This is Who I Am; This is What I Do

THIS BLOG IS NOT FORGOTTEN!

2011-01-20T16:18:00.001-08:00

Yes, I am still here..AND yes, I am still writing. My Army journey is almost over, so there will be an encompassing follow up to my experience as a whole as I leave Fort Campbell. Basically I could not find anything significant to write about when I was still at Tarin Kowt the last few months. If there were any major events since my last posting, then where would have been another post by now. Sure, we were attacked every now and then, but nothing like Salerno except the one that flew right over my head. Obviously I made it home safely and am currently going through the process to separate from the military service. Jill and I had a great Christmas with the family, and I am constantly thinking about our guys who are still over there, even as I type this. Myself and two buddies came home early because we have nearly fulfilled our contracts and have to have the proper amount of time to get everything done for separation. Anyway, I just wanted everyone to know that I have not forgotten about this little project and it will be completed. Thank you for reading.

Cheers,

-J

Lost in the Sauce

2010-06-16T21:05:00.000-07:00

I haven’t written in awhile, as usual. But it’s because I have not felt inspired to write, and for several reasons. Mostly because I have not been in the right frame of mind to write anything positive or to coherently recall my experiences thus far without adding a tinge of negativity to positively everything I can think of about where I am and what I am doing. I’ll try and just cover what’s been going on around here.

Remember that boardwalk I mentioned in my last post that resembled a college block party at Kandahar Air Base? Shortly after my post it was discovered that a suicide bomber was walking along that very same place and decided that he didn’t want to die, and was apprehended. That VERY same place where I had been walking a couple of weeks prior; how in the world did he get on base in the first place? Without knowing all of the details I can’t speculate, but I can tell you this: I’m going to avoid that boardwalk next time I’m in town.

I think that the Taliban have some sort of grudge with the 101st Airborne Division. When the 82nd was here they scoffed at how they had only been attacked a few times during the entire tour. As soon as they left we got hit several times with rockets and mortars; one in particular that was too close for comfort. It was dark, and almost time to go on shift. As I walked out the door there was a loud BOOM somewhere behind our living area. Being all too familiar with the sound, I headed for cover. Somehow I ended up with a corndog in my hand and began running to the other side of our area to meet up with the guys. Upon reaching the adjacent bunker a loud, deep whistle and a WHOOSH sounded over head, followed by a forceful explosion. The rocket landed no more than 60 meters from us with a violent concussion. The shockwave spread quickly and as it passed through us I could see other soldiers’ clothes move as if blown by wind. Sparks spewed from the area and then silence, except for the sound of debris raining down on us and the roofs of our cubicle rooms. That’s the closest call I’ve had so far.

An attack at the airfield sends us to designated fighting positions scattered strategically along the aircraft parking areas, so that we can monitor what little wall we have keeping the outside world outside (that wall being a continuous line of Hesco Barriers around the FOB perimeter, some 250 meters from our fighting position). Upon hearing a blast and an alarm one night, several other soldiers and I suited up with body armor, grabbed our weapons, hopped into a gator and sped out to a bunker, where our fighting position sat nestled on top. We got set up quickly with an M249 Squad Automatic Weapon, one M4 mounted with an M230 grenade launcher, three other M4’s locked and loaded, night vision goggles, and an assortment of grenades. I peeled my eyes so I could see to that Hesco wall, waiting for someone to try and come over it. Anything that moves over that wall gets killed. We monitored our radio for any transmissions regarding enemy movement, but there were none. Eventually, an “all clear” sounded across the freq and we disappointedly packed our weapons on to the gator and drove back. I’ve had a couple of experiences like that, but as for excitement, that’s about as good as it gets.

The hardest thing for me to get over out here is that Tarin Kowt is nothing like Salerno was. The tempo was upbeat, the mission clear. We knew what we had to do, and there was always something TO do. Danger was ever present, as I recall by reading all of my old posts. Perhaps it was because our last FOB was on the Pakistani border, or perhaps it’s because of the recent change in ROE to try and fend off civilian casualties during operations. Whatever the case may be, things have changed dramatically since our last tour. A buddy of mine said it best tonight when he said “this isn’t a war anymore; it’s a game.” He was referring to how our operations have changed from trying to destroy the Taliban to somehow negotiating with them. The thought of this angers me to no end, as I thought we didn’t negotiate with terrorists. Through offers of land development and job opportunities, among other things, the government of Afghanistan seeks to soak the terrorist back into society in hopes that fighting will cease. Let’s take a look at the real world for a moment and what’s really going on. The local populace does not want us here; if they cooperate with NATO forces they’ll most likely lose their heads. The Taliban does not want us here, Captain Obvious, and we are getting NOWHERE with anything we are doing. In fact, what ARE we doing? We kill some of them, and they kill some of us. There are patrols, ambushes, collateral damage and scolding by a weak Afghani leader who threatened to join the Taliban himself! We surge and then the Army orders our brigade commander to send 400 troops home. What the HELL is going on? Why am I here? All I know right now is that the American taxpayers are dumping a ton of money into a campaign that is not producing. I miss my wife. I miss her terribly, and I miss my family too. Sometimes I sit here for 12 hours and do absolutely nothing. It angers me to no end. I could be at home with my beautiful wife. All of this is stress on a new marriage. Nine months left is all I keep thinking, and then I am finished with the Army. But then I remember. The same thing I always tell myself, and was reminded of by a newspaper article I read recently on Heroes of Afghanistan: We keep at bay a relentless force that would like nothing better than to bring their fight directly to the heart of our American Homeland. We are definitely keeping them at bay…so if that is our only true mission, then so be it. Politics and all other BS aside, what it always comes back to is family. I don’t do this in hopes of spreading democracy in Afghanistan. The people here just want to live their lives unbothered by war and fear, as I want to live mine.

So if I sit here for 12 hours and nothing happens, then OK. I’m still alive at least, and everyone is still at home, not having given up on me. I don’t want Afghanistan to turn into the next Vietnam. We need to stay until the job is done, but I’m not even sure if we know what the job is anymore. I pray that our higher leaders will find some sort of direction and we can end this war with some sort of positive outcome. We don’t want to wonder what our mission is anymore; we want to know it and we want to execute flawlessly like we’ve been trained to do. AND then we want to come home and kiss our wives and call it a day. We did what we could, spilled blood, and sacrificed it all in the name of our flag. We helped as many people as we could while keeping our own nation safe. Can we please have our lives back now? I hope so. I love my country and I love the men and women who sacrifice it all to come over here. I just hope that it doesn’t end in vain. Progress, please show your face. We need you now more than ever.

Cheers,

-J

Boots on Ground....Again.

2010-03-27T20:12:00.000-07:00

So here we are..in the blog, around the world. I won't bore you will details of how I got over here, because it is very similar to last time. Fly, stop, fly, stop, plane broke, hotel, fly..and eventually you get to where you need to be. I haven't written since January, and now it's almost April! The blog is back alive because if you didn't know, I am back in Afghanistan! Since January we did the rituals of preparation for one of the biggest troop surges in Afghanistan since we entered the country in 2001. And let me be the first to tell you, that being part of a troop surge is ugly.

It all started with me having to leave my family and my lovely wife, crying in an empty hangar as we all left on buses to gather our weapons and go to the terminal of Fort Campbell for departure. I learned that there is no use fighting back tears because they are coming one way or another. Especially when my beautiful wife is so sad and crying. It knots me up inside to have to leave her like that, and she is a hell of a woman for putting up with all of this. She has my undying gratitude for her support and love that she is giving me and I will never be able to fully repay her, or my family for everything they've done for me.

