[Wow, I'm good about getting around to writing. Go me.]
The missions following this were fairly uneventful. We didn't hear a shot fired - I'm just gonna go ahead and not tell you guys about my friend accidentally discharging his weapon into the air - for a long time. In fact, it stayed that way up until I went on R&R leave mid-July.
I remember thinking "I should feel guilty about leaving... But everything seems pretty calm here. They should be fine." I remember seeing my Platoon Sergeant mime calling someone and telling me my leave was canceled. We had a laugh, and he went off on a mission with the platoon while I got ready to board a plane back home. I couldn't have known at the time that it would be the last time I'd see him.
R&R was great. I got to see my family, my best friend flew out from Virginia, and it was perfectly relaxing. Just the way R&R should be. Up until July 29, that is. At about 22:00 that night I got a text from my friend in Afghanistan, it said "Call me." I replied, letting him know I couldn't really talk, and just to text me. He said "No. I need to talk to you. Call me." Realization dawned that, given their location, this couldn't be a good thing. So I called him, and he let me know what happened.
My platoon had heard rumors that white flags meant the Taliban. If you flew a white flag in your field, house, wherever, it meant you were a supporter of the insurgency. My platoon had come across such a flag, and so the Platoon Sergeant took a guy and went to check it out. Now, he's Sapper qualified. This means he should have the ability to detect, disable, and safely remove any explosives or booby traps in the area. He checked the flag, declared it safe, and lifted it out of the ground. When he did, a grenade that was connected to it fell and exploded. It tore through his leg, and peppered another of my friends in the face. When I was talking on the phone about it, the guy telling me had no idea how either of them were doing, just that they had been evac'ed to Spann.
As it turns out, my Platoon Sergeant had some serious nerve and muscle damage to his leg, but they managed to save it. My friend who took shrapnel had minor injuries, but he now sports a pretty good scar across the top of his cheek. My Platoon Sergeant was flown back to Walter Reed, and we didn't see him again until after the end of deployment.
We decided not to mess with the flags anymore.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Monday, March 28, 2011
The Year of the Leg
*Be warned, this is going to be a long post.*
Well, this is daunting, to say the least. How do I sum up a year in a single blog post? Here's what I came up with: Don't make it a single blog post.
I recently redeployed from a year long deployment to Afghanistan. This is the story, as well as I can remember it all.
When we were preparing to leave, nothing felt real. I couldn't wrap my head around the fact that I would be gone for an entire year. It all seemed fake, as if there was no way they'd make us actually leave the States and fight. I had no one there to see me off, which was a little disappointing, but I think it helped me cope better. We left almost exactly a year ago to the day. If I had known what I know now... I don't know what I would have done. I think I would have been a lot more depressed leaving, but prepared better.
The plane ride to Manas was the single longest flight of my life. I couldn't sleep due to nerves, everyone was anxiously talking, it was miserable. We stopped in Ireland, and I remember ordering a burger, thinking "This will be the last good food I have for a while." Man, was I ever right. We also made a quick stop in Germany to refuel, then off to Manas.
When we landed there, it was a mess. No one knew what was going on; no one could find their bags; the tents were freezing. We saw a company of Airborne soldiers ending their deployment, and even though we had just gotten there, I couldn't wait to be in their shoes. We stayed for about half a week, then it was off to FOB Champion. That was my first ride in a C130, and I've got to say... I never want to ride in one of those again. Imagine sitting on a lawn chair with three other people. Then imagine you're sitting in it during an earthquake. And you really have to pee.
When we arrived, it was a clusterfuck all over again. On the short walk to the FOB, 3 people accidentally dropped the magazines from their weapons, and one tripped and fell. You can imagine I was feeling pretty optimistic about the whole combat thing at that point. We eventually got settled into the tent where we would eventually spend 4 months.
About a month went by before we went on any patrols, getting acclimated and used to the routine. During this time we had way too many equipment layouts, spent way too much time prepping the trucks, and generally hated life. Every one of us was anxious to get outside the wire and start doing our jobs, we were feeling very cooped up. Eventually our day came, though.
