finally, this guy let us out so we hurry back to our buildings to make the shift change at the airfield, and we get hit AGAIN. This time we were near our building so we just stayed in there until the all clear. During which, our howitzers made metal rain from the skies on our attackers. Their booms shook Bird Tree and the buildings, but by this time its occupants had vacated. The muzzle flashes lit the entire night sky for a split second, time and time again. It's funny how during an attack you see no one because they've all retreated into cover or onto the lines as a member of the quick reactionary force. After the all clear, people come out of the woodwork; reminds me of The Wizard of Oz when all the little munchkins come out of hiding to greet Dorothy. Regardless, after it was said and done we headed to work like nothing had happened. Just another day.
Some of the guys in my platoon had to go to a shooting range the other day to re qualify with their M4. From the pictures I saw, it looks like they went off base, set up a perimeter in the dirt, and laid some targets. Whenever this happens, all of the little children come to the perimeter and try to get through; they must be used to the firing, but they don't get used to the pathfinders holding the perimeter not letting them past. In response, one little boy told the pathfinder that Al Qaida was going to kill us all. IN response to that, the pathfinder pointed his weapon at the boy and gave him the wicked eye. The boy understood clearly and took off running.
I found out why the kids gather at the range as well. As soon as everyone finishes firing and gets in the trucks to roll out, the kids envelope the range, kicking and hitting each other in hopes of being first to the mass quantities of spent brass ammo cartridges scattered among the dirt and rocks. I don't know why they want them so bad, but I have my ideas. Perhaps they can sell them to someone who melts them down and makes more bullets or other objects. Or, perhaps, they use them to put into IEDs that will explode and send shrapnel into our humvees and soldiers. If it were up to me, those kids would be nowhere near the range. Nonetheless, the mob stays there, fighting and screaming and clawing each other, until every last piece is gathered up. Very strange, if you ask me.
I try not to hold stereotypes of the children, but I cannot shake the idea that the wild, extremist beliefs of their forefathers will be passed along to them as well, and they will take their place one day. Children are innocent until corrupted by those around them, and it bothers me a great deal that this is the law of the land in Afghanistan. So, the way I feel about a large percentage of Afghanis remains the same.
I hope some prove me wrong.
Cheers,
-J
Monday, February 11, 2008
Bird Tree and the Devil's Land (TCB)
So there's a tree here, right near our hooch, that everyone calls "bird tree." It's shaped like a popsicle, or anything else you might think of; tall, skinny, and strange.
Every evening, before we have supper, every bird in Afghanistan comes to perch on this tree. You can't see the birds because it's like some kind of mutant pine tree, and they can go inside the foilage. When the entire party has gathered, they all start squawking like some terrible traffic jam. Everyone who walks by looks up at the tree with anger; some people throw rocks. It makes them stop for approximately 4 seconds, and then they start up again. When we first got here it used to keep me awake when I tried to sleep, but now I am used to it and they eventually disperse for the night. Soldiers come out of their tents, raise their fist and curse the tree. I laugh.
Even so, we've derived several methods that we'd use to take down bird tree once and for all. The seemingly favorite method is just to set the thing on fire and watch everything toast. Others wish to cut it down and stomp the stupid out of the thing. We could fire rockets at it, grenade it, or even poison bird tree. But something tells me no matter what is done, bird tree will prevail. So we leave it alone.
In all seriousness though, the action has died down a bit since we first arrived in the devil's land. Rocket attacks have ceased, due to the fact that those responsible for most of the recent attacks have been wiped out. Word is that there is a buildup coming, and I believe it. Those bastards are waiting until warm weather hits, and then they will come out of their holes and unleash hell. We are building up as well; there are some marines on the way to help out out. They will be a blessing.
Because of the lull, it is too easy to become complacent, even if you are in a combat zone. The edge goes away eventually when there's no bullets or rockets or whatever flying in your vicinity. I imagine if we were to be attacked right now some would just try to go about their daily business until someone threw them into a bunker with their rifle. On the other hand, there are some jumpy people around here too. Some people want to be too involved in the fighting, while others want nothing to do with it.
Some random government agency, one you might have heard of before, was here a few evenings ago. They are known as the "ones who are not here" to those, ironically, who know they are here. I am privvy to this information because when they did their "courtesy calls" in the black of night, our apaches provided cover for the entire operation. No one on our side was hurt, but I heard there were some on the other side who were not so welcoming to the courtesy. I guess they ended up having a bad night; too bad for them. To celebrate, we had Oreos.
Time drags and drags and drags and drags, and we work and work and handle our duties. Sometimes I wish for something different; I want to be somewhere on the beach with the sand in between my toes and the warm sun making my skin red. I want Ciarra to be there, fanning me (just kidding, she doesn't have to fan). I want a Corona, or any other ice cold beer pretty much. I want to lay there, and I want to do nothing. Nothing.
Well, I suppose that's all I have to ramble about. I am going to try to upload some pictures to my webshots page; if it is successful I will post the address on my next entry. Until then, keep safe, enjoy life, and do what you do.