Fast forward through all the hoopla and I find myself at Kandahar Air Base. I always hate the big air bases like Bagram and this place because there are people everywhere. Foreign nationals, international soldiers, civilian contractors and the like. Because of the surge, everywhere is overcrowded and dirty. Transient living areas are packed to the max; members of a unit spread all over the base so that they can have some sort of roof over their head...whether it be a simple tent or a hardened building. Another thing I don't like about these places is that there are so many amenities that people forget where they are and why they're there. Kandahar Air Base has this place that they call the BOARDWALK....It's exactly what it sounds like....A boardwalk that goes in a square and has an open area in the middle. Along the boardwalk are shops and eateries to the likes of Burger Kings and Tim Horton's and guess what? They even have a TGI FRIDAYS! A freakin' TGI FRIDAYS in the middle of Afghanistan. I guess most people would be excited about that but all of this kind of pisses me off. In the middle open area are volleyball courts, basketball courts, and even a hockey rink. Of course there is no ice because it is hot, but the carnival-like atmosphere of this place is very off putting in my opinion. On some nights I went to the boardwalk and it seemed as if I were back in Oxford, Ohio during my college days. There are people walking around, sipping lattes and teas and having an exquisite time. There was even some Canadian rock band slinging horrible renditions of AC/DC songs, a true party. And perhaps a few miles away, our soldiers are engaged in a firefight and getting shot to shit. I find it truly awkward that two such extremes can be found within the vicinity of each other. There are so many war profiteers here that I am disgusted. Probably enough to send the real soldiers home and let the civilians figure out this conflict with their huge salaries. I could not wait to get the hell out of Kandahar.

When we did get out of there I was relieved. It's a 45 minute ride to FOB Tarin Kowt from the air base. Some of us were lucky enough to ride on an Australian Chinook to our final destination. The aircraft was fully loaded with bags and people; there was hardly any room to put my legs when I sat down because of the wall of "stuff." The Aussies have two Gatling Guns on either side and an M240B on the back ramp. About halfway into the flight the helicopter popped flares and all guns starting blaring. It was quite the spectacle. I'm pretty sure it was just a test fire, but nonetheless my heart was beating. One of the new platoon sergeants who had never been deployed before vomited on the ride over; I'm glad I'm not new to this.

As we came over a mountain I saw out the bubble window what appeared to be our destination: a large, dirt runway, big enough to land a C-17, surrounded by little towns that make up the FOB. I didn't think it was much to look at. When we landed we were briefed on the layout of the FOB and where we would stay. Everything we have now is new, because the unit we are replacing are the first Americans to stay at this outpost. This was mostly a Dutch base, and they are still here, but in small numbers. Now it is the Americans, Afghan National Army, Afghan National Police, and some special forces elements, along with some Navy and Air Force guys who operate UAVs. We are here to continue the fight.

I have to comment on how easy it was to slip back into deployment and soldier mode, and I am not the only one to say this. It felt like we were on vacation in America, and then we just came back here. I don't want to call this place home..it is a desolate wasteland. But there was some sense of comfort to be back. All of this is weird because I do not want to be here at ALL. I want to go home. I can't explain these feelings, but it made the transition easier.

For now, we are learning the daily operations of the FOB. There is really no outer fence, only some Hesco barriers. We are literally always outside the wire, just living in some random American compound within walking distance to the town of Tarin Kowt. We're currently building work areas for each of our shops and flight companies. We've made large floor frames and layed plywood flooring so that the tents will be up off the ground and we'll have solid, dry flooring to work with. After the tents go up on these platforms we'll build counters and work benches and desks. Our whole operation will come from the fruits of our labor, and it is quite satisfying. Hopefully we can create something that our replacing unit can appreciate; it's our chance to turn nothing into something.

That's all for now. I'll make updates with our construction, combat, and other aspects of the FOB. I miss my wife and my family. I hope that part of it gets easier, but I truly doubt it. Take care.

Respectfully,

-J

This Blog is Still Alive

2010-01-02T15:46:00.000-08:00

Don't call it a comeback; I've been here for years. I've just been busy, that's all. With life. It can get pretty crazy, but I am glad that I can always come back and do some recollection, gather all of my thoughts, and try to put them in some kind of order.

The last half of the year has been wild. I think I left off last time while I was in NONCOM school or some time after that; I haven't looked at my last post since I read it. I ended up going to Colorado for high altitude training and had a real 'bang up' time, let me tell ya. Beautiful countryside though, and I got to see Cheyenne Mountain, where NORAD is. Luckily we were able to commandeer the 2nd Infantry Division's aircraft hangars and some of their equipment and parts. If we hadn't I think there would have been trouble because someone dropped the ball on packing. Anyways we had a hoot and I rode for hours on a Chinook and everything was peachy. Moving right along.

I guess I'll respond briefly to the shooting that took place at Fort Hood Texas by someone who was supposedly one of our own. One of our own would not have done such a thing, and I could make a wise ass crack at officers since the shooter was an everlovin' MAJOR, but it's pretty inappropriate seeing as how he took the lives of real soldiers. I won't even bring his religion or background into it; what happened was low down and dirty, and I guess you can't trust anyone these days. It's times like this when I'm glad that I'm hypersensitive to everything that's going on around me at all times. There's a better chance for survival that way, and I can thank Operation Enduring Freedom for that one.

Not only was I able to be home for Thanksgiving and Christmas, which I thank God for a million times over, but I took a significant step in life and got married. I've mentioned Jill in some previous posts. She has done nothing but bring about the most positive in me, and has made my life a million times better. I am very lucky to stand beside her in life and call her my wife. We got hitched on December 12, 2009, and haven't looked back since. It's going to be extremely difficult to leave her come time to leave for Afghanistan for the second and final time, at least in this Sergeant's Army stint.

Now on to the grit that everyone loves to hear about: Afghanistan! The rumors always start to swirl about our heads some months before we actually leave, and I've heard a few whoppers. Of course I won't discuss them here, because some of them could turn out to be true, and we don't want to tell Osama what the screaming eagles are up to. The other day someone told me to be careful over there, and I said I would but I had been there before. I was told not to get too cocky. And although the person was right, I wanted to tell the individual to shove it right up their ass. I have been there before; I've done my part already, and I'll do it again. I'm proud of who we are, what we've become, and what lay before us. No matter what, we will get the job done.

I've been back for one year, and it is already time to go back! It's crazy how fast a year can go, and it was a great one. I worked hard, and I enjoyed myself too, thanks in part to my beautiful wife. A lot of the veterans who went to Iraq and Afghanistan with my outfit are now getting out, and it hurts to see them go. We've shared timeless moments together, but I am excited that they get to move on with their lives and definitely can't wait to see how they end up. At least they don't have to put their lives in extreme danger anymore going to foreign lands with rifles and boots. For that I am grateful.

This will be my last party for the Army. I'll be going over, and coming back early to start out processing. Even so, I will still be over there for a considerable amount of time, which doesn't bother me except for the fact that I am now married. I hate putting my family through rough times, and if there were any way for me to make them not worry I would. So, for the new year, I hope that 2010 goes by quickly.

I find myself being more antsy this time than last. I don't know if it's the anxiety of 'let's just get this show on the road' or if it's something else. It would be a damn shame for me to get by for 5 years in the Army and then have something happen in the sixth. You can't really think like that though, or it will get the best of you. Sometimes the mind wanders more than it should, and you have to bring it back to a common place. Just do your job and shut up is my motto. Grin it and bare it. In every job in the army someone is depending on someone else, and as we all say...it's not about the politics....it's about the people beside you and those who depend on us. We tend to find comfort in others' discomfort; the fact that everyone you are with is going though the same thing somehow makes the job easier. We are going together, and we are coming home together. All of the leaders will see to it, myself included. I'm proud to be where I am, and damn proud to wear the patch I wear. My experiences have made me a better son, and a better human being for that matter. For that I am grateful. I know that many trials and tribulations await on the long road ahead.

General Bill Lee coined the phrase 'rendezvous with destiny' when the 101st Airborne Division was in its infancy before D-Day in WWII. And every time I want to complain about where I am or what I do, I read a few chapters from Band of Brothers or other books written by the 101st soldiers in WWII and I shut up quick. They had it rough; they were fighting to save the world. All I can say is, I'm glad I wasn't in Bastogne. The Battered Bastards of Bastogne still say they are glad not to be there to this day. They saved the world. What am I doing to save the world? I guess as long as we keep the fight overseas and off our shores we are doing something worthwhile. They can't come take down more of our buildings if we keep their hands full on their own turf. That's pretty much the only thing that gives it meaning to me. I don't give a damn about all of the politics and bureaucratic BS behind it. That all goes out the window, so it's that little bit of meaning that keeps it okay in my book to put me on a plane, and drop me off in the middle of nowhere for an entire year. Keep everyone safe here, and keep the memory of the fallen in our heads. People don't do this for nothin'; everyone has a reason. The world is a bad, bad place...but somewhere there is always someone with a good heart to fight the evil. I'm in the strong belief that light will always overcome darkness, no matter what. That's all for now.

