AS THE WAR TURNS

(WEEK OF 15-21 MARCH 2009)

WHAT’S GOING ON OUT THERE?

Izzy and I live right next to the wire, the other side of which I refer to as the Afghan wild, where the Afghan people move about uncontained by concertina wire, Hesco barriers, and T-walls. The enemy could be right there, over that wall.

Izzy likes to make the joke that he asks for a tennis racket in care packages so that he can swat back any grenades thrown at us from over the wire. There are, of course, guard towers watching over us, and I don’t lose any sleep thinking about being attacked via that route.

Izzy jokes about it, though. When someone comments on his long beard, he says he wants to be able to blend in with the Taliban when they storm they wall by the condo (he calls our hooch “the condo” and it’s caught on, despite my initial reluctance).

The last few days, US military helicopters have been circling the village just outside the base, adjacent to the condo. They buzz low over the rooftops, always in pairs (helicopters rarely travel anywhere alone), and sometimes so low that you can see the expression on the pilots face.

We can only assume that there has been intelligence of… something out there, something that they’re looking for or squelching through their presence.

***

AS THE WAR TURNS

Every day is another episode in the ongoing soap opera that is our lives.

This is undoubtedly true everywhere, but out here - in these close quarters - our own series gets intertwined with everyone else’s, and their drama is hard to ignore. Divorces, deaths in the family, missed birthdays and anniversaries, job concerns, inexplicable money woes, and so on. There is no shortage of it out here.

We all know several people going through divorces while deployed. I don’t know how they do it; perhaps being out here is the escape they need. Or perhaps they need the money that being out here gives them.

There are affairs aplenty, and poor secrecy protecting them. With a dearth of women, I guess when one goes off the market, people talk.

The money worries always get me. Everyone out here is making a good amount of money, and yet I speak to KTRs making far more than me who are living paycheck to paycheck. Some show me pictures of new cars and motorcycles they’ve purchased, but never use because they’re here. Others explain how their wives and family are spending their money, living well, and pushing out their deployment with every new toy they “need”.

I sat down for lunch and got roped into a ridiculous conversation with a guy who, married in the States, was carrying on an affair with a woman in Korea. He was trying to figure out how to take his R&R in Seoul without his family finding out. It was absurd.

I believe I stay out of the grapevine, though, because I’m boring. I’m not married, not divorced, I’m not having an affair, and I rarely speak about my personal life. There are too many single guys (or guys who say their single) for my condition to be of much interest, which is fine with me.

In Iraq, the only time I was anyone’s radar was just days before I left when, during my award ceremony, my CDR jokingly announced that I came to Iraq looking for a wife. The busy-Berthas approached me after telling me about how this young lady was single, or about their daughter in the States.

Out here, none of that. Not yet, and hopefully not ever.

KTR = Contractor
R&R = Rest and Relaxation (or, sometimes, Rest and Recuperation)
CDR = Commander

***

BLACKWATER DINNER

Once again I make friends over a meal, forced to share a table with strangers.

This time, it’s employees of Blackwater- er, Xe. The company changed its name to Xe this past February, ostensibly to highlight its shifting corporate focus, but realistically (and obviously) to separate itself from the mountains of bad press from its operations in Iraq.

I knew only one Blackwater employee in Iraq, and he was a buddy of mine. He was not involved in any of the high-profile conflicts, the shoot-outs that left bystanders dead and the media clamoring, but he nonetheless had stories of firefights and a life on the edge (literally, as he often hung out of a helicopter). He was a good guy, former Special Forces, as most Blackwater employees are.

In both theaters, Blackwater has filled a wide variety of needs, to include the most controversial - private security. As it was explained to me, the US Military simply didn’t have the manpower to support security for all of the US and Iraqi politicians who needed to move around the battlefield. Thus: Blackwater.

My Afghan friend Hali despises Blackwater. She saw firsthand some of the liberties they took in Iraq - and there were undoubtedly mistakes made - and blames the corporate attitude that allowed it. She would seethe when the subject came up over lunch the two times I’ve eaten with her.

Blackwater (= Xe) has a much smaller footprint in Afghanistan. I have not heard of their holding any private security contracts. They may, but if so they’re keeping a much lower profile. The only role I’m familiar with Blackwater filling here is flying the STOL flights.

STOLs (as we refer to the planes themselves) are small, non-military passenger and planes, with honest-to-goodness airplane seats in them. I’ve flown STOLs several times, and prefer them for the comfort and the view they afford.

My new friends Bill and Ed are STOL pilots.

They ask me about my job and are a little more excited about it than I am, but I don’t mind answering their questions. I suppose access to any other aspect of this war is interesting to them at this point.

They talk a bit about flying around Afghanistan and can’t say enough about how beautiful some parts of the country are. Certainly the mountains are breathtaking, and would be a source of great skiing if tourists didn’t have to fear for their lives, but they say other parts are beautiful, too - and green, which is not something I’ve seen a whole lot of. Army bases always seem to be located in the blandest, brownest locales.