I still remember the first mission. I was the gunner for my Platoon Leader, 1LT Moscow, in the second truck. We drove about 4 hours down to the staging area, where we were to meet the Afghan Police precincts we'd work with for the year. When we got there, they told us about a Taliban commander using a nearby village as a hideout. We formed a plan, and headed toward the objective. To this day, I will remember it as the hottest day of my life. It was upwards of 110°, and the air conditioning in our truck was broken. A tribute to superior American technology, I suppose.
As we drove along the worst roads I'd ever imagined possible, flanked by Afghan Army commandos and US Army Special Forces, it really hit me that I was in Afghanistan. This wouldn't be the last time that I was overcome by a wave of "holy shit I'm deployed," but it was the first time I really realized it. I was in the middle of this realization when a shot rang out right next to my truck. There was a moment of panic where no one knew what was going on, and I ducked my head and got behind the gun, only to find out it was an Afghan soldier accidentally firing his weapon into the ground. The first shot of the deployment was an uneventful one.
The rest of the mission went uneventfully, barring everyone in the truck coming close to passing out, until that night. After we provided security and had the Afghan Army sweep the village, we began heading back. It was dark, with very little light from the moon, when overhead I heard what I thought to be a jet. The only thing was, it was followed shortly after by an explosion. Then as I heard a second, I looked up and saw what I would come to know as a BM-1 rocket. It was really an amazing sight, disregarding the lethality of it. Both rockets hit very far away and cause no damage or threat to our forces, but it was another wakeup call. The Taliban was out there, and they wanted us to know it.
That night, we slept with the wagons circled on a hill. I'd be up for an hour pulling guard with my night vision on, jumping at every dog that walked by, and then down for 3 hours sleeping in a damp, uneven rice paddy, freezing with my body armor on. We got up way too early, and began our trek back to the staging area. On the way, a truck broke a tie rod on a particularly rough patch of the road, and had to take up positions where it lay to wait for a supply convoy to bring us parts to fix it. We sat for about 10 hours waiting, but were finally able to make it back before dark.
The remaining 2 days of that mission were spent familiarizing with the local Police, at this point still completely oblivious to how hopeless and corrupt they really were. We'd find out pretty soon, though.
More to come!
Well, this is daunting, to say the least. How do I sum up a year in a single blog post? Here's what I came up with: Don't make it a single blog post.
I recently redeployed from a year long deployment to Afghanistan. This is the story, as well as I can remember it all.
When we were preparing to leave, nothing felt real. I couldn't wrap my head around the fact that I would be gone for an entire year. It all seemed fake, as if there was no way they'd make us actually leave the States and fight. I had no one there to see me off, which was a little disappointing, but I think it helped me cope better. We left almost exactly a year ago to the day. If I had known what I know now... I don't know what I would have done. I think I would have been a lot more depressed leaving, but prepared better.
The plane ride to Manas was the single longest flight of my life. I couldn't sleep due to nerves, everyone was anxiously talking, it was miserable. We stopped in Ireland, and I remember ordering a burger, thinking "This will be the last good food I have for a while." Man, was I ever right. We also made a quick stop in Germany to refuel, then off to Manas.
When we landed there, it was a mess. No one knew what was going on; no one could find their bags; the tents were freezing. We saw a company of Airborne soldiers ending their deployment, and even though we had just gotten there, I couldn't wait to be in their shoes. We stayed for about half a week, then it was off to FOB Champion. That was my first ride in a C130, and I've got to say... I never want to ride in one of those again. Imagine sitting on a lawn chair with three other people. Then imagine you're sitting in it during an earthquake. And you really have to pee.
When we arrived, it was a clusterfuck all over again. On the short walk to the FOB, 3 people accidentally dropped the magazines from their weapons, and one tripped and fell. You can imagine I was feeling pretty optimistic about the whole combat thing at that point. We eventually got settled into the tent where we would eventually spend 4 months.
About a month went by before we went on any patrols, getting acclimated and used to the routine. During this time we had way too many equipment layouts, spent way too much time prepping the trucks, and generally hated life. Every one of us was anxious to get outside the wire and start doing our jobs, we were feeling very cooped up. Eventually our day came, though.