Cheers,

-J

Ramblings

2009-09-17T08:14:00.000-07:00

The last time I wrote was July, and now it's September already! I really do mean to keep up with everything, but time just flies when you're having fun! I can't honestly say that I am having fun, but I'm still alive and kicking so that's good enough for me.

One of the main reasons I like to write in this blog during the "off season" as I like to call it, is because I'm able to keep up with the writing skills; it's true that if you do not use it, you lose it. So, as with anything, we have to keep the skills sharp. This is true for many things in the army too, such as shooting, physical training, etc.

The training season has been in effect for quite some time now. We've had several aerial gunneries and two JRTC training rotations to Louisiana. Upcoming events include high altitude training in Colorado and a joint service exercise in Nevada. While it would be impossible and exhausting to attend every event, I assure you that the wealth is well spread among all members of our beloved unit.

I am currently in Fort Eustis, Virginia for a Non Commissioned Officer leaders' course. It is also sort of a job refresher that advanced maintainers attend. It's supposed to prepare me for a job that I already do (technical inspector) but my skills are so finely tuned that I didn't need the course to become one ha! It's weird to come back here, as I was here in 2005 for advanced individual training after basic training. This is where the new soldiers come to learn about the AH-64D Apache and the job that will carry them through their time in the Army.

I must admit, it is nice to come back here as an NCO rather than a new army soldier, although this place has changed considerably since my last visit. The lack of discipline amongst the new soldiers is astounding; they've recently done away with drill sergeants in AIT to create an atmosphere that is supposedly more like the "real Army." All I feel is that these new privates are going to have a rude awakening when they reach their first assigned units. No worries though; there are plenty of good NCOs in the 101st that will be more than willing to get these privates ready for the upcoming deployment, myself included. This is my last HOORAH and I'll be damned if it goes bad because of some young buck.

We've been doing some physical training regimens here that put the PT program at Fort Campbell to shame. My body has been sore every day this week; the never ending pull ups and lap after lap in the meter pool is whipping me back into the kind of shape I was in after basic training. After the body has healed I'll feel like a renewed man. I must admit though, I am required to exert a considerably increased amount of effort to keep up with 23 year old Specialist Gratsch of four years ago! Getting older is not fun, but I am getting better looking by the day!

I've been here since August 20, and we get to leave September 23; time is slowly creeping. I am ready to see my girlfriend and get back to Fort Campbell. Unfortunately, 12 days after I get back I have to pack my bags again for a three week stint in Colorado. Lovely. I can't wait until this training season is over! I've been really thinking about Afghanistan a lot lately. I don't know if it's because I just want to get the whole thing started again or if I have a sense of anxiety about it. There's definitely a lot better things to write about, as I feel these posts are quite boring for readers. Dreams have even started to creep their way back in; nothing bad, just dreams about being over there and experiencing some of the things. OK, I guess rocket attacks are bad, but only if they hit something. If they don't it's simply a fireworks display. I guess I'm just ready to start the whole process over. At times, I can't help but feel I just got back. Then, there's a short pause, take a breath, and it's time to go back again!

That's about all I have for now. I remember in my old Afghanistan posts talking about how I wanted to be Sergeant Gratsch. Well, now Sergeant Gratsch wants to be Staff Sergeant Gratsch. Staff SGT is the highest an enlisted person can go in a six year army career, and that is now my new goal. I have already achieved a promotable status when I went to the promotion board in June, so now I just have to wait for the promotion points level to come down to the number of points I currently have. Luckily, upon completion of the course I'm currently in I'll earn more promotion points. Staff Sergeant lingers on the horizon.

On a more serious side note, I want to mention the anniversary of 9/11 that came and went during my stay in Virginia. It's hard to believe that it's already been eight years since that day, and what I am doing now in 2009 is a direct result of those terrible events. I am glad that I'm actually carrying out what I vowed to do that day; I'll never go back on anything that I plan to do. The guys and I were discussing what we were doing on that day, and it's very reminiscent of the attack on pearl harbor. The older generation can remember exactly what they were doing that day, and it's the same for myself and several others for the fall of the towers. People seem to only be concerned about it on the anniversary though; on that day we want to be charitable and honorable and have memorials. What about every other day of the year? This isn't a novelty. We should always remember these events, every day, and make it a goal to be good to each other and help and realize how awesome life can be. It's like the people who only go to church on Easter and Christmas. God is important on more than just those two days if you are truly committed.

All of this talk could go on to several more ramblings about our country and the government and everything else in the world, but in reality all we need to do is remember the past, learn from mistakes, and drive on. We might be down, but we are not out. I miss my family, my friends, and my lovely girlfriend. I want to go home; but we have to do what we have to do. America demands it. And we answer!

Cheers,

-J

Make it So

2009-07-18T05:45:00.000-07:00

And yet again, it has been quite some time since I have posted on this thing; but I want to keep it ongoing, even though we are only still in garrison. I've been doing pretty well since my last post. I get to go home to Ohio often, as well as spend time with my girlfriend, which is a blessing. We spend as many weekends together as time and space allow us to, and we even got a chance to travel to Myrtle Beach. More often than not we speak of life after the Army, which makes it difficult to be IN the army. The mission continues; so must I.

One thing that has always bothered me is that I am getting older, and I have no claim. I have nothing to my name, except a blue 2002 Pontiac Trans Am that I love dearly. There's no house, no lawn, no family, no dog and no career. In terms of career moves, my six years in the Armed Forces was a bad choice. When I get out I will start anew, building from the ground up, lagging far far behind my peers from college, who've already settled into their careers and are protecting their nest egg. Living the dream. I want that dream so bad it hurts to think about it, as sometimes I feel like I am in prison. I live in a barracks with a bunch of young kids, many of which lack the discipline to be in the army at all. Because I am not married, I get no BAH (basic allowance for housing, extra $ to live) so that I can live off post in a house or apartment. Living off post is a bad idea without BAH (I did it in 2007). All it does it eat up savings and create a lot of unnecessary stress. I try to call the barracks a dorm to make myself feel better, but it never works because I'm too old to be living in a dorm as well! I try so hard to get this out of my head, but no matter what I feel like I deserve better than this. I've worked hard, and I've been through a lot, and all I have is a dorm room. So what I do, is I wake up every morning, grit my teeth, and say to myself, "you are saving a lot of money for your dream, and for your future family. Suck it up Jeremy." And that's what I do, because I made this choice, and I brought it all upon myself. Some day, I hope that it will all pay off somehow. After all, the Army is not my career choice. It's just a chapter in life I chose to read, so that there will be no doubt that I've earned my right to be a citizen of the United States of America, and helped in our ongoing mission against tyranny, terrorism, and inequality.

I've also been put into a new job; it is considered a promotion because of the responsibility entailed. No longer do I work on the systems of our beloved Apache, but I inspect and sign off on those who still do. Known as technical inspectors (T.I.), we are the last step in the maintenance scheme, deciding whether an aircraft is flyable or grounded, and if the work performed on the aircraft is to standard, allowing the Apache to return to "fully mission capable." It is an important job because we have the final say, but now I have no soldiers to take care of, and I've been moved to a different office obviously. Sure, I still see all of the guys I shared my life with in war all the time, but I don't lead them. There is no one for me to lead except myself. We must focus on the aircraft and nothing else, which is understandable. I do like my new job, but I miss my old one too.

With that said, I still hate garrison life. After being to war and back, I do not like being in a fighting unit that isn't fighting. Basically, our job means jack shit over here in the states, except for training up the new soldiers for the next rotation. Before, we had to work ourselves to the bone to get an aircraft up because it HAD to be on the next mission. Lack of a mission dictates that people become extremely complacent and find it hard to care about their job at all. To make matters worse, we recently found out that the less than ideal aircraft we fell in on back here at Ft. Campbell will not even be accompanying us back to war! The diligent effort put into making these crates airworthy has turned them into nothing more than training pieces. That's just a hit in the groin.