Taking Care of Business
-J
Every evening, before we have supper, every bird in Afghanistan comes to perch on this tree. You can't see the birds because it's like some kind of mutant pine tree, and they can go inside the foilage. When the entire party has gathered, they all start squawking like some terrible traffic jam. Everyone who walks by looks up at the tree with anger; some people throw rocks. It makes them stop for approximately 4 seconds, and then they start up again. When we first got here it used to keep me awake when I tried to sleep, but now I am used to it and they eventually disperse for the night. Soldiers come out of their tents, raise their fist and curse the tree. I laugh.
Even so, we've derived several methods that we'd use to take down bird tree once and for all. The seemingly favorite method is just to set the thing on fire and watch everything toast. Others wish to cut it down and stomp the stupid out of the thing. We could fire rockets at it, grenade it, or even poison bird tree. But something tells me no matter what is done, bird tree will prevail. So we leave it alone.
In all seriousness though, the action has died down a bit since we first arrived in the devil's land. Rocket attacks have ceased, due to the fact that those responsible for most of the recent attacks have been wiped out. Word is that there is a buildup coming, and I believe it. Those bastards are waiting until warm weather hits, and then they will come out of their holes and unleash hell. We are building up as well; there are some marines on the way to help out out. They will be a blessing.
Because of the lull, it is too easy to become complacent, even if you are in a combat zone. The edge goes away eventually when there's no bullets or rockets or whatever flying in your vicinity. I imagine if we were to be attacked right now some would just try to go about their daily business until someone threw them into a bunker with their rifle. On the other hand, there are some jumpy people around here too. Some people want to be too involved in the fighting, while others want nothing to do with it.
Some random government agency, one you might have heard of before, was here a few evenings ago. They are known as the "ones who are not here" to those, ironically, who know they are here. I am privvy to this information because when they did their "courtesy calls" in the black of night, our apaches provided cover for the entire operation. No one on our side was hurt, but I heard there were some on the other side who were not so welcoming to the courtesy. I guess they ended up having a bad night; too bad for them. To celebrate, we had Oreos.
Time drags and drags and drags and drags, and we work and work and handle our duties. Sometimes I wish for something different; I want to be somewhere on the beach with the sand in between my toes and the warm sun making my skin red. I want Ciarra to be there, fanning me (just kidding, she doesn't have to fan). I want a Corona, or any other ice cold beer pretty much. I want to lay there, and I want to do nothing. Nothing.
Well, I suppose that's all I have to ramble about. I am going to try to upload some pictures to my webshots page; if it is successful I will post the address on my next entry. Until then, keep safe, enjoy life, and do what you do.
Taking Care of Business
-J
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Thoughts
I don’t really have anything specific to write about; I just want to write because I have not had a chance to in quite some time. I like to sit down and reflect what has been going on through words. Not sure why, but it is refreshing.
Something that just popped into my head; the level of loyalty one has to his leader in the army is amazing. If a sergeant says do something, by God there is a private ready and willing to jump off a cliff if so instructed. I feel the same loyalty, mostly to fellow enlisted leaders and those appointed over me. Soldiers definitely look out for one another around here, which is one of the main responsibilities of an NCO. As the saying goes, “respect the rank, not the man.” Which means, even if you don’t like the guy, you respect the rank that has been placed upon him. And that’s all I have to say about that.
Things have been going ok around here. I know we’ve been attacked since the last time I’ve written, but I don’t know how many times. Not too many surprisingly. We swept the area afterwards but found nothing. Last week was the week of the full moon, and it was so light at night we hardly needed flashlights to work. They could have aimed their munitions with ease; guess they didn’t like the fact that we could see them, too. Unfortunately, during the day sometime, a group of Afghani police were out in the middle of nowhere, and still somehow managed to find an IED. Or maybe it found them. Regardless, the day shift heard the unfortunate code words for “mass casualty” when the medevac birds came back to base; we saw the body bags.
I’ve been here a little over a month now, but for some reason it feels like 6. I guess because the fun never stops! I can’t imagine what I am going to feel like at the end of 12 or 15 or however many months we are stuck in the bowl. Hopefully I will not feel like an old man. Everyone is getting in good physical shape, though, going to the gym in between shifts and walking with a pack and weapon everywhere we go. I’m still feeling like I am in the Band of Brothers.
An additional duty we have to perform on top of everything else we do here is guard duty. Twelve hours of nonstop fun in a guard tower, watching by day with our eyes, and watching through the darkness with night vision goggles. One poor soul broke his wrists and elbows after pulling a cartoon-like move on one of those 15 foot towers. He just opened the door and stepped right out into thin air, disappearing into the darkness below. I don’t know why there’s one door with stairs, and one without, but someone should have told him about it. As it turns out, the guy gets to go home. The war for him is over.
Another fun thing I hear about guard duty (as I have not had my turn yet) is the people that come up to the fence. Mostly kids, they like to show up and sometimes throw rocks or talk shit to the soldiers. Your momma this and your momma that and you are a son of a gun. The guards just usually tell them to F off in so many words. I have to get that slingshot before my turn comes around. Not all of the children act this way; some treat U.S. Soldiers like heroes. I still want that slingshot, though. I want it so bad.