I still remember the first mission. I was the gunner for my Platoon Leader, 1LT Moscow, in the second truck. We drove about 4 hours down to the staging area, where we were to meet the Afghan Police precincts we'd work with for the year. When we got there, they told us about a Taliban commander using a nearby village as a hideout. We formed a plan, and headed toward the objective. To this day, I will remember it as the hottest day of my life. It was upwards of 110°, and the air conditioning in our truck was broken. A tribute to superior American technology, I suppose.
As we drove along the worst roads I'd ever imagined possible, flanked by Afghan Army commandos and US Army Special Forces, it really hit me that I was in Afghanistan. This wouldn't be the last time that I was overcome by a wave of "holy shit I'm deployed," but it was the first time I really realized it. I was in the middle of this realization when a shot rang out right next to my truck. There was a moment of panic where no one knew what was going on, and I ducked my head and got behind the gun, only to find out it was an Afghan soldier accidentally firing his weapon into the ground. The first shot of the deployment was an uneventful one.
The rest of the mission went uneventfully, barring everyone in the truck coming close to passing out, until that night. After we provided security and had the Afghan Army sweep the village, we began heading back. It was dark, with very little light from the moon, when overhead I heard what I thought to be a jet. The only thing was, it was followed shortly after by an explosion. Then as I heard a second, I looked up and saw what I would come to know as a BM-1 rocket. It was really an amazing sight, disregarding the lethality of it. Both rockets hit very far away and cause no damage or threat to our forces, but it was another wakeup call. The Taliban was out there, and they wanted us to know it.
That night, we slept with the wagons circled on a hill. I'd be up for an hour pulling guard with my night vision on, jumping at every dog that walked by, and then down for 3 hours sleeping in a damp, uneven rice paddy, freezing with my body armor on. We got up way too early, and began our trek back to the staging area. On the way, a truck broke a tie rod on a particularly rough patch of the road, and had to take up positions where it lay to wait for a supply convoy to bring us parts to fix it. We sat for about 10 hours waiting, but were finally able to make it back before dark.
The remaining 2 days of that mission were spent familiarizing with the local Police, at this point still completely oblivious to how hopeless and corrupt they really were. We'd find out pretty soon, though.
More to come!
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Updates
So I haven't written anything in a while. I'm not trying to make excuses; I've been lazy about it. So here's a few updates on SPC Ryan.
We moved to a new FOB. I can't give details for obvious reasons, but we've been a lot busier here. We're on patrol about 75% of the time, doing some pretty significant work in the country. Lots of firsts for the country happening, and lots of changes as a result.
I'm dating one of my long time best friends (Sam, check out her blog!), and though I'm halfway around the world right now, soon I'll be home and closer to her. Things are gonna be rough for a while, but I know we can work through it. She's pretty amazing, so being away for a while is a small price to pay.
I've got a lot to write about. Most of it will be fictionalized, but based on real events recently experienced by my platoon. I don't know when I'll find the time to write it up, and I know I've promised blog posts before that weren't ever delivered. So, I'm not going to promise anything. I will try to write, partly for you, partly to vent about what happened.
On a positive note, we only have a few more months to go! I'll be home soon, and I can't wait even a little bit.
That's all I've got for now. Stay tuned for more within a week or so, hopefully.
We moved to a new FOB. I can't give details for obvious reasons, but we've been a lot busier here. We're on patrol about 75% of the time, doing some pretty significant work in the country. Lots of firsts for the country happening, and lots of changes as a result.
I'm dating one of my long time best friends (Sam, check out her blog!), and though I'm halfway around the world right now, soon I'll be home and closer to her. Things are gonna be rough for a while, but I know we can work through it. She's pretty amazing, so being away for a while is a small price to pay.
I've got a lot to write about. Most of it will be fictionalized, but based on real events recently experienced by my platoon. I don't know when I'll find the time to write it up, and I know I've promised blog posts before that weren't ever delivered. So, I'm not going to promise anything. I will try to write, partly for you, partly to vent about what happened.
On a positive note, we only have a few more months to go! I'll be home soon, and I can't wait even a little bit.
That's all I've got for now. Stay tuned for more within a week or so, hopefully.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Coming back
I never believed them.
