Some exciting news! We just learned that the History Book Club will make Warrior Police an alternate selection for a forthcoming monthly sale. HBC is pre-ordering a number of copies for their offering.
We greatly appreciate being recognized by HBC, a well-regarded book club and consistent promoter of timely and important books.
With all profits from Warrior Police sales going to the Valhalla Project, this is a real boost for the project.
Our thanks go to the folks at HBC for their support!
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Monday, November 8, 2010
Training Afghan Police
The overall mission in Afghanistan for the 95th Military Police Battalion is high level - to train, advise, coach, and mentor high level commanders and staff in the Regional Command East, an area encompassing four provinces (Paktia, Gazni, Patkyka, and Khost). the The battalion therefore deployed from Germany last February with a full headquarters complement and staff. For some of the junior officers and Soldiers much of the mission during the first nine months or so had been a succession of frustrations and disappointments.
Most had higher kinetic expectations prior to deployment. Almost universally they thought that they would be in fairly regular combat. SInce that has not taken place, a kind of regret has set in that most civilians would find difficult to comprehend. Many of the Soldiers say that "this isn't a war. All we do is provide a secure taxi service." Outside observers quickly see that most of the Headquarters Company Soldiers make "milk runs" to and from local destination: driving back and forth to other FOBs (Forward Operating Bases) and the air strip occupies most of their time.
In addition, as newly-promoted Captain Ryan Goltz, the outgoing commander of the HQ company noted, "We constantly moved these Soldiers from one location to another. The physical relocation from FOB Lightning to FOB Justice was a significant ordeal, moving so many people into skeleton facilities that required major additions and improvements. This meant new duties, usually filling HESCO barriers and sandbags. Also manning guard towers themselves, a critically important task that had previously been covered almost entirely by contracted Afghan personnel back at Lightning. The bad thing was that this got put on top of their normal duties, so some of them were working 16-hour days. Morale was low."
Then, in October came the opportunity to finally carry out their originally intended mission. Since the move to FOB Justice the 95th MPs are essentially side-by-side with the Afghan Provincial Headquarters. The order came to start training the student policemen who are attending training at Provisional Headquarters there. It was extremely well received.
After months of running the roads (which, by the way, are still dangerous) and force protection work, many of the junior NCOs and enlisted MPs finally feel that they are doing something tangible, something worthwhile. "Even if only one of these students retains only one small technique or tactic we are teaching them and it helps them along the line," an enthusiastic Soldier said, "it will make this effort worthwhile."
Watching Sergeant Nick "Ski" Olszewski at work with the Afghan National Civil Order (ANCOP) trainees was illustrative. Ski had planned well for his class on room and building clearing operations. "You can't give them too much sit-down-and-just-listen classroom time," he noted. "They just don't do well in a traditional class. They learn best by doing." On top of these issues, instruction is always slower when processed through an interpreter.
So Ski had his fellow Soldiers divided into demonstration teams and coaches. First a small team entered the room, pantomiming kicking the door, simulating holding weapons, and passing silent signals back and forth along the "stack" - the group of Soldiers designated as the clearing team.
After watching the American team go through the routine a few times the ANCOP students - and keep in mind these are considered the elite of the Afghan police units - then got to practice such "new" room-clearing techniques themselves. While they understandably fumbled a bit on the first few attempts, the Afghans responded quickly to spot corrections and coaching. American Soldiers stood closely by and helped with some of the subtleties that can make a difference between success and failure - life and death - in these situations.
"Maintain body contact with the men in front and behind," Sergeant Frank Vale coached. Gently but firmly he moved the men till their shoulders were touching. "That way you know can feel when he moves and that he's in position without taking your eyes away from your surroundings," Vale explained. "Keep watching for a potential threat, constantly scan your assigned sector of the room or building, but always remain aware of what your team members are doing by maintaining physical contact with those ahead of and behind you." As the interpreter translated the words it was easy to see the light of understanding in their eyes. The moment was priceless: They got it!
Next Ski had the teams practice a couple of runs. Amazingly each team improved markedly. Then it was time for room clearing an entire building. In this exercise, one team enters and secures the hallway while a second team clears a room. As the Americans ran through the exercise they called out - one team to another - "three men coming out!" once the room was cleared. As per procedure, the team in the hallway repeated the call. That way friendly casualties are avoided.
There were some comic moments. When the first Afghan team ran the exercise, the team doing room-clearing called out in garbled, very broken English "Tee meh 'oming owwwt" ("Three men coming out!") and the team in the hallway struggled to mimic the strange foreign words that they didn't quite understand. "It's okay," Ski laughed. "Do it in your own language." While humorous it showed that the Afghans are eager to learn and will struggle to get details right.
Outside, several Soldiers led Afghans in learning to pivot into a fight. The exercise is designed to teach footwork and economy of effort so that when in a tough situation a policeman has to can quickly change direction without thinking about his feet while he and his weapon are remain focused on the threat. Repetition until the movement becomes instinctive is the only way to drill it into students. Yet this maneuver was very unfamiliar for the Afghans. For a while it appeared the MPs were teaching some kind of dance class as the trainees shuffled around in the graveled dust, some mixing up left and right, others having problems with keeping their feet in constant contact with the ground. But after a while the US team leaders were shouting "move left, move right" commands in Pashtu and everyone in the line eventually mastered both the rhythm and direction of the drill.
At the end of the session some of the Soldiers groused that the Afghans did not perform uniformly as well as they wished. But this is Soldier-bitching, part and parcel of being a Soldier. The American instructors were proud of their accomplishments and of their ANCOP students.
On the way back to the FOB several wished aloud that they had been tasked to do this training from the start of the deployment. A couple of short sessions improved both the ANCOP skill set and 95th MP Battalion Soldier's morale.
Most had higher kinetic expectations prior to deployment. Almost universally they thought that they would be in fairly regular combat. SInce that has not taken place, a kind of regret has set in that most civilians would find difficult to comprehend. Many of the Soldiers say that "this isn't a war. All we do is provide a secure taxi service." Outside observers quickly see that most of the Headquarters Company Soldiers make "milk runs" to and from local destination: driving back and forth to other FOBs (Forward Operating Bases) and the air strip occupies most of their time.
In addition, as newly-promoted Captain Ryan Goltz, the outgoing commander of the HQ company noted, "We constantly moved these Soldiers from one location to another. The physical relocation from FOB Lightning to FOB Justice was a significant ordeal, moving so many people into skeleton facilities that required major additions and improvements. This meant new duties, usually filling HESCO barriers and sandbags. Also manning guard towers themselves, a critically important task that had previously been covered almost entirely by contracted Afghan personnel back at Lightning. The bad thing was that this got put on top of their normal duties, so some of them were working 16-hour days. Morale was low."
Then, in October came the opportunity to finally carry out their originally intended mission. Since the move to FOB Justice the 95th MPs are essentially side-by-side with the Afghan Provincial Headquarters. The order came to start training the student policemen who are attending training at Provisional Headquarters there. It was extremely well received.
After months of running the roads (which, by the way, are still dangerous) and force protection work, many of the junior NCOs and enlisted MPs finally feel that they are doing something tangible, something worthwhile. "Even if only one of these students retains only one small technique or tactic we are teaching them and it helps them along the line," an enthusiastic Soldier said, "it will make this effort worthwhile."
Watching Sergeant Nick "Ski" Olszewski at work with the Afghan National Civil Order (ANCOP) trainees was illustrative. Ski had planned well for his class on room and building clearing operations. "You can't give them too much sit-down-and-just-listen classroom time," he noted. "They just don't do well in a traditional class. They learn best by doing." On top of these issues, instruction is always slower when processed through an interpreter.
So Ski had his fellow Soldiers divided into demonstration teams and coaches. First a small team entered the room, pantomiming kicking the door, simulating holding weapons, and passing silent signals back and forth along the "stack" - the group of Soldiers designated as the clearing team.
After watching the American team go through the routine a few times the ANCOP students - and keep in mind these are considered the elite of the Afghan police units - then got to practice such "new" room-clearing techniques themselves. While they understandably fumbled a bit on the first few attempts, the Afghans responded quickly to spot corrections and coaching. American Soldiers stood closely by and helped with some of the subtleties that can make a difference between success and failure - life and death - in these situations.
"Maintain body contact with the men in front and behind," Sergeant Frank Vale coached. Gently but firmly he moved the men till their shoulders were touching. "That way you know can feel when he moves and that he's in position without taking your eyes away from your surroundings," Vale explained. "Keep watching for a potential threat, constantly scan your assigned sector of the room or building, but always remain aware of what your team members are doing by maintaining physical contact with those ahead of and behind you." As the interpreter translated the words it was easy to see the light of understanding in their eyes. The moment was priceless: They got it!
Next Ski had the teams practice a couple of runs. Amazingly each team improved markedly. Then it was time for room clearing an entire building. In this exercise, one team enters and secures the hallway while a second team clears a room. As the Americans ran through the exercise they called out - one team to another - "three men coming out!" once the room was cleared. As per procedure, the team in the hallway repeated the call. That way friendly casualties are avoided.
There were some comic moments. When the first Afghan team ran the exercise, the team doing room-clearing called out in garbled, very broken English "Tee meh 'oming owwwt" ("Three men coming out!") and the team in the hallway struggled to mimic the strange foreign words that they didn't quite understand. "It's okay," Ski laughed. "Do it in your own language." While humorous it showed that the Afghans are eager to learn and will struggle to get details right.
Outside, several Soldiers led Afghans in learning to pivot into a fight. The exercise is designed to teach footwork and economy of effort so that when in a tough situation a policeman has to can quickly change direction without thinking about his feet while he and his weapon are remain focused on the threat. Repetition until the movement becomes instinctive is the only way to drill it into students. Yet this maneuver was very unfamiliar for the Afghans. For a while it appeared the MPs were teaching some kind of dance class as the trainees shuffled around in the graveled dust, some mixing up left and right, others having problems with keeping their feet in constant contact with the ground. But after a while the US team leaders were shouting "move left, move right" commands in Pashtu and everyone in the line eventually mastered both the rhythm and direction of the drill.
At the end of the session some of the Soldiers groused that the Afghans did not perform uniformly as well as they wished. But this is Soldier-bitching, part and parcel of being a Soldier. The American instructors were proud of their accomplishments and of their ANCOP students.