The training season has officially started, and you can hear the veterans' moans when they have to leave their families here at Ft. Campbell to travel to some place like Louisiana for war time training. I'll be heading to Fort Knox and a base in Las Vegas for similar training later this year. My next focus is a Non Commissioned Officer school that I'm attending. One phase of the class is here at Ft. Campbell; no big deal. Upon completion, I'm traveling back to my old stomping grounds at Ft. Eustis, VA for another phase of the course that lasts one month.

We do so much training away from Campbell that we might as well go back to Afghanistan right now; we are going back anyways. At least over there everything we do means something. We can save lives, and take ones that need to be taken. We can make a difference instead of sitting on our thumbs. And, on top of that, we get good pay. More money means a better chance of my dream coming true later on. While I am not trying to get blown up, there are low points where I miss the action and the excitement of certain events. I want to get it over with, because this next rotation is my last HOORAH, and then I part ways with the Army forever. Something so sweet, just out of reach. I'll never forget my roots though, and why I joined in the first place. There is an ongoing mission; one that I can only participate in for so long. After that, someone will fill my boots and carry on. Hopefully, that person is a patriot. Until then, we give all that we have. We sacrifice and commit. Like I said before, I'm not anxious to die....only anxious to matter. Thank you for letting me vent; I rise anew.

Cheers,

-J

Here is a photo of Jill and I at Myrtle Beach. We had a great time!

One Mountain After Another

2009-05-04T18:43:00.000-07:00

I promised that I would keep writing while being garrisoned at Ft. Campbell, so I am holding true to that. While I have nothing in particular that I would like to say, I think that it's nice to keep everyone updated on what's going on with the 101st Airborne Division and Sergeant Gratsch.

We've been back on American soil for a little over 4 months now, and I must say that it has been rather nice. I am not a fan of garrison life simply because there is not much action; we just go to work and do random training events, and eventually we find out when we are leaving again. We found out in March that we'd be heading back for another trial with destiny in March or April 2010. This will be my last big hoorah, because by the time we get back my time in the Army will be over. During the next few months, and probably the rest of the year, the training will be heavy, and the reward will be small. Such is the life we volunteered to live.

I'm pretty sure that I've fully transitioned back to the pseudo regular life that I had before I left for war. I had trouble sleeping upon my return, and I had a few weird dreams, but other than that everything seems to be fine. What's not fine is the constant struggle I have with myself in trying to live the semblance of a regular civilian life I have developed such a strong appetite for. I have a wonderful girl in my life named Jill, and I want nothing more than to spend as much time as possible with her. I've never felt so strongly about anyone or anything in my life as I do for her. She saved me from my darkest hour in the worst possible situation, in the worst possible place in this world, and I can never repay her. All I can do is devote as much of myself as I can to her. Each weekend I see her is like living little slices of the life that I want so badly. I just keep walking, keep climbing over mountains, hoping to find the one that doesn't have another one after it. Flatland; back to normality. No more wars. Sometime I will put my boots in the closet and that will be that.

We've been working diligently to turn the helicopters we were given back into war ready fighting machines. Slowly but surely we are turning water to wine, and it will be another twenty-four off to war.

There's really nothing else to write about. The heavy training starts soon, along with the concern of who, what, when where, why and how. I feel like an old vet now for some reason...I'm not the new guy anymore. I'm in the knowing, and there are many new soldiers who need training and who need to learn the Army way. I'm the old, tough son of a you-know-what at 27 years old. Someone has to take the torch when I'm ready to pass it, so we need to make sure that it's left in good hands. The war does not end with me. And someday I'll be sitting on some dusty porch somewhere reminiscing about wearing stripes in America's Army.

Cheers,

-J

Reality Check

2009-02-13T07:31:00.001-08:00

OK, I've been back in the states for nearly 2 months now, and I can't express in words how great it is. I always say, if I've learned anything in my Army time, it's to not take ANYTHING for granted, because it's no good when you don't have the things that are the most cherished by people.

I called this reality check because maybe I need one, or because maybe someone out there needs one. Yes, Obama is the President of the United States of America...Our Commander in Chief. And yes, there is a surge of soldiers going to Afghanistan...So in case some of us don't understand why, I am going to show you:

It's not easy to forget what's going on if you've been there. For some reason I see it in my sleep. It does not bother me, but it does make my feel like my duty is over there. I don't want to go back, but I think I might have to, and sooner than I thought. I just know that when we do, the transition will be easy. I know how to slip flawlessly back into soldier mode...and sometimes that scares me. I'm not a robot.

The following is a video from 60 Minutes that was presented by Lara Logan, one of their correspondents. One of my buddies was lucky enough to meet this journalist at Bagram Air Base when she was on her way to our FOB at Salerno. Don't let the pretty face and accent get you...because she went right into the shit with our guys...and she was pregnant too. Not the smartest of choices I think, but you can't deny that this woman is dedicated. Anyways, she came out to Salerno and then one of our Blackhawks took her out to tiny FOB Wilderness, right in the middle of the shit. Everything in this report happened while we were there. These are our guys, and this is how it is. It shows a rocket attack, which we have been more than privvy to, and some other things. This is daily life over there for a soldier. It helps me to realize completely where we've been and where we're going. I hope it helps people understand what it's like a world away, and what has become some soldiers' own personal hell. Petty things just don't seem so important after something like this; so keep your eyes on what' really important and don't take anything for granted. I'll be back sooner than later.

Cheers,

-J

If the video doesn't show up on your screen, you can watch it directly from youtube by following this URL:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rZDonqtAf-8

Homecoming

2009-01-08T07:47:00.000-08:00

Last time you heard from me, I was still in Afghanistan awaiting the long journey that would eventually bring me home. Let me be the first to say that it absolutely was a long and arduous trip, with a lot of bumps along the way.

We moved out of our cushy estates in early December and into a giant old circus tent 2 weeks before we were to depart. I don't think the tent was maintained in any fashion, because we had to clean out a year's worth of settled debris before we could occupy the space. I think these tents only are used when a unit is in a transient status, which is usually only once or twice a year. The ceiling of the tent looked like it had been patched thousands of times. My guess is shrapnel and wear and tear, as this tent sits very close to the perimeter of the FOB. One good thing about the army is that we learn to occupy any kind of space and make it home, so we were fine. As long as I have some sort of covering over my head I am good to go. Luckily, it didn't rain too much during our time there.

We left Salerno in several different groups, which was annoying because we did not even get to leave as an entire platoon. Over the year, we formed some sort of weird bond with each other and do not like to be separated, especially during movement. Regardless of our parental tendencies, we were ready to go and hop on any crate, big or small, to get out of that place. As it always is, flights are canceled, schedules are changed, and everything is different from the original plan. Eventually myself and a few of our guys made it on a C-130 headed to Bagram Air Base, which is still in Afghanistan. I remember sitting there, cramped up with a group of soldiers, just like when we came out there, only the feeling was different. It was good to finally get the trip started; I remember as the plane lifted off the ground a buddy and I did the signature "high-five" that we do when something goes right. I just stared out the window, watching everything on the ground get smaller and smaller. Will I ever see this place again, or is my time in Afghanistan in the history books for good? Our job is certainly not done here, and only time will tell.

Bagram is hardly worth mentioning, because everyone who has been there in transient hates the place. It was more of the same "we are doing this" and "no, wait, we are doing that" and a million other changes. Staying in more tents and scrounging around for entertainment or anything to curve extreme boredom. The thing we dreaded most was going through customs. For some damned reason we have to dump all of our bags our, the ones we spent hours packing, have our things inspected, and then repack them. It was an absolute terror, but it went smoother than I thought it would. I was happy when I put my bags on the palates, where they would stay until I saw them in the states. Little did I know that they would make them back to me long after I made it back to the states, and they even made a side trip to Fort Bragg, home of the 82nd Airborne Division.

After customs we sat around in a room that we could not leave, and around 1am boarded another C-130 for a flight to the not so well known country of Kyrgyzstan, which is part of the former Soviet Union. When we arrived to the small Air Force base there we were informed that there is a Russian airbase some 40 miles away, so we should just stay put and keep quiet. We are always treading lightly when it comes to Russia. Luckily, we got to stay in a more hardened building, even though it still kind of looked like a tent! One of the most memorable experiences from that place was the harsh Soviet winter. I imagine that it's similar to the winter that helped Russia keep the Nazis out of their territories in WWII. It's bitter and harsh, and I spent my 27th birthday there. I celebrated by sleeping most of the day. We were all ecstatic when we were climbing up the steps of a civilian jetliner that would take us directly back to Ft. Campbell and our families.

