Assignment

August 22, 2011:

A few days after Rick and Ed left, I got word that I was to be assigned to Wardak.  Finally!!! The name was familiar since about two weeks prior, not too far from where the training center is situated, insurgents shot down a Chinook helicopter that was carrying a special ops crew. Conflicting preliminary reports indicated that the downed chopper might have been carrying part of SEAL Team Six, the group that killed Osama bin Laden.   A total of 38 people died, 30 of which were special forces members, 1 interpreter, and 7 Afghans.  It was the single most deadly loss of American lives since the war in Afghanistan began.  

The training venue was still under construction, but they were hopeful that it would be possible to accommodate a small group of us to prep the post for training. The first group would include me and three other T1G classmates, John (the Specimen) Green, Bob Molina from California, and Greg Fetsch from Oregon – a good group. We would get further word on when we were to deploy, possibly within a couple of weeks, but maybe a little bit longer since construction was still ongoing. 

Since there was still some time before reporting to my next assignment I was considering volunteering for the PSD (Personal Security Detail) course that the Specimen, Bob, and Greg were currently attending.  It sounded like good training, but after seeing my three exhausted classmates return from their days on the hot range, it didn’t necessarily look like fun.  

Furthermore, I was starting to develop some good relationships among the drivers and other members of the security teams.  A new class from T1G would soon be arriving, and they would be short-handed for the convoys.  Being understaffed meant many would be forced to grab some sleep when they could, such as in between convoys which would be scheduled at all times of the day and night.  Such was the plight of those on the security teams.  Normally, travel is restricted to daylight hours.  Since security team schedules were dictated by the various flight arrivals and departures throughout all hours, such rules didn’t apply to them.  When security concerns restrict travel for most, the teams must roll regardless of the hour, or the threat, since much of their movement is considered mission essential.    If I chose to attend training, I would be leaving them even more undermanned.  

A very unflattering shot of me preparing to head out on a security run.

Soon after I got word of my assignment, someone decided, either by chance or design, to put the Jersey guys together, and Patti moved into my room.  Since arriving at the camp he had been rooming with someone else, sleeping on a cot, so he was grateful to finally be getting a bed.  Where I had been assisting the security teams, Patti was making a mark for himself, helping the administrative staff with information technology issues.  Because of his past experience working in U.S. Customs, he was originally scheduled to work with the ABP (Afghanistan Border Patrol).  Within a few short weeks, he was quickly becoming an asset to the administrative team. 

On the first night in the room he spoke about the pros and cons of changing his contract from the more operational border patrol to an administrative position.  For the most part, he would remain at the camp as a “permanent” resident, working out of one of the offices there.  As such, he could wear “soft clothes”, rather than having to gear up every day in the “kit”, with two weapons.  He would also have to sign a new contract which would extend his mission termination date by about six weeks.  Additionally, he would have to work 7 days a week. More importantly though, he liked the type of work he’d be doing, and the position came with a higher salary.  He would have to make a decision in the next couple of days.

The conversation moved from the serious considerations of work to the more “low brow” type of humor of which we usually spoke.  I told him it would be good for me to have someone “on the inside” – someone who could help get me out of trouble, when needed.  Hell, maybe he could even get me a raise.  My drifting off to sleep was interrupted by laughing at his comments and one-liners.  The last I remembered saying was that if he took the job, he would go home smelling like the DFAC on his first break in December.  

Since I had to work a convoy, I woke up first, almost forgetting about the presence of my new roommate.  He woke from the sound of me peeling the Velcro apart on my vest.  Still groggy from his deep sleep on a mattress, Patti mumbled without moving his mouth, with his faced mushed into the pillow, “I dink dis was da best night’s sleep I had since coming here.” He immediately followed his statement with a loud fart. In reply I said, “Bless you” and thought, “Welcome aboard, Patti”.

Next Time, a Root Beer Float...

August 20, 2011:

A few of us that remained waiting to ship out to our assignments visited Camp Phoenix, a US Army base within close proximity to our camp.  It’s a large installation with a PX and haji shops (local merchants selling their various wares). As we traveled towards our destination in our two truck convoy, I felt uneasy at what little traffic was out and about. The one other time I visited Camp Phoenix, the roads were choked with vehicles. It’s common knowledge that the presence of many people out and about in public is usually a good sign (apparently, signifying that the locals haven’t heard anything about imminent attacks.) My feelings were relieved when I was reminded that today was Friday, a Sabbath, so to speak, for Muslims in Afghanistan.  Since it was a day of rest, traffic would not start to pick up until later in the day. 