On the way back to the FOB several wished aloud that they had been tasked to do this training from the start of the deployment. A couple of short sessions improved both the ANCOP skill set and 95th MP Battalion Soldier's morale.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
The 630th MP Company in Jalalabad
"Would you like to visit the 630th MP Company? They're in Jalalabad and could give you another unit to interview for the book." We jumped at Lieutenant Colonel (LTC) Duane Miller's offer. He and Command Sergeant Major Hank Stearns were going to visit on a battlefield rotation. Even though the 630th is not directly under the 95th MP Battalion in Afghanistan, the unit is still out of Mannheim, Germany and is co-located on the same base as 95th's headquarters. Thus ties exist that transcend temporary chain of command linkages.
"Be ready to go for two days," Master Sergeant Andrew Chesser told us. "You'll fly out with the Colonel and Sergeant Major tomorrow afternoon, overnight there, spend the day and return." Chesser has learned to spell things out for us carefully. We're often not the most maintenance-free embeds.
Clutching small overnight bags along with the usual body armor and helmets, we boarded a pair of Blackhawks the following afternoon and lifted off. Of course, this being Afghanistan, nothing goes in a straight line. First we had to drop off and pick up passengers at Forward Operating Base Salerno, due east through the Khost-Ghardez pass. The choppers were now jammed with passengers and gear so the ride up to Bagram Air Field (BAF) was cramped. Drop off more at BAF, pick up a couple.
Finally, the choppers headed out due west by a bit south to Jalalabad. The 95th's interpreter, "Fast Freddie," was along with us and very excited. I have some friends in Jalalabad and I'm going to surprise them," he said. The idea of surprising them wasn't simply a lark for Freddie, it's a life-saving necessity. His cell phone number was intercepted some months back. He'd had calls from the Taliban warning of retributions to him and his family if he didn't quit working for the Americans. "I told him to f-off," Freddie snarled. "But if I let anybody know in advance that I'm coming they'll tell everybody and make preparations so I have to sneak in and out. It's safer that way."
As we flew into the J-bad area (slang for Jalalabad) we passed over a huge reservoir marking the junction of the Kunar and Kabul Rivers. From J-bad the river continues eastward till it links to the famous Indus River in Pakistan. The city itself sits astride the major supply route into Afghanistan from the legendary Khyber Pass (which we regrettably did not get to see) only a few miles distant.
Unlike most of Afghanistan Jalalabad is green, almost lush by comparison. As we flew low over the outskirts we passed hundreds of kulots with orchards, grain crops, and very well-tended marijuana fields prospering inside their walls. According to Freddie, the Taliban is unpopular in the city and memories of the mujahadeen wars are fresh enough to discourage heavy recruitment. The citizens envision themselves as an independent entity, a sort of city-state, a mood similar to what we saw in other parts of the country.
Even so, while looking down through the windows we saw uneven rows of large boulders that had been strategically placed in the middle various roads at the city outskirts below us. Someone had worked hard to put them there, apparently to ensure that only motorcycles, donkeys, or people traveling on foot could get through. Since military patrol and local police vehicles would be blocked from traveling on these roads we had to assume that either the Taliban, arms smugglers, or criminal networks were responsible.
We After three and a half hours of making pit stops and flying around we finally landed and were met at the HLZ (helicopter landing zone) by Captain Maria Perez, the short, slim, sharp-eyed commander of the 630th MP Company. "She's Marcus Perez's wife," Stearns told me after the roaring choppers departed. A good data point, since in the spring we'd spent weeks with her husband's 92nd MP Company at FOB Gardez and elsewhere.
While Marcus Perez was downrange his wife Maria was preparing her company for deployment. They passed each other exiting and entering the combat theater. The two had married just before these deployments and, like so many other military spouses, both long for the day when they can be stationed together.
We climbed into pickup trucks and drove to FOB Hughie through Afghan Army and Police grounds - amazingly to our eyes covered with trees, pastures, and napping farm animals. Hughie is a small FOB located smack dab alongside the city.
Freddie immediately changed into local Afghan clothing (what Soldiers typically call a "man dress") and headed for town.
Captain Perez is a veteran of Iraq where she worked on police improvements and detainee operations. Her emphasis here is on anti-corruption cases, intercepting drug trafficking, and upgrading the police. According to Perez their mission is to train local police as well as establish stations in the more remote areas. Outside the city these back roads are some of the primary infiltration routes for Taliban coming in from neighboring Pakistan with explosives and weapons (we were pretty sure at that point some of the boulder-blocked roads that we'd seen from the chopper were indeed used for these purposes).
To date she is pleased with their efforts. "We've made some big catches," she notes, "and have a good, positive relationship with our AUPs (Afghan Uniformed Police) in the city."
While Perez properly focused on escorting and briefing LTC Miller, we soon were turned over to First Sergeant Thomas Buettner, a very hands-on leader, who could be intimidating by physique alone, but chooses to be a very approachable Soldier's Soldier in his operating style. As we pass through the small company area he greets everyone by name and asks pointed questions in a tone that encourages rather than threatens. We like him immediately.
This is not Buettner's first rodeo. He has been an MP since 1993 and In in addition to tours in Bosnia, Panama, Kosovo, and Egypt, he has pulled two previous Iraq tours and one in Afghanistan.
Under Buettner's guidance we find our rooms in separate B-huts, and are shown the latrine/shower areas, dining facility, company headquarters, gym, and smoking areas. The first sergeant chats with us a bit and offers to gather some Soldiers for an interview the following day.
We were very tired by then but still ended up chatting with a group of soldiers in the smoker's gazebo for more than an hour. In fact when we showed up we interrupted a typical bitch-and-moan session. Everything about Afghanistan was either bad, stupid, or a complete waste of time, they all groused. "So your police training mission is a total bust, just a waste of time?" Avery asked. "Well, sort of, basically, yeah, although we've taught them some things..." came the answer.
"Well, what things?" This sparked a little story about teaching a class on subduing suspects and handcuffing techniques. It wasn't long before the Soldiers were interjecting observations about progress they'd seen over time with their Afghani counterparts, and laughing over inevitably embarrassing cultural misunderstandings and the antics of trainees who really did try very hard despite their general lack of education and absence of some basic equipment.
Somehow many of the grousers found themselves bragging a bit over their own lessons learned and various successes in holding classes that were not only sort of fun, but in fact the best hope for eventually driving out the Taliban from Jalalabad.
"The chow was pretty good tonight, too" I interjected. Yes, the chow here's excellent, maybe we even have the best chow hall in Afghanistan was the shared reaction from around the gazebo. This FOB's a lot better than most, others pointed out. Most people are clueless while doing the same old thing day after day back home and while they definitely have more fun, at least we've got a front seat on what's really happening in the world today, one or two eventually mentioned.
It was very late by the time we pulled away from our now happy and animated group of new friends. It hadn't taken much to help shift the mostly sorry-for-themselves atmosphere into an animated group discussion of what was going right around FOB Hughie, and why the folks back home would never fully appreciate what was being done against significant odds throughout the J-Bad district.
After a solid night's sleep we met early with Sergeants Michael Delong, Chandra Hinton, and Christopher Logan; Specialists Benjamin Barttlett and Nathanial Scott, and First Lieutenant Cory French. WIth the exception of Logan who served in Iraq, this is their first deployment. Like most group interviews we've done, we find that one or two are willing to do most of the talking and others tend to watch. Some Soldiers are suspicious of the "media" label. Even though we explain what the "Warrior Police" book is intended to present they are still - understandably considering some of the reporting from the war - reticent to talk.
Still over the course of an hour or so they explain that for the most part they are satisfied with the mission in Jalalabad city. The consensus is that the police chiefs in their districts are pro-active and engaged with the community. They see a need to expand the mission to what they describe as the "more fragile" outlying areas in which the population feels insecure and in which an expanded police presence would go a long way to deter Taliban influence.
Universally they see Afghanistan and their role as a "forgotten war." Few Americans, they think, are even aware of the true nature of continued American presence in Afghanistan, and even fewer have any concept of what they are doing. When they return to the States on R&R they find it almost impossible to explain to family and friends just what their job is or the importance they attach to it.
No one in the States hears the good stories about what they are doing, only the negative things. Americans seem to have no idea about the wells being dug, road projects being completed, or the extensive medical and farming programs carried out under the protection of US Military Police units every day. They are confident that if the good stories about what they are doing were publicized then Americans would be prouder of their mission and what they see as tangible accomplishments.
Instead, they are convinced that the media and politicians - and to a certain extent higher command - are absorbed with a numbers game and ignore the human element of the conflict. Like most Soldiers we met, they are well-versed in the principles of the counter-insurgency mission and accept, more or less, the restrictions put on them because of it.
They may not agree with the mission concept or the situational analysis that guides and shapes strategy, but they are absolutely committed to carrying out the mission on the terms and conditions that have been presented to them for action.
Overall morale is high. The only sense of frustration we hear at FOB Hughie is that Soldiers want to do more, get out more often, work with Afghan Police in more dangerous locales, and expand the mission. That's a good thing, and reflects well on the Soldiers of the 630th MP Company and their leadership.
When we see Hank Stearns in the late afternoon he gives us a warning order: "We're flying out of here tonight," he says. "Be ready about 2000 hours with all your gear."
"Be ready to go for two days," Master Sergeant Andrew Chesser told us. "You'll fly out with the Colonel and Sergeant Major tomorrow afternoon, overnight there, spend the day and return." Chesser has learned to spell things out for us carefully. We're often not the most maintenance-free embeds.
Clutching small overnight bags along with the usual body armor and helmets, we boarded a pair of Blackhawks the following afternoon and lifted off. Of course, this being Afghanistan, nothing goes in a straight line. First we had to drop off and pick up passengers at Forward Operating Base Salerno, due east through the Khost-Ghardez pass. The choppers were now jammed with passengers and gear so the ride up to Bagram Air Field (BAF) was cramped. Drop off more at BAF, pick up a couple.
Finally, the choppers headed out due west by a bit south to Jalalabad. The 95th's interpreter, "Fast Freddie," was along with us and very excited. I have some friends in Jalalabad and I'm going to surprise them," he said. The idea of surprising them wasn't simply a lark for Freddie, it's a life-saving necessity. His cell phone number was intercepted some months back. He'd had calls from the Taliban warning of retributions to him and his family if he didn't quit working for the Americans. "I told him to f-off," Freddie snarled. "But if I let anybody know in advance that I'm coming they'll tell everybody and make preparations so I have to sneak in and out. It's safer that way."