After nearly a 10 hour flight, we made a stop in Ireland to refuel and recater the airplane. I'm not a fan in the slightest of airline food, so my stomach was empty and hurting. I downed a few crackers and juice in the airport and we carried on with our trip. Another 8 hours before a welcomed touchdown at our home base.

When the plane landed we all stretched and contorted ourselves to see what was out the window. It had been more than a year since I had left this place, and was ready to get off that damn plane. Wouldn't you know that it was raining and cold but there were still family members standing outside to welcome their soldiers back to the United States. After struggling to put all of our gear on and gather our weapons, we lined up to exit the airplane. Coming down the stairs was bittersweet; there was cheering, and camera flashes. I felt like a movie star. After being diverted to yet another tent we grounded our gear, and stood outside of the hangar where our impatient familes waited inside. The last thing I wanted to do was stand outside in the cold rain, but the cheering coming from inside made that all trivial. We are at home in the rain, and in the mud, but let us go inside anyways! The doors slowly opened and we marched inside to an uproar and more flashes. What a welcome! Immediately everyone looked for their families, and when I spotted mine my heart went into my throat. I actually felt like crying. After a year of booms and stress and every emotion there is I was home, and I was safe. Being relieved is an understatement.

The only thing left to do after getting settled was reintigration. This is a 7 day process that consists of everything from making sure our administative tasks are in order to having a physical and psycholigical evaluation. Luckily I checked out OK! All I need is a visit to the dentist for a cleaning, although they do want to yank 2 of my wisdom teeth. I'll delay that until after leave, which for me starts tomorrow!

So here I am, to Afghanistan and back, through it all, in one piece. I'm lucky to have such a supportive family, and a new love in my life that I can't even begin to appreciate fully. For once, everything seems to be falling into place. What will become of SGT Gratsch? What is there to write about if there are no explosions, no hint of war? Garrison life is very different from war. The funny thing is, as soon as units come back from war, they start right back up at training to go to war. So I guess that's what we'll do. And I won't stop writing. There will always be something going on. But for now, I sign off a happy man, because I've made the journey, and I've returned. And now I can be with family and friends once again. It's bittersweet. It's the way it's supposed to be. And I would not have it any other way.

While we are back, there are those of us who are still out there in the suck. Our buddies, our family members, still out there staring into the sky at night, wondering when they too will get to come back. We pray for them, and we think of them often. God speed to those of you still across the pond. I await your safe return. Keep your head on a swivel, and keep fighting the good fight.

Cheers,

-J

Chapters

2008-11-30T07:03:00.000-08:00

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

I Don't Know

2008-10-25T01:31:00.000-07:00

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

The Battle for Salerno

2008-08-19T20:52:00.000-07:00

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

Experiences

2008-08-10T22:55:00.001-07:00

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

Summer Thus Far

2008-06-12T10:12:00.000-07:00

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

The Fallen

2008-05-08T09:52:00.000-07:00

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

Stripes

2008-05-03T11:09:00.000-07:00

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.

Thin the Line, the Mission's a Go

2008-04-19T22:09:00.000-07:00

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

Guard Dog Six

2008-03-21T22:18:00.000-07:00

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 Beast Unleashed

2008-03-04T07:57:00.000-08:00

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

Misspent Youth

2008-02-22T10:34:00.000-08:00

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

Bird Tree and the Devil's Land (TCB)

2008-02-11T06:16:00.000-08:00

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

Thoughts

2008-01-30T19:32:00.000-08:00

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

The Dog Days of Afghanistan

2008-01-17T03:10:00.000-08:00

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

The Replacements

2008-01-12T02:35:00.000-08:00

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 Rumors aren't Rumors; It's too Surreal

2008-01-04T02:33:00.000-08:00

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

Paydirt

2008-01-04T02:32:00.001-08:00

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

Touching Down

2007-12-28T02:31:00.000-08:00

The 27th of December was a blur; I don't even know when it came or went. I left the United States around 6:20pm and flew to Bangor, Maine. From there we flew to somewhere in Germany, and then, finally, ended up in Kuwait. Cold, exhausted, and hungry pretty much described my status upon arrival.

I hadn't been in Kuwait for more than 10 hours when our little base was attacked by mortars. It was very strange, almost movie like. The sound was enormous, enough to blast you right out of bed.

I don't know when I will be moving on to Afghanistan; a part of me wants to go and get it all started. But for now I eat all the McDonald's I can (yeah, I found one) and watch movies and use the Internet, because I don't know if we will have any of this where I'm going.

My head is spinning, the jet lag is nuts.

I am anxious to move on. But that's it for now. There is nothing else to report.

By the way, I want to know who all is reading this. So, if you could, please click "comments" (it's at the bottom of every post) and say something. It can be "Hey, I READ THIS!!!" for all I care. I want to hear from people.

Alright, take care. I will write again when I can.

Cheers,

J

Final Thoughts

2007-12-25T18:41:00.000-08:00

This is my last post on American soil; and it is also the last post until....I don't know when. I will be departing the states within the next 48 hours. My bags are packed, my mind is set. I am as ready as I can be to head off God knows where. I still don't know when I am leaving exactly, and I guess it's better that way.

I don't really have much to say. Thank you to those who read my posts. I hope you get something out of them because I get a lot from adding to the blog. My goal is to continue once I hit ground in Afghanistan, but the availability of internet is unknown at this point, just like everything else.

It still doesn't seem real. I hope it will soon.

Love yous guys.

-J

Life Changes

2007-12-21T16:34:00.001-08:00

Well, someone was praying out there because my pass got approved and I made it home to Ohio. So if you prayed, it is much appreciated. If you didn't, shame on you.

Only kidding.

I'm sitting in a Holiday Inn Express right now. Today was a long day. We had everything moved out of our apartment yesterday, and last night we slept on the cold, hard floor. This morning we were to wake up and clean the hell out of the place so that we could get our security deposit back. Instead we had to go to work to get all of our gear inspected; we have to look good when we wave goodbye to Uncle Sam. Needless to say we still made deadline. It was funny though because some lady came by to inspect our apartment before we turned it back over to the Realtors. I'm surprised she didn't have a little suitcase with several pairs of white gloves because she was running her fingers over every damned thing. I guess even the civilians are a little military around here. Needless to say, we might get some money back!

My last trip home was an important one. Not only was it my last time to Ohio for God knows how long, but it was also my shining moment in proposing to my girlfriend. A lot of the guys around here call that taking the plunge, or giving away my balls. I assure you that I still have my testes. It's funny because the younger guys think it is a bad thing to do, while the ones in my age group or older think it's a great idea. Regardless, I did it, and I am happy. You should be, too.

Tomorrow is my birthday. I wish birthdays still felt special, like when I was a kid. My memories take me back to being so excited all day because people were coming over at night for a birthday blowout. Obviously my birthday is right before Christmas, so it was snowy a lot of the times and the beautiful Christmas tree was always there.

Now it's like any other day, I suppose. Getting older isn't fun once you pass somewhere around 22 or 23. Twenty-six is definitely a letdown because it's one year closer to 30. I have some weird preoccupation with age because in the army there isn't really any separation by age; what I mean is, there can be an 18 year old private in the army, which feels normal. Then, at the other end of the spectrum, there can be some down and out 40 year old private, which just doesn't seem right to me. I find it strange to see a 40 year old man taking orders from a snotty twenty-something sergeant. My preoccupation with age in the army has earned me the nick name "grandpa Gratsch." I even received a Christmas stocking with the nickname on it this year to prove it. Real swell.

I'm glad all of my army stuff is packed for Afghanistan; each bag only weighs about 300 lbs., or so it seems. I have to put these things on my back and I feel like my vertebrae are going to be permanently smashed into each other, like a collapsed accordion or something. As it turns out I am leaving early for Afghanistan on the 26th of December. Everyone else is leaving some days later. At first my buddies and I volunteered for what we were told was an advanced party to Madrid, Spain, to receive the aircraft. I thought, "Spain? I've never been there. I'm in." So we all volunteered. The next day we find out there was some miscommunication between my squad leader and platoon leader. We aren't going to Spain, we are just going to Afghanistan EARLY. Due to the non reversible status of this volunteering, it will be the last time I volunteer for anything in the army.