They said it would be done before I realized it, that R&R would go like the blink of an eye. I told myself I'd take it slow and enjoy it.
They said coming back to Afghanistan a second time is much harder than the first time. I said I've already done it once, how bad can it be?
They said things would change in the platoon once I got back. I said I'll adjust, not THAT much can change, can it?
Well, here I am, a month later. Going home for two weeks seems like it was just a dream, a tease just long enough to show me what I'm missing. I had one of the greatest weeks of my life with my best friend, and though the second week was fairly stressful, I wouldn't trade it for the world.
Then I came back. I don't really know why it hurts so much worse this time around, but leaving home for a second time was horrible. I can't even put the feeling into words. I miss everyone so much more than before. It didn't even hit me until I was on the plane, 30,000 feet in the air on the way to Germany, but when it did hit me, it hit hard. I'm glad the plane was fairly empty; it would have been difficult to explain to the other soldiers on board why I had tears running down my cheeks.
Several days later, I met up with a friend in the platoon. He let me know that several members of my platoon had been hit with a grenade rigged up to a booby-trap. My Platoon Sergeant was seriously wounded, and a friend of mine was hit, but not as severely. Both were medevaced out, and my Platoon Sergeant is now in the states, probably not coming back. He also told me we were moving down to a new FOB, where there will be limited communication, very little electricity, and no hot chow. That's quite a bit to adjust to.
But such is life in Afghanistan. All you can really do is go with the flow, carry out the mission, and do your best to come back safe and sane. And that's what I plan to do.
They said it would be done before I realized it, that R&R would go like the blink of an eye. I told myself I'd take it slow and enjoy it.
They said coming back to Afghanistan a second time is much harder than the first time. I said I've already done it once, how bad can it be?
They said things would change in the platoon once I got back. I said I'll adjust, not THAT much can change, can it?
Well, here I am, a month later. Going home for two weeks seems like it was just a dream, a tease just long enough to show me what I'm missing. I had one of the greatest weeks of my life with my best friend, and though the second week was fairly stressful, I wouldn't trade it for the world.
Then I came back. I don't really know why it hurts so much worse this time around, but leaving home for a second time was horrible. I can't even put the feeling into words. I miss everyone so much more than before. It didn't even hit me until I was on the plane, 30,000 feet in the air on the way to Germany, but when it did hit me, it hit hard. I'm glad the plane was fairly empty; it would have been difficult to explain to the other soldiers on board why I had tears running down my cheeks.
Several days later, I met up with a friend in the platoon. He let me know that several members of my platoon had been hit with a grenade rigged up to a booby-trap. My Platoon Sergeant was seriously wounded, and a friend of mine was hit, but not as severely. Both were medevaced out, and my Platoon Sergeant is now in the states, probably not coming back. He also told me we were moving down to a new FOB, where there will be limited communication, very little electricity, and no hot chow. That's quite a bit to adjust to.
But such is life in Afghanistan. All you can really do is go with the flow, carry out the mission, and do your best to come back safe and sane. And that's what I plan to do.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Going home!
It seems like this time has flown by, and dragged itself out all at once, but it's time for mid-tour leave! I am writing this from Bagram Airfield, still in Afghanistan, but on my way home. I just want to let everyone know there won't be another post from me for at least a couple weeks (As if I was good about updating otherwise), because I will be way too busy enjoying myself and relaxing.
I can't wait to get home to see my family, and the highlight of the vacation will be my best friend flying out to visit! Those of you that I talk to regularly are probably tired of hearing me say it, but I can't wait to get home. I can not wait.
See you all again in a few weeks!
I can't wait to get home to see my family, and the highlight of the vacation will be my best friend flying out to visit! Those of you that I talk to regularly are probably tired of hearing me say it, but I can't wait to get home. I can not wait.
See you all again in a few weeks!
Sunday, June 13, 2010
The true heroes
Hey. Not a long post today.
I want to take the time to say this, though.
The real heroes aren't the soldiers out there every day, doing their jobs. That's all it is, just doing our job. The real heroes of this country are the soldiers who give their lives in the service of their country, the ones who aren't around anymore to tell their stories.