As we flew into the J-bad area (slang for Jalalabad) we passed over a huge reservoir marking the junction of the Kunar and Kabul Rivers. From J-bad the river continues eastward till it links to the famous Indus River in Pakistan. The city itself sits astride the major supply route into Afghanistan from the legendary Khyber Pass (which we regrettably did not get to see) only a few miles distant.
Unlike most of Afghanistan Jalalabad is green, almost lush by comparison. As we flew low over the outskirts we passed hundreds of kulots with orchards, grain crops, and very well-tended marijuana fields prospering inside their walls. According to Freddie, the Taliban is unpopular in the city and memories of the mujahadeen wars are fresh enough to discourage heavy recruitment. The citizens envision themselves as an independent entity, a sort of city-state, a mood similar to what we saw in other parts of the country.
Even so, while looking down through the windows we saw uneven rows of large boulders that had been strategically placed in the middle various roads at the city outskirts below us. Someone had worked hard to put them there, apparently to ensure that only motorcycles, donkeys, or people traveling on foot could get through. Since military patrol and local police vehicles would be blocked from traveling on these roads we had to assume that either the Taliban, arms smugglers, or criminal networks were responsible.
We After three and a half hours of making pit stops and flying around we finally landed and were met at the HLZ (helicopter landing zone) by Captain Maria Perez, the short, slim, sharp-eyed commander of the 630th MP Company. "She's Marcus Perez's wife," Stearns told me after the roaring choppers departed. A good data point, since in the spring we'd spent weeks with her husband's 92nd MP Company at FOB Gardez and elsewhere.
While Marcus Perez was downrange his wife Maria was preparing her company for deployment. They passed each other exiting and entering the combat theater. The two had married just before these deployments and, like so many other military spouses, both long for the day when they can be stationed together.
We climbed into pickup trucks and drove to FOB Hughie through Afghan Army and Police grounds - amazingly to our eyes covered with trees, pastures, and napping farm animals. Hughie is a small FOB located smack dab alongside the city.
Freddie immediately changed into local Afghan clothing (what Soldiers typically call a "man dress") and headed for town.
Captain Perez is a veteran of Iraq where she worked on police improvements and detainee operations. Her emphasis here is on anti-corruption cases, intercepting drug trafficking, and upgrading the police. According to Perez their mission is to train local police as well as establish stations in the more remote areas. Outside the city these back roads are some of the primary infiltration routes for Taliban coming in from neighboring Pakistan with explosives and weapons (we were pretty sure at that point some of the boulder-blocked roads that we'd seen from the chopper were indeed used for these purposes).
To date she is pleased with their efforts. "We've made some big catches," she notes, "and have a good, positive relationship with our AUPs (Afghan Uniformed Police) in the city."
While Perez properly focused on escorting and briefing LTC Miller, we soon were turned over to First Sergeant Thomas Buettner, a very hands-on leader, who could be intimidating by physique alone, but chooses to be a very approachable Soldier's Soldier in his operating style. As we pass through the small company area he greets everyone by name and asks pointed questions in a tone that encourages rather than threatens. We like him immediately.
This is not Buettner's first rodeo. He has been an MP since 1993 and In in addition to tours in Bosnia, Panama, Kosovo, and Egypt, he has pulled two previous Iraq tours and one in Afghanistan.
Under Buettner's guidance we find our rooms in separate B-huts, and are shown the latrine/shower areas, dining facility, company headquarters, gym, and smoking areas. The first sergeant chats with us a bit and offers to gather some Soldiers for an interview the following day.
We were very tired by then but still ended up chatting with a group of soldiers in the smoker's gazebo for more than an hour. In fact when we showed up we interrupted a typical bitch-and-moan session. Everything about Afghanistan was either bad, stupid, or a complete waste of time, they all groused. "So your police training mission is a total bust, just a waste of time?" Avery asked. "Well, sort of, basically, yeah, although we've taught them some things..." came the answer.
"Well, what things?" This sparked a little story about teaching a class on subduing suspects and handcuffing techniques. It wasn't long before the Soldiers were interjecting observations about progress they'd seen over time with their Afghani counterparts, and laughing over inevitably embarrassing cultural misunderstandings and the antics of trainees who really did try very hard despite their general lack of education and absence of some basic equipment.
Somehow many of the grousers found themselves bragging a bit over their own lessons learned and various successes in holding classes that were not only sort of fun, but in fact the best hope for eventually driving out the Taliban from Jalalabad.
"The chow was pretty good tonight, too" I interjected. Yes, the chow here's excellent, maybe we even have the best chow hall in Afghanistan was the shared reaction from around the gazebo. This FOB's a lot better than most, others pointed out. Most people are clueless while doing the same old thing day after day back home and while they definitely have more fun, at least we've got a front seat on what's really happening in the world today, one or two eventually mentioned.
It was very late by the time we pulled away from our now happy and animated group of new friends. It hadn't taken much to help shift the mostly sorry-for-themselves atmosphere into an animated group discussion of what was going right around FOB Hughie, and why the folks back home would never fully appreciate what was being done against significant odds throughout the J-Bad district.
After a solid night's sleep we met early with Sergeants Michael Delong, Chandra Hinton, and Christopher Logan; Specialists Benjamin Barttlett and Nathanial Scott, and First Lieutenant Cory French. WIth the exception of Logan who served in Iraq, this is their first deployment. Like most group interviews we've done, we find that one or two are willing to do most of the talking and others tend to watch. Some Soldiers are suspicious of the "media" label. Even though we explain what the "Warrior Police" book is intended to present they are still - understandably considering some of the reporting from the war - reticent to talk.
Still over the course of an hour or so they explain that for the most part they are satisfied with the mission in Jalalabad city. The consensus is that the police chiefs in their districts are pro-active and engaged with the community. They see a need to expand the mission to what they describe as the "more fragile" outlying areas in which the population feels insecure and in which an expanded police presence would go a long way to deter Taliban influence.
Universally they see Afghanistan and their role as a "forgotten war." Few Americans, they think, are even aware of the true nature of continued American presence in Afghanistan, and even fewer have any concept of what they are doing. When they return to the States on R&R they find it almost impossible to explain to family and friends just what their job is or the importance they attach to it.
No one in the States hears the good stories about what they are doing, only the negative things. Americans seem to have no idea about the wells being dug, road projects being completed, or the extensive medical and farming programs carried out under the protection of US Military Police units every day. They are confident that if the good stories about what they are doing were publicized then Americans would be prouder of their mission and what they see as tangible accomplishments.
Instead, they are convinced that the media and politicians - and to a certain extent higher command - are absorbed with a numbers game and ignore the human element of the conflict. Like most Soldiers we met, they are well-versed in the principles of the counter-insurgency mission and accept, more or less, the restrictions put on them because of it.
They may not agree with the mission concept or the situational analysis that guides and shapes strategy, but they are absolutely committed to carrying out the mission on the terms and conditions that have been presented to them for action.
Overall morale is high. The only sense of frustration we hear at FOB Hughie is that Soldiers want to do more, get out more often, work with Afghan Police in more dangerous locales, and expand the mission. That's a good thing, and reflects well on the Soldiers of the 630th MP Company and their leadership.
When we see Hank Stearns in the late afternoon he gives us a warning order: "We're flying out of here tonight," he says. "Be ready about 2000 hours with all your gear."
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Finally Back with the 95th MP Bn
As per routine, we were awakened at Bagram at 0230 Thursday, 21 October morning by a quiet tap on the door. "Bring your gear to the TOC," SGT Smith said.
Yesterday we made the conscious decision to leave Bagram even though both of us still felt weak and washed out from bouts of the Afghanistan crud. We were frustrated that we'd already lost several days of this embed laying up at BAF, the air was not improving, and we knew that if we missed this bird, the next one would be on Monday. Time to ruck up and go.
The easiest way to carry the IOTV (Improved Outer Tactical Vest) body armor is simply to don it and go. We've tried carrying it draped over an arm and that works, too, but with two rucksacks apiece, wearing it is the preferred option. So, banging into plywood doorways, and crunching over the gravel, we hiked the short distance to the tactical operations center of the 95th MP Battalion's liaison office and dumped our loads unceremoniously on the boardwalk in front of the B-hut near the waiting white Ford SUVs.
One, the one parked closest to the building, had a black spray paint splatter all over the rear door and side. "Ask Sergeant Fabian how that happened," SGT Douglas said with a grin when we queried him about the mess.
We later learned the story. Sergeant First Class Raphel Fabian, a fully-squared away Dominican personnel specialist, and a great friend (he had been with the 95th in Iraq when I first met him) had been selected to attend warrant officer school, a wonderful promotion for him. He had been at Bagram making preparations to paint the last four of his social on all clothing and decided, in a rare mental lapse, that using paint rather than spraying over a stencil would be the preferred method.
Growing impatient to get at the paint, Fabian then punctured the can! The explosive results were a splotch of paint on the SUV door and a BIG splotch of paint on the sergeant. The already dirty BAF air was rendered a deeper shade of blue by the mixed island Spanish and English cursing that resulted from the mishap.
This morning, though, we were a bit worried about space on the aircraft. Soldiers returning to Gardez crowded the boardwalk. Many were 615th MP Company Soldiers returning from R&R leave or appointments at BAF. Others were from the 95th and the Vermont Army National Guard Infantry battalion that also based out of Gardez.
SGT Smith, the up-all-night NCO began to shuttle us to the passenger terminal. We tossed our gear aboard and made the second run. At the PAX terminal we encountered the normal congestion and confusion that typifies combat-zone military flight ops. Announcements were made for flights to Kandahar, Jalalabad, Kabul, Manas, and a handful of other locations.
We crowded together in a rough line to get to the counter, stacking rucksacks and IOTV along the jammed walls. For the Soldiers and contractors getting on to such flights are routine: they show a special CAC card, coded with a magnetic strip, and they are processed. For us with ISAF media badges, it is always a drama with the Air Force sergeant booking flights as to our eligibility to fly. As usual, we presented a set of ISAF orders outlining our in-theater privileges (one paragraph specifically permits us to use military aircraft), and were rewarded by being booked on the Dash flight to Gardez.