I guess that is all I have for now. The feeling of uncertainty has definitely found it's place in my heart, soul, mind, bosom (ha ha), whatever you want to call it. It has set in and I don't like it. It's weird to think how some people will be comfortable in their warm homes celebrating the holidays with their families, while others are very far away from home, alone and cold. Maybe they are hungry, tired, scared? I wish the world wasn't like that. I wish everyone could be with their families or doing what they want to do during this and every holiday season. I feel proud to do my part, but it is very hard. My fiance and my family is coming down to see me tomorrow, so that helps very much. I am excited to see them.

I may not be able to celebrate the holiday like I want, but I AM staying in a Holiday Inn Express.

And I will be doing so for the next 5 days.

Put me in a commercial.

I'm going to McDonald's, because it is delicious and comforting.

Happy Holidays.

-J

Breed it, and Bear it, and Make it Your Narcotic..

2007-12-12T15:26:00.000-08:00

Begging face down on the floor. You sold your soul, now they want more.

These are lyrics to a song that's been stuck in my head all day long. The title of this post, I decided, will be my anthem for this deployment. Breed it, and Bear it; I know I'm going to war in Afghanistan. You know I'm going to war in Afghanistan. So I've created some sort of positive vibe about the whole situation that I can embrace during the preparation stage. When the preparation stage is over, then I can bear the suck and fight the good fight. Afghanistan will become my narcotic of choice, because, well, I don't really have a choice. Embrace the suck.

I would check out this song if I were you; it's called simply, "Narcotic," by DEAD POETIC. I like this band because it is made up of guys I went to high school with. They sort of made it big, too, until one of the members decided he didn't want to be in a band any more. It kind of ended after that, but they do have one album left on their contract, so it's not totally over.

I do not have a whole lot to talk about today. I am hoping and praying that my pass will get approved so that I can go home one last time this weekend. I really need it, in a bad way. I just want to get out of the military scene one last moment. After that it's going to be balls to the wall hardcore army every day for 15 months. I heard rumors today that there is no Internet access whatsoever in the area we will be operating in. I hope this isn't true..for one, how will I continue this blog? And two, it's a great way to communicate back home.

I can hear shots being fired right now. Must be a late night out on the firing range. I really didn't think I lived close enough to base to hear gunfire, but I guess I am. You can't mistake the the rat-tat-tat of an M249 or a .50 caliber machine gun.

Anxiety is starting to take it's place in my mind. We have to get everything squared away with getting rid of our apartment and making sure all of our belongings are properly stored. What am I gonna do with the bills that will arrive in my mailbox at an apartment that I don't live in anymore? I won't even be in the US when they come; I guess I'll have them forwarded to my parents. We also have to make sure we have all of our personal military gear..We are each responsible for too much gear in my opinion. If I could possibly hand carry all of the stuff I've been issued I'd be buried by it. Asphyxiation by equipment, what a way to go!

Well, I guess I will sign off for now. Pray for the pass, pray for the pass. I want to go to Ohio.

Cheers

-J

Bye Bye Birdies, among other things..

2007-12-09T12:41:00.000-08:00

So we went to work at 2am on Friday morning to see the aircraft off. Alpha, Bravo, and Charlie company each own eight aircraft. Our armament shop cares for all 24, so we need to be present when the aircraft depart in case they have problems on initial runup, etc. The companies' aircraft left about 2 hours apart, and I was there until about 10am. We split up the entire day into shifts because people needed to be at the shop while the aircraft were en route to port in Florida. One of my buddies was in a trailing blackhawk as part of a DART (downed aircraft recovery team) mission to make sure all the aircraft made it safely to port.

All the aircraft were gone before I finished my shift that morning. When the sun was just beginning to creep above the trees I went out to the flight line to have a look. The normally busy, bustling flight line lay completely empty; a huge vacant tarmac. Usually the Apaches sit in neat rows of eight with maintainers swarming around, tool boxes in hand. Now, there was just a soft, quiet breeze and the remnants of what looked like an abandoned airfield. It was really kind of sad and eerie at the same time.

With all of the aircraft gone there is little work for us to do until we leave at the end of the month. This is a commander's worst nightmare because the soldiers become restless and bored. A restless and bored soldier can become a liability as we all know, so the commanders release an atrocious list of rules and regulations to keep everyone in their place. While some seem rediculous, I can understand why the rules are set. It just adds to the whole "long december" theory.

A lot of people are starting to ask me questions. The one I get the most is, "are you scared?"
I'm not scared, because I don't know what it's going to be like. What makes me most nervous I guess is the whole traveling part once we get into country. We won't be flying straight in to where our operations are, so we'll have to get there somehow. Some say we'll fly on helicopters everywhere we go, but who knows for sure? We might end up on some damn convoy ground pounding all the way to the forward operating base. I will be slightly nervous if we end up on convoys. I'll just have to keep my eyes open much, much wider.

That's all I have to talk about right now. I love the holiday season but I feel as if I am too worried about getting everything ready for deployment to enjoy any of it. I hope everyone else is, though. It's a time to be with family and appreciate all the good things in life, especially christmas ham. I'll have my own little holiday somehow. Take care everyone.

-J

Long December

2007-12-05T15:20:00.001-08:00

I don't ever really want to put negative posts on here, but right now I am feeling very negative. I'll try to be positive while writing negative things.

There's a lot of things going on that are testing my nerves and my morale.

We are leaving this month for Afghanistan. We don't know what day. How can we possibly not? I don't know what to tell friends or family. Maybe that's the idea.

Yesterday we found out it might be Christmas.

I was granted a 4 day pass for all the work I did with modifying the aircraft. The aircraft are leaving to go to Jacksonville on Friday. There, they will be disassembled (to a certain extent) and loaded onto ships bound for the middle east. Twenty-four on the way to war.

Today I found out everyone who does not have a military driver's license will have to take a drivers' course next week. This, of course, applies to me, and interferes with that four day pass I mentioned. Therefore, the pass is cancelled so that I can get a military driver's license. I was going to go to Ohio one last time to see my girlfriend (whom I want to make my fiance) and my family, who is having a beautiful little Christmas party. Everyone is excited.

Tonight I have to call them and let them know that someone waited until the last minute to have a driver's course. I have to get a military driver's license. I've been here all !@#$%ing year.

I went to the inspector general to file a formal complaint because I am tired of not getting certain monies that I should be entitled to on my paycheck.

This afternoon I called the transportation division to see when a moving company would be coming to move my furniture out of the apartment so that I can terminate my lease. They have no file of me on record, and therefore no date to move my goods.

Why did I go to a mandatory transportation division meeting back in October to set all of this up?

Why do I put myself through all of this?

Sometimes I don't know, and I want to quit.

I see my family and friends living their lives in Ohio, safely and happily. I want that back.
But then again it all comes back to me. They can do what they do because of where they live. Whether people realize or care or not, it is because of soldiers.

And that is why I press on. Someday I will earn my spot back in society. I guess all the bullshit makes that day so much sweeter.

And so the saga continues.

PS. The Buckeyes are making an appearance in the national championship. Also, excuse my language. I think it gets my point across.

Why We Fight

2007-11-26T18:45:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I returned from a long Thanksgiving weekend at home in Ohio. It was rather nice to go home and see family and friends, and it is always hard to tell everyone goodbye and make the drive back to Ft. Campbell. We are almost a month out from leaving, and I am starting to develop many feelings about the deployment. When I was home my father suggested that many people do not understand why we fight, and he also expressed concern that I might not understand either. Sometimes I think I am too bitter about my ongoing army saga to care why we fight, but also it is understood that these feelings are crushed and swept away when I remember back to why I am doing this in the first place. Seeing my family and friends reinforces the fact that I will do anything to make sure they can live their lives in peace and without interruption. I'll be damned if I let some religious fanatic come into my country and try to hurt the people I love, or any other Americans for that matter. When I am finished being in the army I hope that there will be people looking out for my well being also.