When we arrived at Phoenix, we stopped as required, showing our ID’s to the guards, then unloaded our weapons at the designated area.  Once the vehicles were parked, it felt good to remove the body armor and secure our rifles in the truck.  Before starting out for the PX to buy the items we needed, we decided to eat in the DFAC first.  The last time I came to Phoenix, we ate at the outdoor area that served hot dogs and hamburgers.  At the time, it was a welcomed treat.  However, after entering the DFAC, I was astounded at both the size and the variety of food from which to choose.  I intended to follow the group until I realized that at the first stop, gyro sandwiches were being served.  Waiting for my gyro, I watched the group disappear as they continued on.  After being served, I followed the line in front of me.  As those ahead were being served, I peeked around to see what lie ahead:  pork chops, a salad bar, tuna fish, hot dogs, hamburgers, and more that I didn’t get to see, since I didn’t want to get too far separated from our group.  Turning into the seated area, I searched up and down, attempting to find my colleagues – all to no avail.  It was then that I realized on the other side of a wall, there was ANTOHER seating area, with additional serving stations throughout.  This place was huge!  As I made my way to the other side, I walked past another serving area and spotted the group along the far wall. In order to reach them, I had to pass another salad bar, as well as other stations with drinks, desserts, and other eats that I chose to not even look at.  As I placed my tray on the table, I could feel myself grinning ear to ear.

The gyro was delicious.  One of the others left his seat momentarily and came back with the Holy Grail – a can of A&W root beer! ROOT BEER!!  I immediately asked him where he got it.  In his Texas accent, he said, “Rot thar” and motioned to a soda case behind me.  I turned to see where he was pointing and spied the A&W on the top shelf, above Fanta, Mountain Dew, and Diet Coke!  Without excusing myself I spun toward the stack of sodas and almost ran to get my can of A&W.  As I was stuffing the gyro sandwich into my mouth, I saw a string of people walk by with what looked like ice cream.  I followed the returning line to an ice cream case into which a server was bent over scooping ice cream for waiting soldiers, sailors, airmen, and contractors.   

OK folks. You know me.  After almost a month of relatively austere dining conditions, I had hit the jackpot!  Ice cream!  All you could eat – vanilla, chocolate, cookies and cream, strawberry – all with your choice of chocolate or caramel sauce, cherries, chocolate shavings, or crushed sugar cones!  I was beside myself.  I went easy, choosing a scoop each of vanilla, chocolate and strawberry, then drizzling them with chocolate syrup.  I returned to my seat across from The Specimen.  I could tell by the smile on his face that he knew I was enjoying myself.  I took my time and savored it.  It was the best day I had since coming to the sandbox.

Food

Friday, August 19, 2011:

It’s been about three weeks since my arrival in Kabul.  I’m starting to wonder if my permanent duty will be riding shotgun in the convoys that primarily shuttle people back and forth to the airports.  Aside from not knowing what my assignment will be, the next most disturbing aspect of being here is the food.  While the meals are freshly made, the menu doesn’t change much.  In addition, most of it seems to be overcooked, with the exception of the chicken, which tends to be a little too pink or bloody for my taste.  Moreover, the thoughts of the parasite that plagued the camp prior to our arrival linger on (I use the pre-packaged plastic utensils instead of the silverware).   Also related to the food, but perhaps most bothersome to many, is the lack of ventilation in the dining facility (DFAC).  During mealtimes, the odors of the kitchen attach themselves to our clothing.  When we’ve finished eating, the smells of the food and the facility cling to everyone, follow us around, and eventually make their way back to our rooms.  Even walking around outside in the bad air does nothing to shake the odor.  Being that the menu seldom changes, it’s the same smell that diminishes the appetite on a daily basis.  According to the scale in the gym, I lost about 15 lbs. since leaving home; and after being here for almost a month, there’s no sign of gaining it back.  If we wished, we could eat all we wanted, but due to the combination of the bland taste and sickening aroma, the meals had become less of a priority. I really longed for some familiar food with taste.

A Room With A View

Thursday, August 18, 2011:

I got up around 3:30am to see off some of the members of our class that were leaving on the first convoy of the day.  It was a subdued event.  As a result of having gone through the trying times in training, we had become closer as a class.  While everyone was attempting to maintain the “cop thing” of guarding against public displays of emotion, the sentiments were clear.  We all knew of the possible dangers – IED’s, suicide bombers, mortars, RPG’s, small arms fire, kidnappings.  Good, firm handshakes and pats on the back were exchanged in the dimly lit driveway in front of the TOC (Tactical Operations Center), where the trucks were being staged for departure.  Hearty embraces that were attempted were made difficult by the various paraphernalia worn over bulky body armor.  The carrying of things such as ammo magazines, M4 rifles, 9mm handguns, individual first aid kits, knives, flashlights, water bottles, and anything else one wanted to keep close at hand, made everyone appear like Randy, (Ralphie’s  little brother on A Christmas Story, after his mother shoved him into his snowsuit), but with a “soldier of fortune” flair.   