We then weighed our check-in bags on a scale, then mounted the scale ourselves with our individual gear. Those numbers recorded, we turned in our badges and were told to go to waiting area 1 and await a call. By now it was creeping up on 0400 and the flight was not scheduled to depart till 0730 at the earliest. We found seats, stepping over Soldiers sprawled on gear on the floor trying to catch some sleep. Others pulled out books and began to read; a few watched the television in the main waiting room.
After a while we were instructed to bring our check-in gear to the ramp to palletize it. This was a good sign. More waiting, during which we crossed the street to get coffee at the 24/7 USO facility, to use the bathroom (the small one in the terminal was closed for repairs), or simply to smoke or get some air. In the east the glimmer of false dawn was slowly changing the night into day.
Soldiers came and went as various flights landed or took off. Occasionally the roar of fighter aircraft - usually pairs of F-16s or F-15s - split the night. Though most of the Soldiers are blase to it, I always got a thrill watching the glow of the afterburners as they lifted off the runway into the black Afghanistan night.
After what seemed an interminable wait our Dash flight - a special short takeoff and landing bird - was called. We gathered around the exit to collect our ID cards as the Air Force sergeant called our names. Then with a final word, "All weapons unloaded, no hats on the flightline, follow me," we filed out for our aircraft.
The Dash aircraft are manned by a three-person civilian contractor crew. They seat approximately 50 with double seats on both sides of the aisle. "Sit anywhere you like," we were told. Though it was not crowded Avery and I sat beside each other to talk on the way. We fumbled to get the seat belts extended sufficiently to go over the bulky IOTV and settled in for a short flight.
Afghanistan from the air is probably the most dramatic, especially in the dawn or dusk. We noted that unlike our spring embed, this time the snow was absent from even the highest peaks. It is always a marvel that anyone can survive in the stark, harsh terrain, especially deep in the mountains, yet even in some of the most forbidding terrain, you can occasionally see an isolated kulot (a mud-walled compound) stuck in some of the oddest places.
Landing in Gardez is always a thrill. Pilots, cognizant of the possibility of ground fire, jinx a bit, losing altitude quickly and performing erratic banks and turns on approach, followed by a bumpy landing on the short macadam strip.
At 7,500 feet the area is cool, crisp and clear in the morning. Compared to the ubiquitous dust of BAF even the thin air felt good to breathe. Piling off the flight we were immediately met by our 95th MP Battalion friends from Gardez. SGT "Ski" (Nicholas Olsiewski) embraced us as we debarked, his grin as large as his wide shoulders. "You're riding in my truck," he pointed. "Throw your gear in the trailer." Ski and others grabbed our rucks and tossed them into the trailer. It was good to be home.
"You haven't seen Justice yet, have you?" Ski asked over the internal commo set as we rolled quickly away from the airstrip and out on to the familiar Route Idaho, the main road passing through Gardez. "You'll like it."
As we passed the old British fortress that had housed Provincial Headquarters, across the street from the too-long firefight of 21 December 2009, Ski noted. "PHQ's been moved out by us, now. You'll see."
We exited the main road a couple of miles west of the traffic circle marking Gardez center and bumped along a rutted dirt entryway passing through several army and police checkpoints till we backed into tactical parking places on a gravel lot. "We've got your stuff," Ski said. "Just go through there."
Inside the small Forward Operating Base called "Justice" was a cozy, newly-constructed compound that housed the 95th MP Battalion and supporting civilian and military units. We were greeted by "you're back!" almost continually, as we paraded by familiar faces. The dinining facility is self-contained - the 95th brought a cook, SGT MacNamara - from the rear in Germany to run it - and very user-friendly.
We had coffee and breakfast, and were told that we would be in B-hut number 5, room 11. "We hear that you guys are married now, so you can share a room!" was the cheerful instruction.
The room is small with a double-deck bunk against the far wall, a standing metal locker and nothing else. The building is new and the place is kept clean though like most other places in Afghanistan the dust settles when you turn your head away for a moment. After a night with Avery in the top bunk uncomfortable, we decide to place one set of box springs (inexplicably delivered en masse to Coalition forces instead of mattresses) on the floor and trade off for a couple of days until I end up with the floor model.
We need a few days to get strength back and relax before hitting the road. Both of us are still shaky from the crud. This seems like just the right environment, so we conduct some interviews and hang out till we feel better.
Yesterday we made the conscious decision to leave Bagram even though both of us still felt weak and washed out from bouts of the Afghanistan crud. We were frustrated that we'd already lost several days of this embed laying up at BAF, the air was not improving, and we knew that if we missed this bird, the next one would be on Monday. Time to ruck up and go.
The easiest way to carry the IOTV (Improved Outer Tactical Vest) body armor is simply to don it and go. We've tried carrying it draped over an arm and that works, too, but with two rucksacks apiece, wearing it is the preferred option. So, banging into plywood doorways, and crunching over the gravel, we hiked the short distance to the tactical operations center of the 95th MP Battalion's liaison office and dumped our loads unceremoniously on the boardwalk in front of the B-hut near the waiting white Ford SUVs.
One, the one parked closest to the building, had a black spray paint splatter all over the rear door and side. "Ask Sergeant Fabian how that happened," SGT Douglas said with a grin when we queried him about the mess.
We later learned the story. Sergeant First Class Raphel Fabian, a fully-squared away Dominican personnel specialist, and a great friend (he had been with the 95th in Iraq when I first met him) had been selected to attend warrant officer school, a wonderful promotion for him. He had been at Bagram making preparations to paint the last four of his social on all clothing and decided, in a rare mental lapse, that using paint rather than spraying over a stencil would be the preferred method.
Growing impatient to get at the paint, Fabian then punctured the can! The explosive results were a splotch of paint on the SUV door and a BIG splotch of paint on the sergeant. The already dirty BAF air was rendered a deeper shade of blue by the mixed island Spanish and English cursing that resulted from the mishap.
This morning, though, we were a bit worried about space on the aircraft. Soldiers returning to Gardez crowded the boardwalk. Many were 615th MP Company Soldiers returning from R&R leave or appointments at BAF. Others were from the 95th and the Vermont Army National Guard Infantry battalion that also based out of Gardez.
SGT Smith, the up-all-night NCO began to shuttle us to the passenger terminal. We tossed our gear aboard and made the second run. At the PAX terminal we encountered the normal congestion and confusion that typifies combat-zone military flight ops. Announcements were made for flights to Kandahar, Jalalabad, Kabul, Manas, and a handful of other locations.
We crowded together in a rough line to get to the counter, stacking rucksacks and IOTV along the jammed walls. For the Soldiers and contractors getting on to such flights are routine: they show a special CAC card, coded with a magnetic strip, and they are processed. For us with ISAF media badges, it is always a drama with the Air Force sergeant booking flights as to our eligibility to fly. As usual, we presented a set of ISAF orders outlining our in-theater privileges (one paragraph specifically permits us to use military aircraft), and were rewarded by being booked on the Dash flight to Gardez.
We then weighed our check-in bags on a scale, then mounted the scale ourselves with our individual gear. Those numbers recorded, we turned in our badges and were told to go to waiting area 1 and await a call. By now it was creeping up on 0400 and the flight was not scheduled to depart till 0730 at the earliest. We found seats, stepping over Soldiers sprawled on gear on the floor trying to catch some sleep. Others pulled out books and began to read; a few watched the television in the main waiting room.
After a while we were instructed to bring our check-in gear to the ramp to palletize it. This was a good sign. More waiting, during which we crossed the street to get coffee at the 24/7 USO facility, to use the bathroom (the small one in the terminal was closed for repairs), or simply to smoke or get some air. In the east the glimmer of false dawn was slowly changing the night into day.
Soldiers came and went as various flights landed or took off. Occasionally the roar of fighter aircraft - usually pairs of F-16s or F-15s - split the night. Though most of the Soldiers are blase to it, I always got a thrill watching the glow of the afterburners as they lifted off the runway into the black Afghanistan night.
After what seemed an interminable wait our Dash flight - a special short takeoff and landing bird - was called. We gathered around the exit to collect our ID cards as the Air Force sergeant called our names. Then with a final word, "All weapons unloaded, no hats on the flightline, follow me," we filed out for our aircraft.
The Dash aircraft are manned by a three-person civilian contractor crew. They seat approximately 50 with double seats on both sides of the aisle. "Sit anywhere you like," we were told. Though it was not crowded Avery and I sat beside each other to talk on the way. We fumbled to get the seat belts extended sufficiently to go over the bulky IOTV and settled in for a short flight.
Afghanistan from the air is probably the most dramatic, especially in the dawn or dusk. We noted that unlike our spring embed, this time the snow was absent from even the highest peaks. It is always a marvel that anyone can survive in the stark, harsh terrain, especially deep in the mountains, yet even in some of the most forbidding terrain, you can occasionally see an isolated kulot (a mud-walled compound) stuck in some of the oddest places.
Landing in Gardez is always a thrill. Pilots, cognizant of the possibility of ground fire, jinx a bit, losing altitude quickly and performing erratic banks and turns on approach, followed by a bumpy landing on the short macadam strip.
At 7,500 feet the area is cool, crisp and clear in the morning. Compared to the ubiquitous dust of BAF even the thin air felt good to breathe. Piling off the flight we were immediately met by our 95th MP Battalion friends from Gardez. SGT "Ski" (Nicholas Olsiewski) embraced us as we debarked, his grin as large as his wide shoulders. "You're riding in my truck," he pointed. "Throw your gear in the trailer." Ski and others grabbed our rucks and tossed them into the trailer. It was good to be home.
"You haven't seen Justice yet, have you?" Ski asked over the internal commo set as we rolled quickly away from the airstrip and out on to the familiar Route Idaho, the main road passing through Gardez. "You'll like it."
As we passed the old British fortress that had housed Provincial Headquarters, across the street from the too-long firefight of 21 December 2009, Ski noted. "PHQ's been moved out by us, now. You'll see."
We exited the main road a couple of miles west of the traffic circle marking Gardez center and bumped along a rutted dirt entryway passing through several army and police checkpoints till we backed into tactical parking places on a gravel lot. "We've got your stuff," Ski said. "Just go through there."
Inside the small Forward Operating Base called "Justice" was a cozy, newly-constructed compound that housed the 95th MP Battalion and supporting civilian and military units. We were greeted by "you're back!" almost continually, as we paraded by familiar faces. The dinining facility is self-contained - the 95th brought a cook, SGT MacNamara - from the rear in Germany to run it - and very user-friendly.
