Grunts

We’re starting to forge a pretty good relationship with the new marines.  Gunny, their supervisor, is a good example of a competent, well-respected leader.  He gives overall direction to his men, then stands back to let them handle their responsibilities as best they can.  He’s always there to answer their questions, and makes his expectations clearly. They, likewise, seem to have no reservations about going to him for clarification or support in any matter.  They clearly respect him. 

Assisting Gunny is Sgt. Clev (short for Clevenger).  He’s a serious, quiet marine who knows his way around the weapons systems.  He helps Gunny by ensuring that all runs smoothly. At first I thought he was somewhat distant, but I later found that the silence I mistook for detachment was actually his high level of focus and concentration. 

Sgt. Clev with a new friend

Travelling with the marine team is Doc.  Doc’s a navy corpsman attached to the unit as their medic.  He’s a thin, young-looking 19 yr. old from West Virginia.  Befitting his specialty as a medic, Doc’s a bit more humanistic in his outlook, possessing more of an interest in learning about Afghan culture than his (as he describes them) “grunt” counterparts.  He’s quite inquisitive and keeps his eyes open to his many new experiences in the field.

Doc, keeping a watchful eye over all of us

Then there’s Corporal “H” (for Hollingsworth), from Ohio.  He’s a ball of energy that just can’t sit still. He was always moving about the training site exploring, climbing, crawling, and peeking into areas “just to see what’s there.” The pace he kept made me tire just watching him. 

A rare photo - Corporal H sitting still long enough to take a picture

Corporal H off again -  This time climbing down into an old sewage pit.  Months later, a peek from the top revealed swarming rats.

Unlike the previous marines who lived at Camp Eggers (which was about a 7 mile drive from us), this group lived at Camp Phoenix in the B-hut right next door to us.  In fact, since they didn’t have transportation, they travelled with us to and from the training site.  The close living arrangements assisted us in getting to know each other.

One evening a few days after our teams had met, Corporal H came to our B-hut to discuss training for the following day.  As soon as he opened the door to the darkened hut, there was a long pause. Peering into the darkness, he asked in a voice that was audible, but soft enough not to awaken anyone that was asleep, “Is anybody up?”  Someone from down the hall half muttered, “Yeah, I’m up.”  As Corporal H made his way down the hallway he said aloud, “It’s only 9 o’clock!  This is like a senior citizens home!”  His remark drew a few chuckles from those who hadn’t yet fallen asleep.  Being the oldest of our group (by only a couple of months), I chided in, “Hey, respect your elders.” He chuckled back.

Thanks, But I’ll Pass on Breakfast

After deciding that three full meals a day were a bit too much, I began skipping breakfast.  I chose to avoid the morning meal at the DFAC, since without fail, I always ended up eating more than I should.  Instead, my breakfast consisted of a Pop Tart or two with my morning tea (similar to what I used to eat at my desk at the college). 

There was another motivation for cutting down on breakfast.  A few days after I sprained my foot as a result of closing the truck door on it, I felt the gout starting to creep into my ankle.  Always with pills on hand, I began taking my gout medication in hopes of controlling the swelling.  Since the medication gives me the runs, I didn’t want to have to poop in the facilities at the compound.  Believe me, in comparison to the toilets here, the Porta-Johns at home look like executive washrooms.  Not only was it a losing battle against the flies, but the stench made me gag.  In addition, here, the customary method of doing number two is by squatting – I’m talking full squat, without the benefit of a traditional toilet bowl to sit on - that is, nothing to sit on.  What passes for the toilet, is a porcelain fixture with a hole, with two places to put one’s feet on either side.  And, you just squat to do your business.  Needless to say, between the flies buzzing, my inability to hold my breath long enough, and my fear of not being able to balance myself in such a stooped position, I soon figured that traveling to the compound on an empty stomach was a wise choice.

One of the compound's toilets - a good reason to skip breakfast!