Well, I guess that’s all I have in me for now. It’s funny, because around here if you want to do something simple that you don’t usually do in the daily routine, like make a phone call or write in a blog, you have to change your entire life around. Get up earlier, forgo eating or maybe even that shower that you desperately need. It’s so weird. Another thing that I just thought of that is kind of strange is things that can bring you out of the depths of hell and into the sunshine. Someone could be having the shittiest day of his life, but if you give him a scoop of ice cream and a pat on the back he is good to go. I like mint chocolate chip.
Even a small break from the day’s activities can make all the difference for a down and out soldier. A piece of mail, a phone call, a tiny nap, memories of home in the summertime. That’s all it takes in this world. After all of this is over, I don’t know if I will ever be bored again when I get back home. Home seems so far away though, in space and in time. The only time I can go there now is when I sleep, and it happens now more often than not.
Cheers,
-J
Something that just popped into my head; the level of loyalty one has to his leader in the army is amazing. If a sergeant says do something, by God there is a private ready and willing to jump off a cliff if so instructed. I feel the same loyalty, mostly to fellow enlisted leaders and those appointed over me. Soldiers definitely look out for one another around here, which is one of the main responsibilities of an NCO. As the saying goes, “respect the rank, not the man.” Which means, even if you don’t like the guy, you respect the rank that has been placed upon him. And that’s all I have to say about that.
Things have been going ok around here. I know we’ve been attacked since the last time I’ve written, but I don’t know how many times. Not too many surprisingly. We swept the area afterwards but found nothing. Last week was the week of the full moon, and it was so light at night we hardly needed flashlights to work. They could have aimed their munitions with ease; guess they didn’t like the fact that we could see them, too. Unfortunately, during the day sometime, a group of Afghani police were out in the middle of nowhere, and still somehow managed to find an IED. Or maybe it found them. Regardless, the day shift heard the unfortunate code words for “mass casualty” when the medevac birds came back to base; we saw the body bags.
I’ve been here a little over a month now, but for some reason it feels like 6. I guess because the fun never stops! I can’t imagine what I am going to feel like at the end of 12 or 15 or however many months we are stuck in the bowl. Hopefully I will not feel like an old man. Everyone is getting in good physical shape, though, going to the gym in between shifts and walking with a pack and weapon everywhere we go. I’m still feeling like I am in the Band of Brothers.
An additional duty we have to perform on top of everything else we do here is guard duty. Twelve hours of nonstop fun in a guard tower, watching by day with our eyes, and watching through the darkness with night vision goggles. One poor soul broke his wrists and elbows after pulling a cartoon-like move on one of those 15 foot towers. He just opened the door and stepped right out into thin air, disappearing into the darkness below. I don’t know why there’s one door with stairs, and one without, but someone should have told him about it. As it turns out, the guy gets to go home. The war for him is over.
Another fun thing I hear about guard duty (as I have not had my turn yet) is the people that come up to the fence. Mostly kids, they like to show up and sometimes throw rocks or talk shit to the soldiers. Your momma this and your momma that and you are a son of a gun. The guards just usually tell them to F off in so many words. I have to get that slingshot before my turn comes around. Not all of the children act this way; some treat U.S. Soldiers like heroes. I still want that slingshot, though. I want it so bad.
Well, I guess that’s all I have in me for now. It’s funny, because around here if you want to do something simple that you don’t usually do in the daily routine, like make a phone call or write in a blog, you have to change your entire life around. Get up earlier, forgo eating or maybe even that shower that you desperately need. It’s so weird. Another thing that I just thought of that is kind of strange is things that can bring you out of the depths of hell and into the sunshine. Someone could be having the shittiest day of his life, but if you give him a scoop of ice cream and a pat on the back he is good to go. I like mint chocolate chip.
Even a small break from the day’s activities can make all the difference for a down and out soldier. A piece of mail, a phone call, a tiny nap, memories of home in the summertime. That’s all it takes in this world. After all of this is over, I don’t know if I will ever be bored again when I get back home. Home seems so far away though, in space and in time. The only time I can go there now is when I sleep, and it happens now more often than not.
Cheers,
-J
Thursday, January 17, 2008
The Dog Days of Afghanistan
I haven't written in a few days; not much has been going on as far as fighting goes. Even so, aircraft are flying, and there are still some major bugs to be worked out of them. It's not unusual to work on a problem all night, hand it off to the next shift, and come right back to it the next day. Some people don't understand the complexity of our job and complain when the bird sits grounded for two or three days. It isn't rocket science, but it's pretty damn close.
There's something going on right outside the wire right now. It's strange because I can hear what sounds like a .50 cal and m4 or m16 fire. Earlier I jumped right out of my chair because it sounded like an air force jet was pulling zero-G maneuvers right above my roof. I think some apaches are getting involved now, so whatever it is, it will be over soon.