May they rest in peace, and their families and loved ones find solace.
June 12, 2010 will be a day I remember forever.
I want to take the time to say this, though.
The real heroes aren't the soldiers out there every day, doing their jobs. That's all it is, just doing our job. The real heroes of this country are the soldiers who give their lives in the service of their country, the ones who aren't around anymore to tell their stories.
May they rest in peace, and their families and loved ones find solace.
June 12, 2010 will be a day I remember forever.
Friday, June 11, 2010
To lose a friend
You know those violent shocks to reality I talked about in my last post? I guess you never know how violent they can be, until you experience them.
The only word I can think of to use for the road to the checkpoint (If you can call it a road) is "insane." Imagine driving an 18 wheeler down one of the narrow pedestrian paths of the Grand Canyon, that's what it felt like. We were responding to the Afghan National Police's request for help, in a remote area that could be called shady at best, and flat-out suspicious at worst. I don't know what they were doing and I don't care to know, but they caught the attention of some armed insurgents. As a result, we were rolling in, ready to help out our allies, ready for a fight.
By the time we arrived, I'll admit we weren't in the most cooperative of moods. The drive had taken it out of us already, and the general attitude was simply "fuck this," myself included. What I saw when we arrived was very sobering.
The commander of the precinct caught in the firefight, Commander Heidar, was carrying one of his men up a hill to their truck. The man's body was limp, draped over Heidar's shoulder. The commander held an AK-47 in his unoccupied hand, walking very solemnly, but with a purpose.
At that moment, I felt a sinking feeling in my gut, the kind that makes you feel completely helpless and tiny. These men, our closest allies in the area, just lost one of their friends in combat. I have never experienced any major losses in my life, but this hit me pretty hard.
Long story short, we finished business in the area, feeling like we'd been beaten pretty badly. The Taliban had given us a black eye, and all we could do was take it. There was no revenge, we had done all we could and they had once again slipped into the night.
Several days later, our Lieutenant got a call from Heidar. He just wanted to talk - No business, no intel, just... talk.
We stopped at his headquarters, and our LT sat down and talked with him, simply as friends. I do not know what was said other than what I've been told, but Commander Heidar came away from it with a much better outlook, thankful that we are there for him. As he says, no one has ever honestly cared about his men as much as we are, American or otherwise. He is grateful to have us as his friends and as his allies in arms, and I for one am glad he's on our side.
The only word I can think of to use for the road to the checkpoint (If you can call it a road) is "insane." Imagine driving an 18 wheeler down one of the narrow pedestrian paths of the Grand Canyon, that's what it felt like. We were responding to the Afghan National Police's request for help, in a remote area that could be called shady at best, and flat-out suspicious at worst. I don't know what they were doing and I don't care to know, but they caught the attention of some armed insurgents. As a result, we were rolling in, ready to help out our allies, ready for a fight.
By the time we arrived, I'll admit we weren't in the most cooperative of moods. The drive had taken it out of us already, and the general attitude was simply "fuck this," myself included. What I saw when we arrived was very sobering.
The commander of the precinct caught in the firefight, Commander Heidar, was carrying one of his men up a hill to their truck. The man's body was limp, draped over Heidar's shoulder. The commander held an AK-47 in his unoccupied hand, walking very solemnly, but with a purpose.
At that moment, I felt a sinking feeling in my gut, the kind that makes you feel completely helpless and tiny. These men, our closest allies in the area, just lost one of their friends in combat. I have never experienced any major losses in my life, but this hit me pretty hard.
Long story short, we finished business in the area, feeling like we'd been beaten pretty badly. The Taliban had given us a black eye, and all we could do was take it. There was no revenge, we had done all we could and they had once again slipped into the night.
Several days later, our Lieutenant got a call from Heidar. He just wanted to talk - No business, no intel, just... talk.
We stopped at his headquarters, and our LT sat down and talked with him, simply as friends. I do not know what was said other than what I've been told, but Commander Heidar came away from it with a much better outlook, thankful that we are there for him. As he says, no one has ever honestly cared about his men as much as we are, American or otherwise. He is grateful to have us as his friends and as his allies in arms, and I for one am glad he's on our side.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