We had coffee and breakfast, and were told that we would be in B-hut number 5, room 11. "We hear that you guys are married now, so you can share a room!" was the cheerful instruction.
The room is small with a double-deck bunk against the far wall, a standing metal locker and nothing else. The building is new and the place is kept clean though like most other places in Afghanistan the dust settles when you turn your head away for a moment. After a night with Avery in the top bunk uncomfortable, we decide to place one set of box springs (inexplicably delivered en masse to Coalition forces instead of mattresses) on the floor and trade off for a couple of days until I end up with the floor model.
We need a few days to get strength back and relax before hitting the road. Both of us are still shaky from the crud. This seems like just the right environment, so we conduct some interviews and hang out till we feel better.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
19 October 2010 - The "Crud" Strikes Back
Waking up early Saturday morning in Bagram I felt good, despite predictable jet lag that had us both wide awake a zero-dark-thirty. Exercised a bit, wrote a blog piece. By midday chow my sinuses began to ache - they were acting up for a couple of weeks prior to coming in country. Exposure to a fog of dust - much worse than we experienced in our spring embed - irritated them further.
It struck us that in the spring the mountains surrounding the high plain on which Bagram and Kabul rest were dramatically visible. Now they are obscured almost completely by a fog of talcum-quality dust. You see Soldiers running and riding bikes in this stuff and have to wonder if the benefits of exercise are obviated by the potential damage of inhaling this stuff. Last embed we were told by a straight-faced medic that "only" 17 % of the dust contains fecal matter. Great news!
My mid-afternoon when we stopped by ISAF public affairs to pick up our photo ID badges and travel orders, my face and jaw began to throb. So we stopped by the hospital, saw a doc, and picked up prescriptions. One great thing about being embedded is that the military treats you less as a visitor and more like one of their own. While embedded housing - whatever may be available, meals, transportation, and emergency medical are taken care of.
The Air Force runs most of the hospital operations at Bagram and a female lieutenant colonel examined me and wrote up a script for antibiotics, decongestant, and expectorant. After that it was lights out. I lived in and out of my B-hut (plywood board housing) bunk for the next two and a half days. Couldn't eat more than a little cereal for the first day or so, and finally felt good enough on Monday morning to risk a hot breakfast.
Very fortunate that early on Avery still felt okay and was able to bring things for me. She crashed on Monday morning, with similar symptoms, looking like the onset of bronchitis, something she has had repeatedly in the past. Got her in to the hospital late Monday afternoon and now she is on an antibiotic regime. Welcome back to Afghanistan. Kinda pathetic not making it out of Bagram, but if you have to get sick, it's better here than further downrange where medical personnel are scarcer.
This is Tuesday morning and we both have residual pain and are still weak. The idea of lugging body armor, helmet, and two rucksacks across an airstrip is still pretty intimidating. Hope to be better in 48 hours so we can make the Thursday flight to Gardez.
Meanwhile, we're hanging in there and appreciating the antibiotics as they begin to kick in.
It struck us that in the spring the mountains surrounding the high plain on which Bagram and Kabul rest were dramatically visible. Now they are obscured almost completely by a fog of talcum-quality dust. You see Soldiers running and riding bikes in this stuff and have to wonder if the benefits of exercise are obviated by the potential damage of inhaling this stuff. Last embed we were told by a straight-faced medic that "only" 17 % of the dust contains fecal matter. Great news!
My mid-afternoon when we stopped by ISAF public affairs to pick up our photo ID badges and travel orders, my face and jaw began to throb. So we stopped by the hospital, saw a doc, and picked up prescriptions. One great thing about being embedded is that the military treats you less as a visitor and more like one of their own. While embedded housing - whatever may be available, meals, transportation, and emergency medical are taken care of.
The Air Force runs most of the hospital operations at Bagram and a female lieutenant colonel examined me and wrote up a script for antibiotics, decongestant, and expectorant. After that it was lights out. I lived in and out of my B-hut (plywood board housing) bunk for the next two and a half days. Couldn't eat more than a little cereal for the first day or so, and finally felt good enough on Monday morning to risk a hot breakfast.
Very fortunate that early on Avery still felt okay and was able to bring things for me. She crashed on Monday morning, with similar symptoms, looking like the onset of bronchitis, something she has had repeatedly in the past. Got her in to the hospital late Monday afternoon and now she is on an antibiotic regime. Welcome back to Afghanistan. Kinda pathetic not making it out of Bagram, but if you have to get sick, it's better here than further downrange where medical personnel are scarcer.
This is Tuesday morning and we both have residual pain and are still weak. The idea of lugging body armor, helmet, and two rucksacks across an airstrip is still pretty intimidating. Hope to be better in 48 hours so we can make the Thursday flight to Gardez.
Meanwhile, we're hanging in there and appreciating the antibiotics as they begin to kick in.
Saturday, October 16, 2010
16 October 2010 - Back to BAF
We began to encounter major dust storms when our DFS Middle East Boeing 737 out of Dubai was still a few hundred miles distant from Bagram Air Base (BAF). As is customary with both military and civilian aircraft entering Bagram air space, the pilot began to fly an irregular approach pattern with deep banks and turns, rapidly losing altitude before smacking down firmly on the strip. It's designed to thwart potential enemy ground fire. The tactic usually works, but is not fail-safe. Some aircraft have been shot down landing or taking off.
The return to Afghanistan had a surrealistic feel to it that struck both of us at about the same time that we walked into the small, cramped terminal building. Did we ever leave? It is an odd feeling that persists into our second day. We seamlessly fell into the typical Afghanistan routine: hike to shower and latrine facilities, living out of a rucksack, standing in the chow line at the Dining Facility (DFAC), and conversing with Soldiers at odd times.
It seems that life here is reality and the months spent in Florida, North Carolina, New Zealand, and the Midwest are almost dream-like. I remember a similar feeling when I returned from R&R to Vietnam. Maybe it's all part of the psyche of a war zone.
Everyone looks familiar, though we astoundingly ran into one of our pals from the last embed, a civilian contractor, Jim, who was our friend at FOB Lightning. As we were checking in at the Dubai ticket line, there stood Jim. A large man, a few years younger than me, Jim had been something of a fixture in the Gardez area, driving his small Ford truck wherever he pleased and chatting up local Pashtun tribesmen. When the Kochi nomads returned to the high plain valley, Jim would toss a few blankets, some snacks, and other trinkets he'd accumulated over the months and drive out to visit with them, distributing the loot to the children.
He wore a real Santa Claus beard when we last saw him, but confessed that his wife found it "too scraggly looking" so he shaved. Now he has about two inches of gray showing all around. "Give me a month," he grinned, "and most of it will be back."
Hope we cross paths again on this embed, but we think he's headed to a different area, probably a hot one. That seems to be his nature.
As part of our Welcome Wagon program we got hit with mortars last night, precisely at 2300 hours (I woke up and checked my watch). We had crashed early, due to jet lag and the heat, and it felt like oh-dark-thirty when we woke to the familiar crunching sound of incoming rounds. Since our last visit the base was hit from the ground on 19 May so the Hesco barriers have been replaced by huge concrete "T-walls" almost 20 feet tall that now constitute the perimeter. As with most defensive measures, this is a good news-bad news affair. Makes penetration more difficult, but limits visibility and fields of fire. I would have been most uncomfortable with a similar arrangement in Vietnam, but that may be the old Infantryman's preference for visibility and line of sight out to probable approach lanes by the enemy rather than hunkering down behind a barrier.
We were picked up at the terminal by our good friend, SGT Stan Douglas, who shepherded us around Germany last December and mother-henned us here in BAF last spring. Great to see him, though like just about everyone he has a cough and feels run down. I think it's the ubiquitous dust. Driving back along Route Disney (named for a fallen Soldier, not the animator) my sinuses, already acting up, flared angrily. Last visit we were assured somewhat tongue-in-cheek by a medic not to worry. "The dust is only about 17% fecal matter," he deadpanned. Ugh. Welcome back.
The roar of high-performance fighter aircraft taking off around the clock seems familiar rather than odd. Part of the natural background, although an especially loud flight of four F-16 right over our B-hut at about 0415 this morning served as a wake-up call. Being jet-lagged, we went ahead and got up, went through a quick morning routine, and hopped into the chow line at the 0530 DFAC opening. Coffee as bad as usual, and still - this puzzled me on the last embed - only skim milk available. Can't figure it out, because the DFACs in Iraq served a range from whole, 2%, and skim. Just makes the coffee an off-putting, dishwater color.
There are two flights weekly down country so we will weekend here and if we can get on the manifest, fly out early in the week. BAF is always more pleasant in our rear-view mirror, so we look forward to the departure.
The return to Afghanistan had a surrealistic feel to it that struck both of us at about the same time that we walked into the small, cramped terminal building. Did we ever leave? It is an odd feeling that persists into our second day. We seamlessly fell into the typical Afghanistan routine: hike to shower and latrine facilities, living out of a rucksack, standing in the chow line at the Dining Facility (DFAC), and conversing with Soldiers at odd times.
It seems that life here is reality and the months spent in Florida, North Carolina, New Zealand, and the Midwest are almost dream-like. I remember a similar feeling when I returned from R&R to Vietnam. Maybe it's all part of the psyche of a war zone.
Everyone looks familiar, though we astoundingly ran into one of our pals from the last embed, a civilian contractor, Jim, who was our friend at FOB Lightning. As we were checking in at the Dubai ticket line, there stood Jim. A large man, a few years younger than me, Jim had been something of a fixture in the Gardez area, driving his small Ford truck wherever he pleased and chatting up local Pashtun tribesmen. When the Kochi nomads returned to the high plain valley, Jim would toss a few blankets, some snacks, and other trinkets he'd accumulated over the months and drive out to visit with them, distributing the loot to the children.
He wore a real Santa Claus beard when we last saw him, but confessed that his wife found it "too scraggly looking" so he shaved. Now he has about two inches of gray showing all around. "Give me a month," he grinned, "and most of it will be back."
Hope we cross paths again on this embed, but we think he's headed to a different area, probably a hot one. That seems to be his nature.
As part of our Welcome Wagon program we got hit with mortars last night, precisely at 2300 hours (I woke up and checked my watch). We had crashed early, due to jet lag and the heat, and it felt like oh-dark-thirty when we woke to the familiar crunching sound of incoming rounds. Since our last visit the base was hit from the ground on 19 May so the Hesco barriers have been replaced by huge concrete "T-walls" almost 20 feet tall that now constitute the perimeter. As with most defensive measures, this is a good news-bad news affair. Makes penetration more difficult, but limits visibility and fields of fire. I would have been most uncomfortable with a similar arrangement in Vietnam, but that may be the old Infantryman's preference for visibility and line of sight out to probable approach lanes by the enemy rather than hunkering down behind a barrier.