I can't express how dog tired we all are currently. Our lives consist of the following: Wake up, personal hygiene, eat, go to work, eat, get off work, eat, sleep, repeat. Most other shops work 8 hour shifts, but somehow we are having to work 13, with the overlap for handing off all tasks to the next shift. Someone can be chipper coming into work, but the next time you see him, at the end of his shift, the poor lug is moping around like a beaten dog, his tail between his legs. I feel like that every time I get off shift. I try to call my fiance when I get off work. I connect, but I wonder if she thinks the lights are on but no body's home. Sometimes I can't even remember what I say. And then, I crawl into bed, blink my eyes and it's time to get up again. Ha, we're supposed to endure this for 15 months? We'll get mono and be bed ridden by then.
I have more fun quirks about Afghan people. I found out that they love racial profiling and stereotyping. A friend reported that when he and one of our other friends (who is black) went to the bazaar for some shopping, the vendors would say such things as "yo man, what it is, show me the money!" or something to that effect. Another buddy, of Mexican descent, was called "ESE." I don't know what they say for white people, but I'm sure to find out. I find it amusing that these people think we would respond positively to things like that.
Well, it sounds like the battle outside might be over (it's weird to fight a war in "shifts," yes?). I need to check on some people, and do some things, and then go the airfield for another 13. I hope all is well back home. Sorry this post isn't as long as the others; the lull hasn't left much to write about, unless you want to know how a target acquisition designation sight works, or is SUPPOSED to work, then I have nothin'. Next time I will have more.
Cheers,
-J
There's something going on right outside the wire right now. It's strange because I can hear what sounds like a .50 cal and m4 or m16 fire. Earlier I jumped right out of my chair because it sounded like an air force jet was pulling zero-G maneuvers right above my roof. I think some apaches are getting involved now, so whatever it is, it will be over soon.
I can't express how dog tired we all are currently. Our lives consist of the following: Wake up, personal hygiene, eat, go to work, eat, get off work, eat, sleep, repeat. Most other shops work 8 hour shifts, but somehow we are having to work 13, with the overlap for handing off all tasks to the next shift. Someone can be chipper coming into work, but the next time you see him, at the end of his shift, the poor lug is moping around like a beaten dog, his tail between his legs. I feel like that every time I get off shift. I try to call my fiance when I get off work. I connect, but I wonder if she thinks the lights are on but no body's home. Sometimes I can't even remember what I say. And then, I crawl into bed, blink my eyes and it's time to get up again. Ha, we're supposed to endure this for 15 months? We'll get mono and be bed ridden by then.
I have more fun quirks about Afghan people. I found out that they love racial profiling and stereotyping. A friend reported that when he and one of our other friends (who is black) went to the bazaar for some shopping, the vendors would say such things as "yo man, what it is, show me the money!" or something to that effect. Another buddy, of Mexican descent, was called "ESE." I don't know what they say for white people, but I'm sure to find out. I find it amusing that these people think we would respond positively to things like that.
Well, it sounds like the battle outside might be over (it's weird to fight a war in "shifts," yes?). I need to check on some people, and do some things, and then go the airfield for another 13. I hope all is well back home. Sorry this post isn't as long as the others; the lull hasn't left much to write about, unless you want to know how a target acquisition designation sight works, or is SUPPOSED to work, then I have nothin'. Next time I will have more.
Cheers,
-J
Saturday, January 12, 2008
The Replacements
I awoke this morning, literally about 15 minutes ago, to blaring sirens and someone giving instructions over loudspeakers. "Attention on FOB, attention on FOB. All QRF (quick reactionary force) teams report to assigned areas. All non essential personnel remain in bunkers or brick and mortar buildings." Then dead silence everywhere because everyone is already in their spots. Usually when someone spots where the rocket came from the area is peppered with artillery; it might get the bad guy or it might not, because usually they just set off the rockets and run for their lives. They don't even aim.
The rocket must have hit somewhere on the other side of the FOB or outside of the wire, because the explosion did not wake me. Our living quarters serve as bunkers; the walls and ceilings are very very thick, so I will stay here until the all clear. I hear rockets can go right through the bunkers anyways, so I'm better off. The only thing I'm worried about is the other fellas in our company working out on the flight line.
All clear.
An interesting start to a hopefully uneventful day. What I wanted to write about was the arrival of the replacements, that being 8 of 10 of our beloved Apache helicopters. I wanted it to be a warm welcome, but 7 of the 8 arrived with maintenance issues, and the other 2 couldn't even make the trip and were stuck God knows where for the same reasons. I went out to the flight line and gave the only aircraft that came in without problems a little "pat on the back." Thank you. I probably just broke it.
SO, my first real night of hard work was last night. I spent 12 hours working on one bird that had a lovely array of problems, with the most serious one being the EGI system, which tracks satellites and utilizes a global positioning system for navigation. It's not much fun working in the cold, pitch black night with a flashlight. One guy from B Co came over and let me use his night vision goggles for a while because some pilot said my beloved Infrared strobe light in the tail that I spent hours installing in the states was not working. He was wrong, and I know he was wrong because I started the aircraft, flipped the switch, and blinded myself by staring directly at the thing with the goggles. I assure you, it works.