We fight this war because it is a religious war. Terrorists are religious fanatics that disagree with Western culture, and wish to do nothing more than wipe us all off the map; they proved this on September 11, 2001. If we do not go abroad and contain these nuts then they will surely come to our soil and attack us again. This conflict will go on forever and ever because we can't get rid of all of them and they can't get rid of all of us. These jokers are intent on accelerating Armageddon, and we are intent on stopping them. Our collective efforts and continuation of suppression in the middle east will give some guarantee that we will be safe in the states.

Personally, I feel as if I have a personal vendetta against a sect of people that I've never come into contact with. I want to call them towel heads and curse them all to hell, but at the same time I try not to be stereotypical and biased. Everyone always says how they want to go to Afghanistan and shoot a terrorist in the face; I say it too. But the real question is, if I received that opportunity would I take it? I say yes. He wants to kill me. He wants to kill all Americans. So it's two in the chest, one in the head for this guy.

Who knows what would really happen, though. I've never been in the situation, and no one knows how they'd react until it happens. But as it stands, I think these people are evil, tyrannical, and deserve to die. How dare they say we are wrong and how dare they take Armageddon into their own hands, killing Americans, coalition forces from other nations, and even their own countrymen. Enough is enough.

I feel my posts are pretty dark sometimes, but I have a big job ahead of me; a big challenge, if you will. I make light of whatever I can. There is a point, however, in which feelings of the unknown take over and bring out the negative. That's partly what the whole blog process is for, kind of like a therapy session. I hope it doesn't scare anyone or make anyone think that I am some weirdo, that is furthest from my intention. War is not a pretty thing, and no matter what, all soldiers have a hand in what ultimately happens on the battlefield.

In other news, Christmas is on the way. It is still up in the air whether or not I will be able to go back to Ohio for the holidays, as it is supposedly days before we are to board a plane and leave the US of A. I'll keep my fingers crossed for sure. It makes me happy to see all the decorations going up, seeing the Christmassy commercials and hearing the christMASSY music. I watched A CHRISTMAS STORY the other night, a true classic. I really hope to get Christmas this year. I missed it last year, and will miss it next year. I just hope the army doesn't make Christmas "just another day" because I miss it so often.

I am also turning 26 soon. Is that old? Compared to a lot of the people I serve with, it is. The average age in my peer group right now is probably around 22 or 23...Not a huge difference, but it seems like some of the other guys are in a different stage of their life then I am. I had all my wild fun in college, and did all the things that I wanted to do. It makes me wonder if they know why we fight? Or why did they join the army at all? It's kind of scary because sometimes I feel that it isn't the same reason. I hope I'm wrong. I know a lot of people in the army joined because they had nothing else going for them; but I hope they are patriotic in what they do. Sometimes the stresses of military life make it hard to be a patriot...but I know that the fire in my heart will never totally burn out, and that is why I am OK with deploying. I do what I do, it is what it is. What doesn't kill me will only making me stronger. When I get back I will be rock solid, like petrified !@#$. Sorry, I think cursing gives writing character at times, but I try not do it. But if you don't it might not be as real as it should be. I just try to write like I'd speak. Anyways, the rambling process has begun, so I must be going. I hope December brings you peace and joy. Don't take these times for granted.

In one month we will set foot in strange lands, and delve into the unknown. Go big or go home, right? Balls deep.

-J

Deadlines, Preparation..

2007-11-15T18:20:00.000-08:00

The latter part of this year has probably been one of the most stressful times of my army adventure so far. I don't call it a career, or I try not to, because I am not going to be doing this for my entire life; it's a stepping stone in what I hope to be a lifetime of experiences.

Some months ago I was put on a team that was to install modifications on all aircraft in the battalion. Twenty-four aircraft to be exact. Initially, teams of civilians from contracting firms were supposed to take on this giant, but then the heads of our unit decided to put it on the shoulders of the little guys to save money, or to make money since they did not have the money to pay contractors. So instead of paying some guy a bazillion dollars to modify the Apaches, they could pay us our crap pay and get triple the man hours. Brilliant.

Don't call me bitter..I just don't understand why a civilian would be paid some atrocious amount of money to do the same thing that I am going to do for a third, or maybe even a quarter of the pay. The mindset of "doing my part" keeps me in line though, as these aircraft need these modifications for the combat zone, and I have skills.

So our team had to go talk to these contractors so that they could show us the process of modification. It was kind of odd because while they were showing us they tested their latest modification and it did not work; pretty encouraging. Some guy was saying how he'd been doing this for twenty years, which isn't really something to brag about when your shit doesn't work. Regardless, we had an idea of what was going on and set out to make it work.

Our first aircraft was somewhat of a nightmare. One of the modifications requires running a set of wires from the very tip top of the tail to a switch panel in the pilot station, which is, yes you guessed it, in the front of the aircraft. Getting the wires through the pre-determined path was hell on earth...Tools were thrown, thin air was beaten to a pulp, and profanity was rampant...The engineer that drew up the blueprints for this obviously didn't try the install himself on a real aircraft. It looks good on paper!!!! Anyways, our first aircraft took 5 days to do, when the mod was generally supposed to take around 16 hours. The production control office surely wasn't satisfied with our progress, so we had to get better. At least it worked the first time when we tested the system, unlike those highly paid civilian contractors.

From there, it only got easier. One tends to perfect a process after doing it over and over and over. Our team got it down to a day and a half for one aircraft...Mind you that is working hours, not hours in a day, so all in all we were finishing an aircraft every 12 work hours. Surely we will finish all 24..right?

Well, to make a long story short...through all the sweat, some blood, but no tears, we managed to fight the fight and win the day. As of yesterday, all of the aircraft have been completed, but even though it was over it still isn't over. We have yet one final deadline; all of the aircraft that haven't had their mods tested need to be completed by well, tomorrow. That's a difficult task when there is no coordination between flying the aircraft and other maintenance. Getting time on the aircraft for testing is like trying to take back that dollar you already gave the stripper. Rough. Tomorrow will either be a good or bad day.

Preparation for war is no easy business, either. There are so many facets that support this statement that I can't possibly discuss them all, so I will mention a few. We get issued so much crap that I don't have any more space to store it, and we aren't done yet. I'm glad the Army wants to make sure I am properly equipped, but damn. If I tried to carry all of this junk into a war zone I'd surely be gunned down immediately. The administrative part of it all is the worst. Between planning my funeral, right down to what music I want, and getting all of the necessary shots and finishing mountains of paperwork, I feel like I should be cross-eyed or something by now. Regardless, it is all essential so that when we go abroad everything is taken care of.

Pretty soon it will be time to do equipment layouts and inspections to make sure we have everything necessary to brave a 15 month tour in Afghanistan. No matter what anyone says, this process sucks. "Hold up your GAS MASK, hold up your UNDERWEAR ha ha, hold up your M4 RIFLE!!!!!!" Hope they don't ask me to hold up my soul, and make sure I have enough bullets please.

I haven't really developed any feelings toward the upcoming deployment. I don't know if I want to go or not. I guess I do because I signed up to do my part, and if this isn't doing my part then I don't know what is. I'm not scared of being hurt; they say when you get into a crazy situation that training just kicks in and you know what to do. We shall see.

I suppose that's all I have for now..There's a soft queen sized bed calling my name, and I am going to indulge myself while I still can. We leave in a month, and I'm pretty sure they don't have sertas in durka-durkastan. It's either a cot, or the ground. Hope you find this entry amusing, funny, entertaining, or something else positive. If not, check your pulse.

P.S. I WANT TO GET PROMOTED (another story all in itself. But SGT GRATSCH is coming, I promise you that)

peace, love, empathy

-J

Intro, reasons, and "catching up."

2007-11-09T18:46:00.001-08:00

I guess I will start by stating my purpose; I want others to know what soldiers do, and what soldiers go through. Not only in a war zone, but in garrison on U.S. Army installations as well. I don't know how much garrison talk there will be, though...as we are getting ready to deploy to Afghanistan for 15 months, and I feel like there is a lot that needs to be told before these boots leave U.S. soil.

Earlier this evening I watched a special on the history channel entitled "Band of Bloggers;" soldiers sharing experiences from Iraq, quite literally moments after they happened. It's a good idea for the world to know what is going on, as long as it isn't violating operational security. They say "loose lips sink ships," and I will abide by that saying when posting. I figured that since I have a journalism degree and posses a strong passion for writing, that I might as well put it to good use. And so it begins..