We were picked up at the terminal by our good friend, SGT Stan Douglas, who shepherded us around Germany last December and mother-henned us here in BAF last spring. Great to see him, though like just about everyone he has a cough and feels run down. I think it's the ubiquitous dust. Driving back along Route Disney (named for a fallen Soldier, not the animator) my sinuses, already acting up, flared angrily. Last visit we were assured somewhat tongue-in-cheek by a medic not to worry. "The dust is only about 17% fecal matter," he deadpanned. Ugh. Welcome back.
The roar of high-performance fighter aircraft taking off around the clock seems familiar rather than odd. Part of the natural background, although an especially loud flight of four F-16 right over our B-hut at about 0415 this morning served as a wake-up call. Being jet-lagged, we went ahead and got up, went through a quick morning routine, and hopped into the chow line at the 0530 DFAC opening. Coffee as bad as usual, and still - this puzzled me on the last embed - only skim milk available. Can't figure it out, because the DFACs in Iraq served a range from whole, 2%, and skim. Just makes the coffee an off-putting, dishwater color.
There are two flights weekly down country so we will weekend here and if we can get on the manifest, fly out early in the week. BAF is always more pleasant in our rear-view mirror, so we look forward to the departure.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
In Dubai, Heading Back Out Into The Wild Blue (Grey) Yonder
A brief note: we arrived in Dubai after a 13 hour flight and are getting ready to depart for Bagram shortly (date and time unsaid, but soon). Unlike last time, when we deployed with the MPs on military flights through a variety of tightly controlled bases in multiple countries, this pause at a very fancy hotel is quite unreal. Everything is so clean and shiny, the staff here practically crash into each other while trying to figure out what we might want or need next, there's always a valet or housekeeper or other service expert underfoot to ensure we're happy and comfortable at every moment.
Not my thing at all, I always feel intensely embarrassed in environments like this. If I want some ice for my soda then it's only natural to go looking for the ice machine in a hotel, although around here the maids and valets get almost hysterical if they catch you foraging around for such basics on their watch. Gordon, on the other hand, slips back into his Colonel mode rather quickly... he operates on a theory that staff members don't feel like they're doing their jobs right unless they have plenty to do.
Well. On the other hand I must admit that the sheets are so soft that it was easy to have a six hour nap this afternoon after the flight, sheets that we'll both undoubtedly miss terribly while downrange. The food is wonderful beyond belief too, with lots of silver and linen napkins to go with the sushi, gourmet cheeses, hummus platters, dozens of varieties of hand baked breads and muffins, and the most extraordinary fruit juices one can imagine. We're excusing ourselves from tonight's belly dance performance (yikes! I'm no prude but certainly don't want anything to do with that either!) yet still enjoyed the three martini happy hour package.
Everything's hideously expensive but since we won't be spending a dime for the coming month it was more important to pick a safe, reliable hotel close to the airport. Speaking of expensive, GADS, it's costing nearly $600 *each* one way to fly into Afghanistan on a commercial airline!!! That seriously hurt (particularly while realizing we'll have to fly out the same way with similar costs) but again, staying in B-huts far away from any stores or other places to spend money will even out the economic side of things.
Next stop will be with the 95th MPs somewhere in or around Paktia province, back to the dust, grime, and land of the human "land mines" that're scattered just about everywhere (basic sanitation is... well, mostly unknown in many places outside the FOBs). I wish we could afford to give every Soldier there a night or two at a fancy hotel in Dubai (they'd relish this so much more than I ever will). We're just looking forward to seeing all of them again at their new FOB, and hearing all about what's happened during these past months while we've been away. Many many new stories to be swapped back and forth over non-alcoholic Becks near-beers in the days just ahead.
Unsure about exactly where we're going but already know many of those who we'll be staying and riding with again, hooray! Ooops -- like, I'd meant to shout more properly in military-speak here: HOOAH!
Not my thing at all, I always feel intensely embarrassed in environments like this. If I want some ice for my soda then it's only natural to go looking for the ice machine in a hotel, although around here the maids and valets get almost hysterical if they catch you foraging around for such basics on their watch. Gordon, on the other hand, slips back into his Colonel mode rather quickly... he operates on a theory that staff members don't feel like they're doing their jobs right unless they have plenty to do.
Well. On the other hand I must admit that the sheets are so soft that it was easy to have a six hour nap this afternoon after the flight, sheets that we'll both undoubtedly miss terribly while downrange. The food is wonderful beyond belief too, with lots of silver and linen napkins to go with the sushi, gourmet cheeses, hummus platters, dozens of varieties of hand baked breads and muffins, and the most extraordinary fruit juices one can imagine. We're excusing ourselves from tonight's belly dance performance (yikes! I'm no prude but certainly don't want anything to do with that either!) yet still enjoyed the three martini happy hour package.
Everything's hideously expensive but since we won't be spending a dime for the coming month it was more important to pick a safe, reliable hotel close to the airport. Speaking of expensive, GADS, it's costing nearly $600 *each* one way to fly into Afghanistan on a commercial airline!!! That seriously hurt (particularly while realizing we'll have to fly out the same way with similar costs) but again, staying in B-huts far away from any stores or other places to spend money will even out the economic side of things.
Next stop will be with the 95th MPs somewhere in or around Paktia province, back to the dust, grime, and land of the human "land mines" that're scattered just about everywhere (basic sanitation is... well, mostly unknown in many places outside the FOBs). I wish we could afford to give every Soldier there a night or two at a fancy hotel in Dubai (they'd relish this so much more than I ever will). We're just looking forward to seeing all of them again at their new FOB, and hearing all about what's happened during these past months while we've been away. Many many new stories to be swapped back and forth over non-alcoholic Becks near-beers in the days just ahead.
Unsure about exactly where we're going but already know many of those who we'll be staying and riding with again, hooray! Ooops -- like, I'd meant to shout more properly in military-speak here: HOOAH!
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Headed Back Downrange
We're in the final prep stage of a return trip to Afghanistan. Usual problems getting an Afghan visa - we're still waiting on tenterhooks for FedEx delivery from the DC embassy - but otherwise just about ready to fly.
Beds in the motel in St Augustine are covered with gear, divided (not so neatly) in piles. One to carry with us, another to ship to our apartment in Spain, and a third to wait in storage here in the States. Big lesson learned from the first embed: we carried way too much stuff.
Years ago in Special Forces training I was coached: "Travel light; freeze at night." Seem to have forgotten it this past spring when we went loaded with enough gear to scale the Hindu Kush Mountains (Avery actually dragged along *two* sleeping bags and ski pants, of all things. Somehow she'd imagined possibly getting stuck at the top of the K-G Pass in a freak springtime blizzard; probably meeting some Taliban at some point wasn't an issue, although the near-impossibility of getting frostbite led to some strange excess gear). Maybe packing too light this time, but perhaps we can borrow anything we left behind.
Plus we have our combat stuff waiting in a conex at Baghdad, and that helps a lot. I'm already worn out at the thought of lugging a full ruck, an assault pack, and the body armor and helmet. Every time I have a pity-party I try to remember that Soldiers carry our minimums and add the crushing weight of ammo, water, comm gear, and assorted odds and ends to their loads. We'll carry maybe 80 to 90 pounds each just while in transit... while they routinely carry at least that every day, and often much more while in transit.
Maybe this works for the desert - my jury is still out - but it's an unimaginable load if we ever get into a fight in the tropics again. And, for the record, be advised that we have spec ops forces working in the southern Philippine island of Mindanao and teams in Colombia, among others.
The working load of a Soldier and Marine in today's environment easily exceed 80 pounds and more commonly approaches 100. In my opinion this is far too much for dismounted operations, but the tendency is to pile it on. The immutable tradeoff for protection comes from decreased mobility, not a trade I like, nor do many of the troops. But given the risk-adverse proclivity of US society we'll probably add more armor before someone finally says "enough."
Anyway, we are scheduled to arrive in Bagram Air Field out of Dubai in mid-October, stay only long enough to get our badges and arrange a down-country flight to the east where we intend to link up with the 95th MP Battalion, working as Task Force Sheriff in the tough provinces adjacent to the Pakistan border. The region across the fence is strictly Tribal areas pretty much left alone by the Pakis and a safe haven for al Qaeda and Taliban.
We have been on the road steadily since we left Afghanistan in mid-May, stopping for several pleasant weeks in New Zealand to rough out the initial draft of Warrior Police that we sent to our publisher, St Martin's Press, and is now in the hands of our editor Marc Resnick.
We promised Marc that this last embed would serve to bring the book as current as possible prior to release and so expect to spend time with the legendary 615th MP Company, that replaced the 92nd MP Company which we rode with out of Gardez. We had joined the 615th for training last December in Grafenwoer, Germany and promised to stay with them downrange, but missed their deployment by a couple of weeks. So now we're going to make good on our word.
Apologies for neglecting this blog, but we have been busy. In addition to drafting the manuscript in New Zealand, we spent two wonderful weeks at Fort Leonard Wood, MO for the MP Regiment's 69th anniversary. We met more Soldiers, got some great interviews, and enjoyed the excellent hospitality of friends on Post.
One piece of good news: Our editor, Marc, promised that the publication date for Warrior Police will be 1 Sep 2011. That means our first public launch of the book will be at the 70th MP Regiment anniversary - hooah!
More regular observations as we continue of this embed. Stay tuned.
Beds in the motel in St Augustine are covered with gear, divided (not so neatly) in piles. One to carry with us, another to ship to our apartment in Spain, and a third to wait in storage here in the States. Big lesson learned from the first embed: we carried way too much stuff.
Years ago in Special Forces training I was coached: "Travel light; freeze at night." Seem to have forgotten it this past spring when we went loaded with enough gear to scale the Hindu Kush Mountains (Avery actually dragged along *two* sleeping bags and ski pants, of all things. Somehow she'd imagined possibly getting stuck at the top of the K-G Pass in a freak springtime blizzard; probably meeting some Taliban at some point wasn't an issue, although the near-impossibility of getting frostbite led to some strange excess gear). Maybe packing too light this time, but perhaps we can borrow anything we left behind.