One thing that sort of freaks me out around here is prayer time for the locals. To me, they all are enemy, but that's another story. I was out on the flight line, pitch black, with just the quiet sounds of work around me. All of the sudden, somewhere in the distance a Muslim starts blaring creepy chants over a loudspeaker. I must note, that even though these people live in mud huts, they somehow have a fine capability to erect high tech loudspeaker systems for prayer time. Regardless, it's a scary time because you can't tell what they are saying. For all I know, they could be directing a rocket attack onto my little red beam coming from my flashlight. I just kept working. If I were to get hit it would be a rather large explosion, because here the aircraft are always loaded with different kinds of rockets and 300 30mm high explosive rounds in the gun, sitting on alert. Eventually we will bust out the big boy hellfire missiles, and I intend to write a strongly worded message on one with a paint marker, just like they used to write on bombs going to Germany in WWII. I've seen several messages on the other unit's missiles, and they are creative. Here's mine:
"To the Al Quaida and the Taliban, with love. F$!&* you. This one's a cave wrecker."
I've learned a few quirky little things about Afghanistan and my area in the short time I've been here. If you run one of the run paths that goes around the FOB, there is an area near the wire where terrorists (I mean locals, excuse me) will lob rocks at you. On the other side of the FOB on the run path, there is a local who is NOT a terrorist, whom, if you give delicious muffins from the chow hall, will give you a wrist rocket (sling shot) in return. Therefore, when you go for that run, those folks that try to stone you get a taste of their own medicine. What a hoot!
I've also learned that wherever I go, even to the most remote part of Afghanistan, there is someone trying to sell me pirated copies of DVD movies. Some of these copies are flawless, while on others you can tell it's just a guy with a video camera in a movie theatre. The coughing and seeing someone walk in front of the screen is a dead giveaway, I think.
So anyways, the aircraft are here. It's funny to say, but these birds have a mind of their own, and once they "adjust" to their surroundings and get used to being in Afghanistan, they will calm down and the maintenance will not be so intense. One aircraft had such a mind of it's own, that on this unit's last tour in Iraq it would literally turn itself on and arm all of its weapon systems. Not a soul was around. This bird was mad at somebody, and it is rumored that an exorcist was called in to alleviate the problem. After that, the aircraft returned to peace. I don't know if we have that one here or not, but if we do I'll make sure to steer clear of those weapons.
And so the saga continues.
Cheers,
-J
The rocket must have hit somewhere on the other side of the FOB or outside of the wire, because the explosion did not wake me. Our living quarters serve as bunkers; the walls and ceilings are very very thick, so I will stay here until the all clear. I hear rockets can go right through the bunkers anyways, so I'm better off. The only thing I'm worried about is the other fellas in our company working out on the flight line.
All clear.
An interesting start to a hopefully uneventful day. What I wanted to write about was the arrival of the replacements, that being 8 of 10 of our beloved Apache helicopters. I wanted it to be a warm welcome, but 7 of the 8 arrived with maintenance issues, and the other 2 couldn't even make the trip and were stuck God knows where for the same reasons. I went out to the flight line and gave the only aircraft that came in without problems a little "pat on the back." Thank you. I probably just broke it.
SO, my first real night of hard work was last night. I spent 12 hours working on one bird that had a lovely array of problems, with the most serious one being the EGI system, which tracks satellites and utilizes a global positioning system for navigation. It's not much fun working in the cold, pitch black night with a flashlight. One guy from B Co came over and let me use his night vision goggles for a while because some pilot said my beloved Infrared strobe light in the tail that I spent hours installing in the states was not working. He was wrong, and I know he was wrong because I started the aircraft, flipped the switch, and blinded myself by staring directly at the thing with the goggles. I assure you, it works.
One thing that sort of freaks me out around here is prayer time for the locals. To me, they all are enemy, but that's another story. I was out on the flight line, pitch black, with just the quiet sounds of work around me. All of the sudden, somewhere in the distance a Muslim starts blaring creepy chants over a loudspeaker. I must note, that even though these people live in mud huts, they somehow have a fine capability to erect high tech loudspeaker systems for prayer time. Regardless, it's a scary time because you can't tell what they are saying. For all I know, they could be directing a rocket attack onto my little red beam coming from my flashlight. I just kept working. If I were to get hit it would be a rather large explosion, because here the aircraft are always loaded with different kinds of rockets and 300 30mm high explosive rounds in the gun, sitting on alert. Eventually we will bust out the big boy hellfire missiles, and I intend to write a strongly worded message on one with a paint marker, just like they used to write on bombs going to Germany in WWII. I've seen several messages on the other unit's missiles, and they are creative. Here's mine:
"To the Al Quaida and the Taliban, with love. F$!&* you. This one's a cave wrecker."
