Year of the Leg pt. 2

[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.