Plus we have our combat stuff waiting in a conex at Baghdad, and that helps a lot. I'm already worn out at the thought of lugging a full ruck, an assault pack, and the body armor and helmet. Every time I have a pity-party I try to remember that Soldiers carry our minimums and add the crushing weight of ammo, water, comm gear, and assorted odds and ends to their loads. We'll carry maybe 80 to 90 pounds each just while in transit... while they routinely carry at least that every day, and often much more while in transit.
Maybe this works for the desert - my jury is still out - but it's an unimaginable load if we ever get into a fight in the tropics again. And, for the record, be advised that we have spec ops forces working in the southern Philippine island of Mindanao and teams in Colombia, among others.
The working load of a Soldier and Marine in today's environment easily exceed 80 pounds and more commonly approaches 100. In my opinion this is far too much for dismounted operations, but the tendency is to pile it on. The immutable tradeoff for protection comes from decreased mobility, not a trade I like, nor do many of the troops. But given the risk-adverse proclivity of US society we'll probably add more armor before someone finally says "enough."
Anyway, we are scheduled to arrive in Bagram Air Field out of Dubai in mid-October, stay only long enough to get our badges and arrange a down-country flight to the east where we intend to link up with the 95th MP Battalion, working as Task Force Sheriff in the tough provinces adjacent to the Pakistan border. The region across the fence is strictly Tribal areas pretty much left alone by the Pakis and a safe haven for al Qaeda and Taliban.
We have been on the road steadily since we left Afghanistan in mid-May, stopping for several pleasant weeks in New Zealand to rough out the initial draft of Warrior Police that we sent to our publisher, St Martin's Press, and is now in the hands of our editor Marc Resnick.
We promised Marc that this last embed would serve to bring the book as current as possible prior to release and so expect to spend time with the legendary 615th MP Company, that replaced the 92nd MP Company which we rode with out of Gardez. We had joined the 615th for training last December in Grafenwoer, Germany and promised to stay with them downrange, but missed their deployment by a couple of weeks. So now we're going to make good on our word.
Apologies for neglecting this blog, but we have been busy. In addition to drafting the manuscript in New Zealand, we spent two wonderful weeks at Fort Leonard Wood, MO for the MP Regiment's 69th anniversary. We met more Soldiers, got some great interviews, and enjoyed the excellent hospitality of friends on Post.
One piece of good news: Our editor, Marc, promised that the publication date for Warrior Police will be 1 Sep 2011. That means our first public launch of the book will be at the 70th MP Regiment anniversary - hooah!
More regular observations as we continue of this embed. Stay tuned.
Packing for Afghanistan -- my gear list
After an amazing and very productive summer we're just days away from jumping back off the cliff to return to Afghanistan. At least that's what it feels like! Although we've already been over there, the anticipation factor at the moment is similar to getting ready to leap off solid ground into a great unknown abyss that's always changing at the bottom of the pit. You just never know exactly who (or what) will greet you when you get there. That said, I'm personally very confident that members of the 95th MP Battalion will very quickly snag us up again for the long ride out to their new FOB (Forward Operating Base) somewhere near the Pakistani border.
The whole going back thing reminds me of that crazy song and accompanying dance of "Let's Do the Time Warp Again" out of the film classic "Rocky Horror Picture Show" -- at least in the sense that all of Afghanistan seems to be permanently stuck in another dimension based on the realities of many hundreds of years ago. Afghans don't care even a lick about such things as Brittany Spears, other celebrity news, stranded miners in Chile, currency exchange rates, baseball, DC and EU politics, or anything else that the entire Western world is actively and continually obsessed with. Theirs is a world where debating about whether the prophet Mohammad ate watermelon or not (note that eating watermelon was never mentioned in the Koran, as pointed out by a prominent imam who therefore refuses to eat it either) is a far more relevant subject to consider.
It's another world over there, and another time too.
Anyway, I'm wrapping up the critical task of packing up today, with just enough gear for a month plus a few days each for near-entry and near-exit through the nation of the United Arab Emirates. Dubai has issues of its own: it's a Muslim nation where it's best to always wear long-sleeved blouses and very modest slacks if you're female, also a place where the big electronic signs that flash warnings about holding hands or kissing in public are to be ignored only at one's own risk.
When we finally arrive in Bagram we'll dig out the gear we stashed in a Conex there last spring, things like the required gloves and armor and helmets, although we'll have to bring everything else with us from the States.
Here's my packing list, posted here just in case that someone out there is headed in the same direction. I would have paid good money for this list earlier this year when I was completely clueless, and while I'm hardly a pro today this still might help some fellow traveler out there in some way:
MAIN PACK (checked baggage with mostly bulky and/or heavy stuff)
Extra-large poncho liner (serves as a blanket, sheet, or sleeping pad -- depending on location)
Small light sleeping bag (mummy type, the size of a football when stuffed into its case)
Desert boots (my heavy winter socks are already stashed and waiting in Bagram)
Duct tape, electrical tape, zip lock baggies of different sizes, and discarded plastic grocery bags
Electrical adapter plug (220 to 110 converter)
Desert sand Crocs (these serve as shower and B-hut shoes)
Micro-fiber bath towel (blot dry type, hope to acquire a real towel again when I get there)
Micro-fleece pull-over sweater (a mid-layer that can be worn under an ACU top)
Micro-fleece bottoms (sleeping bottoms or can be worn under ACU pants)
Floral black long sleeve shirt (a sleeping shirt)
Black 3/4 sleeve shirt (secret underlayer that won't show under an ACU top)
Plain olive green t-shirt (regular Army issue, should be Desert Tan but the PX didn't have any that day)
Olive green 2009 MP Anniversary t-shirt (looks like regular Army issue when worn under an ACU top)
Black 2010 MP Anniversary t-shirt (another second sleeping shirt and treasured prize possession)
Plain Burgundy t-shirt (got away with wearing this last trip, also looks nice over jeans while in Europe)
Underwear and socks
Several cartons of cigarettes and an economy pack of new Bic lighters
Headlamp with red, blue, green, and white lights (subdued colored lights are required in blackout FOBs)
Striped neon yellow reflective belt as required after dark in some locations
Standard issue desert beige webbing-type pants belt
Zip lock baggie filled with standard AA and AAA batteries
Knife (worn on the front of my IOTV in case of vehicle rollover or other emergency)
Ear plugs ("ear protection" aka "ear pro" for chopper flights)
Roll-style hanging toiletry organizer with a large tube of toothpaste, sun screen, essential face goo, hair ties, deodorant, foot powder, mole skin strips, bandage strips, nail clippers, tweezers, sample-sized soaps / shampoo / conditioner
CARRY ON / 72-HOUR PACK
Laptop in a thick neoprene sleeve with charger and mouse
Down vest (to help further pad and protect laptop)
IPod and charger
Kindle (ebook reader now with over 200 books on mine) and charger
Electronic cigarette batteries (four), nicotine cartridges, and charger
Bose noise-canceling headphones with fresh AAA batteries
Sony Cyber-shot digital camera with spare battery and charger
Thumb drives with manuscript, photos, scanned passport, databases, contact lists and other essentials
Long-sleeved beige plaid blouse (proper attire for Dubai)
Beige slacks (also proper for Dubai)
701st MP black t-shirt with tiger logo (especially soft, want it with me, also serves as a sleeping shirt)
Assorted Velcro name tags and patches
Spare underwear and socks
Snacks (jerky, gummie bears, power bars, Vitamin C hard candy, tea bags and Equal sweetener)
Toiletry zip-lock baggie with tooth brush, mini-tube of tooth paste, floss, lip goo, and eye shades
Hair brush
TRAVEL GARB
Passport pouch / ID carrier
Black slacks
Burgundy long-sleeved blouse
Zip-up cardigan fleece sweater
Underwear and sock
Running shoes (doesn't match the outfit, but needed for trips to the latrine over gravel in the dark)
Hmmm. Hard to believe that just about everything on this list will be used every day. I'd like to trim down the clothing list further, but it just isn't practical to do laundry more than a couple of times a week max. Fewer clothes would mean more hours doing laundry, which isn't possible in some locations, so there's no way around taking five t-shirts instead of just two.
Maybe TSA will read this list and get bored rather than tossing the contents of my main backpack yet again!
The whole going back thing reminds me of that crazy song and accompanying dance of "Let's Do the Time Warp Again" out of the film classic "Rocky Horror Picture Show" -- at least in the sense that all of Afghanistan seems to be permanently stuck in another dimension based on the realities of many hundreds of years ago. Afghans don't care even a lick about such things as Brittany Spears, other celebrity news, stranded miners in Chile, currency exchange rates, baseball, DC and EU politics, or anything else that the entire Western world is actively and continually obsessed with. Theirs is a world where debating about whether the prophet Mohammad ate watermelon or not (note that eating watermelon was never mentioned in the Koran, as pointed out by a prominent imam who therefore refuses to eat it either) is a far more relevant subject to consider.
It's another world over there, and another time too.
Anyway, I'm wrapping up the critical task of packing up today, with just enough gear for a month plus a few days each for near-entry and near-exit through the nation of the United Arab Emirates. Dubai has issues of its own: it's a Muslim nation where it's best to always wear long-sleeved blouses and very modest slacks if you're female, also a place where the big electronic signs that flash warnings about holding hands or kissing in public are to be ignored only at one's own risk.
When we finally arrive in Bagram we'll dig out the gear we stashed in a Conex there last spring, things like the required gloves and armor and helmets, although we'll have to bring everything else with us from the States.