I've learned a few quirky little things about Afghanistan and my area in the short time I've been here. If you run one of the run paths that goes around the FOB, there is an area near the wire where terrorists (I mean locals, excuse me) will lob rocks at you. On the other side of the FOB on the run path, there is a local who is NOT a terrorist, whom, if you give delicious muffins from the chow hall, will give you a wrist rocket (sling shot) in return. Therefore, when you go for that run, those folks that try to stone you get a taste of their own medicine. What a hoot!
I've also learned that wherever I go, even to the most remote part of Afghanistan, there is someone trying to sell me pirated copies of DVD movies. Some of these copies are flawless, while on others you can tell it's just a guy with a video camera in a movie theatre. The coughing and seeing someone walk in front of the screen is a dead giveaway, I think.
So anyways, the aircraft are here. It's funny to say, but these birds have a mind of their own, and once they "adjust" to their surroundings and get used to being in Afghanistan, they will calm down and the maintenance will not be so intense. One aircraft had such a mind of it's own, that on this unit's last tour in Iraq it would literally turn itself on and arm all of its weapon systems. Not a soul was around. This bird was mad at somebody, and it is rumored that an exorcist was called in to alleviate the problem. After that, the aircraft returned to peace. I don't know if we have that one here or not, but if we do I'll make sure to steer clear of those weapons.
And so the saga continues.
Cheers,
-J
Friday, January 4, 2008
The Rumors aren't Rumors; It's too Surreal
First, I have to mention that the previous post was supposed to be posted days ago; but seeing as how we are in the middle of nowhere the Internet can be a little flaky, so maybe you get to read two posts at once.
Middle of nowhere is an understatement. We are in the suck. Our FOB is in a bowl, surrounded by large mountains. It's like a mountain pass or valley if you will, which doesn't seem smart tactically as a defensive position. Sometimes inclement weather shuts all air traffic down, minus the combat necessity aircraft such as the Apache. In other words, when the weather gets rough, we are shut out from the rest of the world. Word is such weather is heading in, and keeping our aircraft from getting here. Luckily we have aircraft here already, which is no surprise or new news.
I must note that we are not even supposed to keep a blog here, because people give out too much information. I will keep it as vague as possible, with the intent of keeping readers informed. Therefore, you will never know specifics of what is happening here; but you will be able to create your own picture. I need to write and I need people to have a sense of how we survive. Sorry to you censors, I've been trained in the craft.
We always hear rumors of happenings outside of the base. Naturally that is where most of the action is, save the attacks that come our way (they don't call this place rocket city for nothin'). The other day a convoy was hit by an IED; someone with not so much time left in country was killed. His rank raises questions to me as to why he was out there in the first place. I don't know. The rumor is not a rumor.
Here on the FOB, like on the TV show M.A.S.H., when a medevac Blackhawk comes back with injured soldiers, an announcement comes over the loudspeaker alerting medical personnel for all to hear. Even though they speak in code, we've learned their language and know the medical status of everyone coming in. You may not hear anything on the news about this place, but people are dying, and it seems to be every day. As I type now, a battle rages on in the distance.
There is a sense of satisfaction in knowing that my aircraft helps to save lives on the battlefield. A small team of SF soldiers can vouch for that; their up armored HUMVEE was ambushed by nearly an entire company of Taliban fighters. Some distance away, an Apache received a call for help and the crew diverted from their patrol, pushing the throttle, screaming to reach the scene in time. Needless to say, I don't know what wiped the Taliban out, but I can guess a barrage of 30mm high explosive rounds and salvos of rockets dealt their fate. I load the munitions and maintain these systems. Being on the receiving end would be, in my opinion, a dark and hellish end to one's existence here on earth. I don't know if it's right to have such a vital part of being a dealer of death, but at the end of the day it allowed our boys to return here safely.
I'm still not sure how I feel about all of this. I'm sitting here, in this decent room, with a decent bed, hot showers, hot chow, and Internet. All the while, the infantry sits holed up somewhere, sleeping in the muck, dirty and tired, shooting and being shot at, and watching their buddies get blown to bits. I could probably get in a vehicle and drive to where they are in not so much time. Is me doing my job enough to satisfy the idea that we, as 15Y's, are doing all that we can to help win the fight? I guess that question will be answered over time.
Every infantry guy I've ever spoken with, at one time or another, has shaken my hand and told me their story of how they were bogged down in a firefight somewhere, and when all hope was lost and they thought they were going to get it an Apache came screaming in with guns and rockets, crushing the enemy and allowing the GIs to escape. It's a mutual respect I suppose; when they learn what I do they are always grateful. And I am definitely grateful for what they do as well. Sometimes I just wish I could do more. At any rate, I am finally getting to see how important my job is, and the results of the countless, tireless hours are coming to light.
That's all I have for now. We will continue to do what we do, and hope for the best. It's going to get really busy really soon, so I will post when I can. Until then, I wish all of you the best back home. Live life to the fullest and enjoy your freedoms, because there are soldiers here laying it all on the line to ensure that you can do so. I'm not talking about me, either. They say that heroes are the ones who don't make it back. There's a lot of heroes here.
