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.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
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.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
[dramatization]
It all feels just like training. Like we never left the states. Everything feels... fake. The only real, noticeable change is that we can't just go home when the day's done. The insurgents that are supposedly out there running around tend to keep to themselves, so we're left chasing after ghosts. It causes us to get complacent at times, giving us a false sense of security - why bother keeping our guard up if nothing ever happens?
Occasionally, however, we get a violent shock to reality. Everything becomes real, very quickly, when you see a group of kids on the side of the road, that may or may not have eaten in the last few days, begging for food. The threats show themselves a little more, when we find the aftermath of an IED blast in the street, and especially when they hit the base with mortar and rocket fire.
But then they're gone again. Not to be seen for who knows how long. We all revert back to actors, in a dramatization of war.
Don't get me wrong, we have a purpose here, and good things are being done. We've handed out food to people whose houses were recently wiped out due to landslides; bought telephone poles so the local government could better manage the power cables strewn across the streets of the local towns; and not long from now we'll be training the local Afghan Army and Police forces in Combat Lifesaving, to help them become a more effective fighting force.
But as an Infantryman, it feels like we're not doing what we came for, what we trained for. I should be kicking down doors, and filling bad guys with lead, to the tune of 7.62mm. But as it stands, with an invisible enemy that decides when, where, and even if they will hit us, we aren't able to do much of anything before they start shooting at us first.
I grew up fascinated with World War II, reading as much as I could find on the subject and learning a lot about history as I did. As a kid, I imagined being in a war like that, a conventional war. This "new war" is nothing like that, but it's the nature of the beast here in Afghanistan. The Russians have seen it's face, and now we get our turn. The best we can do is to play out our roles, and hope this drama we call war turns out well.
Occasionally, however, we get a violent shock to reality. Everything becomes real, very quickly, when you see a group of kids on the side of the road, that may or may not have eaten in the last few days, begging for food. The threats show themselves a little more, when we find the aftermath of an IED blast in the street, and especially when they hit the base with mortar and rocket fire.
But then they're gone again. Not to be seen for who knows how long. We all revert back to actors, in a dramatization of war.
Don't get me wrong, we have a purpose here, and good things are being done. We've handed out food to people whose houses were recently wiped out due to landslides; bought telephone poles so the local government could better manage the power cables strewn across the streets of the local towns; and not long from now we'll be training the local Afghan Army and Police forces in Combat Lifesaving, to help them become a more effective fighting force.
But as an Infantryman, it feels like we're not doing what we came for, what we trained for. I should be kicking down doors, and filling bad guys with lead, to the tune of 7.62mm. But as it stands, with an invisible enemy that decides when, where, and even if they will hit us, we aren't able to do much of anything before they start shooting at us first.
I grew up fascinated with World War II, reading as much as I could find on the subject and learning a lot about history as I did. As a kid, I imagined being in a war like that, a conventional war. This "new war" is nothing like that, but it's the nature of the beast here in Afghanistan. The Russians have seen it's face, and now we get our turn. The best we can do is to play out our roles, and hope this drama we call war turns out well.
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