Being that the travelers were weighted down with their extra “incidentals”, I helped pack their gear into the four pick-up trucks that would take them to the airport to begin the first legs of their journeys.  There were the familiar green duffel bags that we carted from T1G, big black plastic storage (“Gorilla”) boxes, luggage, and anything else that would accompany the travelers to their destinations.  Since contractor mail was distributed through Camp Pinnacle, I also packed other items that would be met by welcome arms when they finally reached their designated locations.  These included boxes and bags from WalMart, Amazon, and packages from home.  They were destined for places like Konduz, Helmand, Wardak, and Jalalabad.  These had become familiar to me only through the association of their names with reports of attacks or casualties.

Due to the addition of mail and supplies, the passengers were limited by weight on what they could bring.  Prior to leaving, much like at a commercial airport, their gear had to be weighed through flight operations to ensure the aircraft would be able to handle the combined weight of passengers, crew, and cargo.  After assuring that the load would not exceed the maximum capacity, the flight manifest was completed.  Once underway, the Russian-made choppers would drop them at various bases and outposts throughout Afghanistan, lightening the load as members disembarked with their gear.

Some trainers would take up residence at the bases at which they initially landed to conduct training on the post, sometimes living among the Afghan trainees.  Others, once having landed, would transfer their gear onto military convoys and from there, push out to more remote areas, embedding themselves with military units, and provide training to police units in local villages.

The model of Russian chopper commonly used for our transport to various operating bases

 

 

 

 

A few days later, as the numbers of our class continued to dwindle, I again awoke early to see off another T1G classmate, Rick Harvey; and an ex-coworker of his, Ed Delgado.  As it turned out, I was Ed’s roommate at the camp.  Ed was originally from the Bronx, who after his discharge from the Navy, made his home in Virginia.  Back home, he and Rick worked together at a sheriff’s department and would be together again, assigned somewhere in Herat Province in the western part of the country, closer to the Iranian border. 

Rick often stopped by the room to hang with Ed.  Their history as partners back in the states made their discussions entertaining.  Their conversations had an element of bickering, common to that of a married couple.  On a number of occasions, Rick would preface his remarks to Ed with a wink in my direction.  This signaled that he was going to attempt to get a rise out of Ed and more often than not, he was successful.  Ed’s voice (as well as his blood pressure) would escalate as they argued points about the most effective work out programs, firearms, or the trustworthiness of certain people back home in the sheriff’s department. The banter would continue as then, Ed would subsequently turn to me with a grin hidden from Rick, and launch his own absurd point to which Rick would take the bait and argue yet another frivolous fact or opinion.  The back and forth was quite humorous, especially when heard in the dialects of the Bronx vs. the Southern drawl – it was the Civil War all over again! 

Once the trucks were loaded, and roll was called, everyone quickly moved to their respective vehicles. As they both moved towards the lead truck, almost disappearing into the early morning darkness, I spotted Ed and called to him.  Breaking his focus on getting to his assigned vehicle, he looked back towards me and alerted Rick that I was still there.  The two walked back to me to bid farewell.  We exchanged goodbyes, shaking hands and patting each other on the shoulder.  “Ah ite, Binney, you take care nah!” Rick said in his trademark southern accent.  A heartfelt “Take care, Rick.” was all I could muster.

I watched as the interior gate opened to allow the trucks to enter the sally port.  Once all the trucks were in, the heavy interior gate would close behind them to ensure that the camp was closed to entry before opening the metal exterior gate.  Once the security team confirmed that all weapons were fully loaded, a signal would be given indicating that they were ready to roll.  Only then would the metal exterior gate be rolled back to allow the vehicles to empty out into the street.  Once the last vehicle exited, the gate would quickly shut behind them.   

After Rick and Ed left, I did some rearranging back in the room.  I decided to take the “prime real estate” – the bed closer to both the window and the room’s internet cable.  From the desk, I had a view out of the window.  The vantage point wasn’t great, but it did offer some natural light.  I leaned back in the chair, propped my feet on the desk and stared at the sniper fence directly in front of the room about 20 yards away.  Every now and then, the view was interrupted by an armed Afghan guard walking the inside perimeter of the fence.  With my feet up, hands clasped behind my head, I stared out the window and continued to wonder how long it would be before I would get word on my assignment.  

 Pretty spectacular sight of the sniper fence and razor wire, don’t you agree?