-J
Middle of nowhere is an understatement. We are in the suck. Our FOB is in a bowl, surrounded by large mountains. It's like a mountain pass or valley if you will, which doesn't seem smart tactically as a defensive position. Sometimes inclement weather shuts all air traffic down, minus the combat necessity aircraft such as the Apache. In other words, when the weather gets rough, we are shut out from the rest of the world. Word is such weather is heading in, and keeping our aircraft from getting here. Luckily we have aircraft here already, which is no surprise or new news.
I must note that we are not even supposed to keep a blog here, because people give out too much information. I will keep it as vague as possible, with the intent of keeping readers informed. Therefore, you will never know specifics of what is happening here; but you will be able to create your own picture. I need to write and I need people to have a sense of how we survive. Sorry to you censors, I've been trained in the craft.
We always hear rumors of happenings outside of the base. Naturally that is where most of the action is, save the attacks that come our way (they don't call this place rocket city for nothin'). The other day a convoy was hit by an IED; someone with not so much time left in country was killed. His rank raises questions to me as to why he was out there in the first place. I don't know. The rumor is not a rumor.
Here on the FOB, like on the TV show M.A.S.H., when a medevac Blackhawk comes back with injured soldiers, an announcement comes over the loudspeaker alerting medical personnel for all to hear. Even though they speak in code, we've learned their language and know the medical status of everyone coming in. You may not hear anything on the news about this place, but people are dying, and it seems to be every day. As I type now, a battle rages on in the distance.
There is a sense of satisfaction in knowing that my aircraft helps to save lives on the battlefield. A small team of SF soldiers can vouch for that; their up armored HUMVEE was ambushed by nearly an entire company of Taliban fighters. Some distance away, an Apache received a call for help and the crew diverted from their patrol, pushing the throttle, screaming to reach the scene in time. Needless to say, I don't know what wiped the Taliban out, but I can guess a barrage of 30mm high explosive rounds and salvos of rockets dealt their fate. I load the munitions and maintain these systems. Being on the receiving end would be, in my opinion, a dark and hellish end to one's existence here on earth. I don't know if it's right to have such a vital part of being a dealer of death, but at the end of the day it allowed our boys to return here safely.
I'm still not sure how I feel about all of this. I'm sitting here, in this decent room, with a decent bed, hot showers, hot chow, and Internet. All the while, the infantry sits holed up somewhere, sleeping in the muck, dirty and tired, shooting and being shot at, and watching their buddies get blown to bits. I could probably get in a vehicle and drive to where they are in not so much time. Is me doing my job enough to satisfy the idea that we, as 15Y's, are doing all that we can to help win the fight? I guess that question will be answered over time.
Every infantry guy I've ever spoken with, at one time or another, has shaken my hand and told me their story of how they were bogged down in a firefight somewhere, and when all hope was lost and they thought they were going to get it an Apache came screaming in with guns and rockets, crushing the enemy and allowing the GIs to escape. It's a mutual respect I suppose; when they learn what I do they are always grateful. And I am definitely grateful for what they do as well. Sometimes I just wish I could do more. At any rate, I am finally getting to see how important my job is, and the results of the countless, tireless hours are coming to light.
That's all I have for now. We will continue to do what we do, and hope for the best. It's going to get really busy really soon, so I will post when I can. Until then, I wish all of you the best back home. Live life to the fullest and enjoy your freedoms, because there are soldiers here laying it all on the line to ensure that you can do so. I'm not talking about me, either. They say that heroes are the ones who don't make it back. There's a lot of heroes here.
-J
Paydirt
Literally. All it is around here is dirt. It's New Year's day over here, and the new year just showed itself in the states. I've been here since the late hours of December 30th, and am just now getting the proper chance to write.
I left Kuwait aboard a giant Air Force C-17 to a base in Afghanistan. The ride was strange because the plane is a massive cargo jet with seats installed in the middle where the cargo usually is. So there we are, all crammed in, and there are no windows; you can only feel the aircraft bank and dodge and do all kinds of crazy stuff. We entered the combat zone and landed safely in Afghanistan.
From there, we waited around in the cold, got some hot chow, and were finally led inside to a little reception area so that we could try to relax. All I wanted to do was keep going; I didn't think it would take 5 days to get where I needed to be. But, I guess you go when a ride is available, and if there isn't one, you wait wait wait....
I don't remember what time it was, but it was very very late. The loudspeaker came to life, calling us to gear up and report to the flight line. It's a damn show to watch 60 soldiers, up to their nose in heavy equipment, trying to pile onto small buses for a ride to the plane. We did it, and a few minutes later we were standing outside the butt end of a C-130 cargo plane. This part was exciting to me; after we all were in the plane and strapped down to cargo net seats with our WWII era safety harnesses, I sat there, crammed in like a sardine, and took it all in. There we sat, bogged down in gear, like paratroopers getting ready to make the big jump. There were even static lines above our heads where you could actually hook up to parachute out. It felt like a scene from BAND of BROTHERS. I am in the right outfit, I guess. A dim green light showed mere outlines of soldiers, sitting, contemplating, or sleeping. We all wondered what would happen next.
