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.
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