I graduated from Miami University (the one in Ohio) in May 2004. Most students there had great ambitions of joining big business firms and getting their piece of the "pie in the sky." Of course I want that too, but something had been bothering me for years. The tragedies of September 11, 2001 occurred during first semester of my sophomore year. I remember sitting in the dining hall eating breakfast when an announcement came over the loudspeaker that a plane had crashed into the world trade center. At this time there was no speculation of terrorist activity and it was assumed that this was an accident. I dropped the cold spoon into my oatmeal and left the tray where it was.

Back in my dorm room I flipped on the television. It didn't matter which channel I switched to, all networks were covering the unfolding events. After awhile reports were coming in that the plane which lay burning and destroyed inside the first tower was a possible hijacking. I remember black smoke billowing from the tower, and then surprised newscasters gasped as a second aircraft appeared on the screen and smashed into the second tower. We knew then that the speculations were most likely true; the US had been attacked on its own soil. I don't go to church that often, but I do believe in God. For some reason I went to my desk drawer and grabbed a tiny green bible that I received from a man handing them out on one of the street corners the week before. I held the bible tight and felt like crying. I don't know why. The world was entering a time of uncertainty, and just then, things went from being OK to all messed up.

Class was weird that day. Different quads produced distinct, emotional vibes, if you will. Some areas of campus were in complete hysteria, while others were quiet and somber. We didn't really have class. We still went, simply because that's what we were supposed to do. Mostly we watched the events on classroom TVs and discussed what was going on. Almost every class I went to had people crying because they knew someone that worked in one of those towers, or had relatives in the city police or fire departments. I felt for those students; I didn't know anyone in New York. After class I went to the Shriver Center, which is a place where a lot of students go to eat, hang out, and study. Every television in the place was surrounded by a large crowd. So many people just standing there in disbelief, not knowing what to say or do. I must say that it was an emotionally draining day. I figured that we would be going to war with someone, or that some sort of military retaliation would be underway in the near future. In all honesty I wanted to quit college that very day and head over to the nearest military recruiter to sign up. Anger consumed my thoughts, and I wanted to get back at whoever did this to my countrymen. It took a phone call from my mother to calm me down, and in the end, I decided to stay in school. But at what cost?

Fast forward to senior year. A lot of things had happened since that tragic day. I lost my older brother to a senseless motorcycle accident in the late summer after my sophomore year. He had served his time in the armed forces as a marine. And even though he never deployed anywhere and never saw combat, I respected him for being a devil dawg. It was getting close to graduation time, and even though the excitement of finishing that chapter of my life was upon me, something didn't feel right. I didn't have a job lined up like a lot of my peers, but it did not bother me either. September 11th was always in the back of my mind. Being a journalism major, the news was always a big part of my day; who, what, when, where, why and how was driven into my brain. We studied the news, and I wrote for the local paper. I saw what the media wanted me to see concerning the war in Iraq and Afghanistan. It's hard to believe that we are coming upon 2008, and we are STILL in Afghanistan. We went there shortly after that dark day, and that was in my EARLY college years. As ironic as it is, I am now almost 26 years old and getting ready to go there myself. Weird. Getting back on track though, I was trying to figure out what I was going to do post graduation. I had always wanted to be a fighter pilot, the kind that wore the cool aviator sunglasses and wore the bomber jackets with pinup girls painted on the back. Maybe that's a little WWIIish, but it appealed to me.

I started speaking with a US NAVY officer recruiter to see about getting into OCS. I would, after all, have a college degree soon and be eligible. To make a long story short, I went through the entire painstaking process of putting together an officer application packet, which included but is not limited to the following: several thousand military documents (so it seemed), letters of recommendation, test scores that show I did exceptionally well on the AVIATION SELECTION TEST BATTERY for wannabe fighter pilots, and proof that I would soon be in possession of a true blue bachelors degree. The process took so long that it extended beyond my college graduation date, at which time I found myself working in the civilian world at a place that I will not mention. My packet was submitted twice, and rejected twice, for reasons I did not know at the time. Later on I would find out the most likely reason was because my college degree is in journalism and business. Candidates chosen had such degrees as aeronautics and engineering. So with my dreams dashed away just like that, I continued on in the civilian world, September 11th always whispering ever so softly from the back of my mind.

I worked on into 2005, and by that time it was almost certain that I was going to do my part one way or another. In late 2004 I attended a NASCAR race in Bristol, Tennessee with my family. While there I'd apparently visited a US Army recruiting booth because a couple of weeks later I started receiving phone calls from local recruiters wanting me to come on down and have a chat about an army career that I knew nothing about. Finally, one day I caved and visited a man by the name of Carrington Melton at the Springfield, Ohio recruiting station. After several meetings my ARMY career path had been laid; I would enlist, serve some time in the Aviation corps as an Apache armament electrician and system repairer (15Y), and then, after gaining enough experience on the Apache platform, drop a warrant officer packet in hopes of becoming an AH-64D Apache Longbow pilot. I signed a contract and gave the oath of enlistment at the MEPS in Columbus, Ohio in February 2005. After I raised my right hand and swore to uphold the Constitution of The United States of America, a sense of weariness came over me. I felt proud, but what did I get myself into?

Again, to make a long story short, I will briefly annotate my military career up until present times. Before I do so, though, I would like to say that I am proud to be an enlisted man. I get tired of people always asking me "why in the hell did I go enlisted when I could easily be an OFFICER!" Well, to set the record straight, the enlisted man is the backbone of the army. He gets the job done, and the officer gets the credit. The officer makes decisions that can ultimately get people killed. I am not that guy. The enlisted corps has plenty of opportunity for me to be a leader, and ever since I saw HBO's miniseries BAND OF BROTHERS, I have wanted to wear sergeant's stripes; there's just something about it. Let's get one thing straight right here and right now, though. I am not bad mouthing officers in any way; there's a lot of great ones out there, but a lot of dopey ones too. My father was a great enlisted man, serving in the Vietnam war. I wanted to follow in his footsteps as well.

Another question I get asked a lot is "if you have a journalism degree then why don't you do journalism in the ARMY!?!?" My response to that is because that would be lame. If I am going to put my civilian life on hold and be in the army I want to do "armyish" things. Journalism is not armyish. I also do not like how the civilian media portrays the ongoing wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. A lot of things are happening over there that the media never even covers (they like to focus on the negative). Being a trained journalist, I know how everything works and I do not not like the final product most of the time. That is why.

Back to the meat and potatoes. I left my family and everything I knew for the unknown. I arrived at Fort Jackson, South Carolina on 12 April, 2005. Action Jackson turned me into a fine tuned fighting machine, and by June 2005 I was ready to head to Ft. Eustis, VA for training in my MOS (military occupational specialty). By January 2006 I was fully trained and ready to be shipped off to my first unit. I was informed a while before my training ended that I would be going to South Korea to a heavy cavalry unit operating on the peninsula. Needless to say I was not excited. To keep this from becoming a total autobiography, I will just say that I served valiantly in Korea if I do say so myself, and arrived safely back in America in February 2007. Since then, I have been stationed at Ft. Campbell Kentucky and am a proud member of the famous 101st Airborne Division. The division was made famous by the action it saw in WWII. Watch BAND OF BROTHERS and you will see why I am so proud to wear the screaming eagle patch. I've been here for some 9 months now, working to maintain 3 companies of Apaches. I will get into more detail of what I've been up to in the upcoming posts, as this one is already pretty lengthy.

I want this blog to be interactive with anyone who reads it. I will always respond to questions and comments in a timely manner (well, as timely as an Army soldier can be!). Without giving away too much about our operations in Afghanistan, my goal is to have people grasp what we are going through on a daily basis. Hopefully there will be photos to support the blogs. This isn't a freak show or anything...I just want to cover what the news doesn't. Hope this entry finds everyone well. The holiday season is coming up, and I hope everyone is looking forward to it.

Here is a link, well, hopefully it's a link, to my webshots page that contains many photos of my adventures thus far. If it's not a link, just copy and paste it into your browser and you will be good to go.

Here it is: http://community.webshots.com/user/jgratsch100?vhost=community

Cheers