Here's my packing list, posted here just in case that someone out there is headed in the same direction. I would have paid good money for this list earlier this year when I was completely clueless, and while I'm hardly a pro today this still might help some fellow traveler out there in some way:
MAIN PACK (checked baggage with mostly bulky and/or heavy stuff)
Extra-large poncho liner (serves as a blanket, sheet, or sleeping pad -- depending on location)
Small light sleeping bag (mummy type, the size of a football when stuffed into its case)
Desert boots (my heavy winter socks are already stashed and waiting in Bagram)
Duct tape, electrical tape, zip lock baggies of different sizes, and discarded plastic grocery bags
Electrical adapter plug (220 to 110 converter)
Desert sand Crocs (these serve as shower and B-hut shoes)
Micro-fiber bath towel (blot dry type, hope to acquire a real towel again when I get there)
Micro-fleece pull-over sweater (a mid-layer that can be worn under an ACU top)
Micro-fleece bottoms (sleeping bottoms or can be worn under ACU pants)
Floral black long sleeve shirt (a sleeping shirt)
Black 3/4 sleeve shirt (secret underlayer that won't show under an ACU top)
Plain olive green t-shirt (regular Army issue, should be Desert Tan but the PX didn't have any that day)
Olive green 2009 MP Anniversary t-shirt (looks like regular Army issue when worn under an ACU top)
Black 2010 MP Anniversary t-shirt (another second sleeping shirt and treasured prize possession)
Plain Burgundy t-shirt (got away with wearing this last trip, also looks nice over jeans while in Europe)
Underwear and socks
Several cartons of cigarettes and an economy pack of new Bic lighters
Headlamp with red, blue, green, and white lights (subdued colored lights are required in blackout FOBs)
Striped neon yellow reflective belt as required after dark in some locations
Standard issue desert beige webbing-type pants belt
Zip lock baggie filled with standard AA and AAA batteries
Knife (worn on the front of my IOTV in case of vehicle rollover or other emergency)
Ear plugs ("ear protection" aka "ear pro" for chopper flights)
Roll-style hanging toiletry organizer with a large tube of toothpaste, sun screen, essential face goo, hair ties, deodorant, foot powder, mole skin strips, bandage strips, nail clippers, tweezers, sample-sized soaps / shampoo / conditioner
CARRY ON / 72-HOUR PACK
Laptop in a thick neoprene sleeve with charger and mouse
Down vest (to help further pad and protect laptop)
IPod and charger
Kindle (ebook reader now with over 200 books on mine) and charger
Electronic cigarette batteries (four), nicotine cartridges, and charger
Bose noise-canceling headphones with fresh AAA batteries
Sony Cyber-shot digital camera with spare battery and charger
Thumb drives with manuscript, photos, scanned passport, databases, contact lists and other essentials
Long-sleeved beige plaid blouse (proper attire for Dubai)
Beige slacks (also proper for Dubai)
701st MP black t-shirt with tiger logo (especially soft, want it with me, also serves as a sleeping shirt)
Assorted Velcro name tags and patches
Spare underwear and socks
Snacks (jerky, gummie bears, power bars, Vitamin C hard candy, tea bags and Equal sweetener)
Toiletry zip-lock baggie with tooth brush, mini-tube of tooth paste, floss, lip goo, and eye shades
Hair brush
TRAVEL GARB
Passport pouch / ID carrier
Black slacks
Burgundy long-sleeved blouse
Zip-up cardigan fleece sweater
Underwear and sock
Running shoes (doesn't match the outfit, but needed for trips to the latrine over gravel in the dark)
Hmmm. Hard to believe that just about everything on this list will be used every day. I'd like to trim down the clothing list further, but it just isn't practical to do laundry more than a couple of times a week max. Fewer clothes would mean more hours doing laundry, which isn't possible in some locations, so there's no way around taking five t-shirts instead of just two.
Maybe TSA will read this list and get bored rather than tossing the contents of my main backpack yet again!
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Firefight at Precinct 2
We rode out about mid-morning to Khowst Provincial Headquarters, joined elements from Bravo Company, 151st Infantry, Indiana Army National Guard, and visited several sites, including Precinct 2, where, just two weeks earlier, Soldiers from the unit were in a TIC (troops in contact) that left two Taliban dead and several Americans wounded.
To view it at the most charitable, Precinct 2 is a work in progress. More severe critics might describe it as a pile of rubble. Somewhere between probably lies the truth. (Pictured: Afghans working to repair the remains of Precinct 2.)
Complicating matters, Captain Chris Crawford points out, are bureaucratic snarls over which Afghan government agency actually owns the land. If, for example, Ministry of Defense owns the space and another agency such as police (under Ministry of the Interior) improves the land, then fear is that MOD will simply demand that the improvements transfer over to their agency, leaving police to find a new site.
Dealing with such apparent trivialities in the middle of an active insurgency causes teeth-grinding frustration among Coalition and Afghani officials alike.
Precinct 2 is an example. Work is progressing - we were surprised to see almost 50 laborers and several machines pouring concrete footers, removing rubble, and constructing walls when we arrived unannounced. A tall stone wall now exists on one boundary of the property that was not yet built just a few weeks ago.
Existing buildings on the property are marked for demolition. One, puzzlingly, is an agency that deals with nomad issues, including the oxymoronic proposition of issuing national ID cards and other documentation to the Kochi people, who from ancient times have roamed unimpeded across these mountains and plains herding sheep, goats, and camels, and trading goods often across unrecognized national boundaries.
Somehow these issues will be resolved. Meanwhile, work proceeds to construct living barracks, operational space, and parking areas for Afghan Uniformed Police and their vehicles.
Soldiers pointed out a heavily-damaged, two-story small brick building at the edge of the property (see photo above). This was where at least two Taliban set up to ambush Soldiers when they arrived on a visit to Precinct 2. "They opened up on us when we dismounted from our MRAPs," explained 1SG Larry Sparks, pointing toward the building. "As we moved up to engage them we began to pick up small arms fire from back over there." He gestured in the direction of some residences a block or so distant.
It was not known whether these were additional enemy fighters, or ANA who may have been shooting at the small building also. Typical of urban fighting in this country, much of the time you never know who is shooting at whom.
Twice Sparks' people assaulted the building only to be driven back by a swarm of hand grenades that wounded two to three Soldiers. "At one point," Sparks said, ANA and AUP were firing RPGs at the building. "They were flying all over the place. Only a couple hit and didn't do much damage. Then we pulled out our AT-4s (a portable anti-tank weapon) and put two into the building. At that point we launched our final assault."
Two "stacks" of Soldiers entered the building. One from B/151, a second from a Cav unit that had been passing nearby and opportunistically joined the fight. According to the Soldiers, they had cleared the top floor and one Taliban was dead, another severely wounded. A Soldier who was involved recalled, "We were just inside the room when someone fired into the chest of one of the Taliban. He saw him move. Well, this guy had a suicide vest on and the shots detonated part of the vest. Blew us down the stairs and caused a couple of more people to get wounded. Fortunately only part of the vest exploded and nobody was killed."
The TIC at Precinct 2 is typical of what fighting in Afghanistan has become. Small groups of Taliban infiltrating urban areas and making a stand in a local strong point. TICs last for hours primarily because of restraints placed upon commanders regarding use of weapons. They are prohibited from employing the heavy weapons that would rapidly degrade an enemy strong point because of the possibility - regardless of how remote - of property damage or civilian casualties.
America is now in the position that official policy has come to accept friendly losses rather than risk harming an Afghani civilian. It is a philosophy that brings into question the validity of the entire counter-insurgency strategy.
Also dominating Coalition actions is the notion that in every instance Afghani forces must be given leadership – at least a chance to exercise the opportunity to take the lead - even if it means risking lives. We saw instances of this in Paktia and Khowst Provinces and have heard reports from other areas affirming the strategy.
Is the game worth the candle? While the strategy may be sensible from the viewpoint in distant Kabul, Washington, or Brussels, it weighs heavily on the Soldiers who are called upon ultimately to do the door-kicking and risk their lives for a theory.
Complicating matters, Captain Chris Crawford points out, are bureaucratic snarls over which Afghan government agency actually owns the land. If, for example, Ministry of Defense owns the space and another agency such as police (under Ministry of the Interior) improves the land, then fear is that MOD will simply demand that the improvements transfer over to their agency, leaving police to find a new site.
Dealing with such apparent trivialities in the middle of an active insurgency causes teeth-grinding frustration among Coalition and Afghani officials alike.
Precinct 2 is an example. Work is progressing - we were surprised to see almost 50 laborers and several machines pouring concrete footers, removing rubble, and constructing walls when we arrived unannounced. A tall stone wall now exists on one boundary of the property that was not yet built just a few weeks ago.
Existing buildings on the property are marked for demolition. One, puzzlingly, is an agency that deals with nomad issues, including the oxymoronic proposition of issuing national ID cards and other documentation to the Kochi people, who from ancient times have roamed unimpeded across these mountains and plains herding sheep, goats, and camels, and trading goods often across unrecognized national boundaries.
Somehow these issues will be resolved. Meanwhile, work proceeds to construct living barracks, operational space, and parking areas for Afghan Uniformed Police and their vehicles.
It was not known whether these were additional enemy fighters, or ANA who may have been shooting at the small building also. Typical of urban fighting in this country, much of the time you never know who is shooting at whom.
Twice Sparks' people assaulted the building only to be driven back by a swarm of hand grenades that wounded two to three Soldiers. "At one point," Sparks said, ANA and AUP were firing RPGs at the building. "They were flying all over the place. Only a couple hit and didn't do much damage. Then we pulled out our AT-4s (a portable anti-tank weapon) and put two into the building. At that point we launched our final assault."
Two "stacks" of Soldiers entered the building. One from B/151, a second from a Cav unit that had been passing nearby and opportunistically joined the fight. According to the Soldiers, they had cleared the top floor and one Taliban was dead, another severely wounded. A Soldier who was involved recalled, "We were just inside the room when someone fired into the chest of one of the Taliban. He saw him move. Well, this guy had a suicide vest on and the shots detonated part of the vest. Blew us down the stairs and caused a couple of more people to get wounded. Fortunately only part of the vest exploded and nobody was killed."
The TIC at Precinct 2 is typical of what fighting in Afghanistan has become. Small groups of Taliban infiltrating urban areas and making a stand in a local strong point. TICs last for hours primarily because of restraints placed upon commanders regarding use of weapons. They are prohibited from employing the heavy weapons that would rapidly degrade an enemy strong point because of the possibility - regardless of how remote - of property damage or civilian casualties.
America is now in the position that official policy has come to accept friendly losses rather than risk harming an Afghani civilian. It is a philosophy that brings into question the validity of the entire counter-insurgency strategy.
Also dominating Coalition actions is the notion that in every instance Afghani forces must be given leadership – at least a chance to exercise the opportunity to take the lead - even if it means risking lives. We saw instances of this in Paktia and Khowst Provinces and have heard reports from other areas affirming the strategy.
Is the game worth the candle? While the strategy may be sensible from the viewpoint in distant Kabul, Washington, or Brussels, it weighs heavily on the Soldiers who are called upon ultimately to do the door-kicking and risk their lives for a theory.
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