Luckily the ride was only 45 minutes, and after what felt like some intense evasive maneuvers (my stomach was flopping), our plane was grinding down a dirt runway. We came to a stop and the cargo door dropped down. Our cargo palates were pushed out the back and disappeared into the night. Salerno. Here, when the sun goes down, that's it. No light. Only red flashlights, if you are lucky enough to have one. All of ours were packed. We rushed out of the plane like men on a mission, and I could not see my hands in front of me. I was drowning in such a darkness that I've never seen before. Looking up to the sky, I was amazed at the number of stars; the galaxy was at my fingertips. Tired and cold, I kept running, and I didn't stop until I was behind the wire and safe with everyone else.
After a short brief, we gathered our bags and went to our room assignments. Those boys that have been here awhile were sure glad to see us; now they can go home!
The billets are strange; large, open rooms divided into smaller rooms by flimsy plywood walls. It looks like some sort of ghetto, but it will do. I unpacked slightly, and went to sleep.
The next day, New Year's eve, a buddy and I set out to explore the tiny FOB. We found a PX, dining hall, gym, small communications room, and theatre. It might not be so bad here. I feel like there are more Afghan people here than us, though. They show up in the morning, do their various jobs of carpentry, construction, and cleaning among other things, and then disappear. I get nervous being around them; some of them look at you like they want to rip your face off. I'm one up on them, as I can make a pretty angry looking face myself, and it usually ends with them looking away to the ground. I'm not here to make friends.
So here I sit, still attached to headquarters company, waiting for DOG company to show up. I miss being around my friends, so hopefully they come soon. Until then, I will entertain myself with kicking up dirt and walking around aimlessly. The Apaches will show up too, eventually, and that is when my work will start. I hope everyone has a great New Year's...Live it up because anything is better than Afghanistan.
Cheers
-J
I left Kuwait aboard a giant Air Force C-17 to a base in Afghanistan. The ride was strange because the plane is a massive cargo jet with seats installed in the middle where the cargo usually is. So there we are, all crammed in, and there are no windows; you can only feel the aircraft bank and dodge and do all kinds of crazy stuff. We entered the combat zone and landed safely in Afghanistan.
From there, we waited around in the cold, got some hot chow, and were finally led inside to a little reception area so that we could try to relax. All I wanted to do was keep going; I didn't think it would take 5 days to get where I needed to be. But, I guess you go when a ride is available, and if there isn't one, you wait wait wait....
I don't remember what time it was, but it was very very late. The loudspeaker came to life, calling us to gear up and report to the flight line. It's a damn show to watch 60 soldiers, up to their nose in heavy equipment, trying to pile onto small buses for a ride to the plane. We did it, and a few minutes later we were standing outside the butt end of a C-130 cargo plane. This part was exciting to me; after we all were in the plane and strapped down to cargo net seats with our WWII era safety harnesses, I sat there, crammed in like a sardine, and took it all in. There we sat, bogged down in gear, like paratroopers getting ready to make the big jump. There were even static lines above our heads where you could actually hook up to parachute out. It felt like a scene from BAND of BROTHERS. I am in the right outfit, I guess. A dim green light showed mere outlines of soldiers, sitting, contemplating, or sleeping. We all wondered what would happen next.
Luckily the ride was only 45 minutes, and after what felt like some intense evasive maneuvers (my stomach was flopping), our plane was grinding down a dirt runway. We came to a stop and the cargo door dropped down. Our cargo palates were pushed out the back and disappeared into the night. Salerno. Here, when the sun goes down, that's it. No light. Only red flashlights, if you are lucky enough to have one. All of ours were packed. We rushed out of the plane like men on a mission, and I could not see my hands in front of me. I was drowning in such a darkness that I've never seen before. Looking up to the sky, I was amazed at the number of stars; the galaxy was at my fingertips. Tired and cold, I kept running, and I didn't stop until I was behind the wire and safe with everyone else.
After a short brief, we gathered our bags and went to our room assignments. Those boys that have been here awhile were sure glad to see us; now they can go home!
The billets are strange; large, open rooms divided into smaller rooms by flimsy plywood walls. It looks like some sort of ghetto, but it will do. I unpacked slightly, and went to sleep.
The next day, New Year's eve, a buddy and I set out to explore the tiny FOB. We found a PX, dining hall, gym, small communications room, and theatre. It might not be so bad here. I feel like there are more Afghan people here than us, though. They show up in the morning, do their various jobs of carpentry, construction, and cleaning among other things, and then disappear. I get nervous being around them; some of them look at you like they want to rip your face off. I'm one up on them, as I can make a pretty angry looking face myself, and it usually ends with them looking away to the ground. I'm not here to make friends.
So here I sit, still attached to headquarters company, waiting for DOG company to show up. I miss being around my friends, so hopefully they come soon. Until then, I will entertain myself with kicking up dirt and walking around aimlessly. The Apaches will show up too, eventually, and that is when my work will start. I hope everyone has a great New Year's...Live it up because anything is better than Afghanistan.
Cheers
-J
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