They have flown over mountains and seen shepherds camping on ledges with almost no provisions or equipment to speak of, just a cane and some goats, waving. Whole villages are likewise isolated, on the sides of slopes. I remember seeing some of those flying between FOBs, and the structures would always be situated adjacent to then-dry wadi (riverbeds), presumably making resources stretch during the many waterless months.

They talk about flying with a passion I envy - I really, really enjoy my job, but I don’t think I have as much fun as they do. They talk about buzzing compounds in Kabul and, when they have no passengers, taking some of the scarier routes through the mountain peaks and valleys.

We exchange cards, and they offer to ever help me out with flights if I need it, and I ask them to drop me a note next time they’re in Bagram and I’ll show them around some of the vehicles I work on.

STOL = Short Take-Off and Landing
FOB = Forward Operating Base

***

TRYING, FAILING TO MOVE

I've been trying (and, of course, failing) to get to Jalalabad for days. I routinely pack my bags, put on my body armor and kevlar (= helmet; both are required to fly on a military flight) and trudge up to the APOD for showtime after canceled or useless showtime.

I step into the APOD Friday morning when it's still dark out, hoping to get on a flight that ends up having far too few seats. Namely zero. When I emerge, exhausted but having accomplished nothing, the sun is out and there's a ruckus on Disney Drive. I hear music, a band. And a DJ. Then I see the banner and people running by in bright green hats.

My BDE is hosting a ST Patrick's Day run, and people have gotten up at 0600 to show their spirit, to do something (anything!) social. I chat for a few minutes with one of the ladies I know, watching some of my friends roll past, everyone seemingly having a good time despite how miserable people always look when they're running.

I don't even last long watching, standing there in my armor, sleep-deprived.

APOD = Arial Port of Debarkation
BDE = Brigade

HUDDLE UP AND RIDE ALONG

(WEEK OF 08-14 MARCH, 2009)

SUICIDE PREVENTION

It is a sad and unfortunate consequence of the current conflicts that suicides among servicemembers has been on the rise. Multiple deployments have taken a toll on young soldiers separated from their families, and the stress of a wartime environment alone is no small obstacle for many.

The Army recently released suicide numbers to the media for 2009, a metric it does not normally discuss until the end of a calendar year. But the Army is taking this seriously, and wants to highlight this internal danger to the health of our Armed Forces.

As soon as this subject made headlines, and the Army stated that it would take aims to address the problem immediately, we all knew there was training in our future. It didn't take long before the DACs and soldiers were ushered into a conference room (KTRs are immune to most, but not all, mandated training).

The training consists of interactive movies, worksheets, discussions among break-out groups, and a brief open forum. The movie is slick and modern, a stark contrast to the majority of the training I receive that was clearly made in the 1970s (the lapels and ties give them away). As a whole, it focuses on identifying the warning signs of mental distress in your buddies and emphasize that once you’ve identified a problem, you are not to leave that person until they’re sought help.You force them if you have to, but you don't leave them alone.

I have, thankfully, not worked with anyone in either theater that killed themselves (that I know of), though I’ve come close. A unit I worked very closely with in Iraq lost a soldier to his own hand a month or two after I left - someone I certainly worked with, though I never learned the name of the victim. Stories abound on every post, though, and the majority concern a soldier (or marine, sailor, airman) distraught over a failed relationship while deployed.

Mental well-being is tricky to gauge out here, because we’re all under an unusual type (and amount) of stress; we are separated from family, friends, the luxuries of home, we’re occasionally under attack, we’re cooped up, and we never, ever, get a day off. It is expected that we will all have down days, and we do. You never know what the guy next to you is dealing with back home, and one phone call from an upset wife or bad news about a loved one can exacerbate the feelings of isolation we all experience.

Furthermore, working alongside the same people for 12 hours a day, 7 days a week, will inevitably result in friction. I’m lucky to work with a good group of guys (and a girl), but they have each annoyed me at one point or another, and I know I’ve returned the favor. It's impossible not to.

All that said, some of us are better able to deal with it than others, whether by temperament or circumstance. Izzy and I recently ran some errands around post and pointed out every person that looks miserable - military and KTR alike, they lope along beaming dejection. It might be temporary, of course, but there are some wretched people whose countenance never changes.

I'm lucky in having to interact with relatively few such people, but they're around. They're around in the States, too.

DAC = Department of the Army Civilian (like me)

***

AMERICAN OUTSIDE THE WIRE

My friend Hali calls me out of the blue to see if I’m free for lunch. She’s on Bagram with a friend of hers, so I get a hold of Izzy and we meet them at the DFAC.

It’s interesting to have an Afghan friend, and she holds court with stories of her time in Iraq and her work here in Afghanistan. When one of us uses the word “Afghani” to describe a person, she is quick to educate us that the term is only used to describe the money - never for anything else; it's insulting. Izzy and I take note, and will go on to correct each other dozens of time in the ensuing months.

Hali’s friend is James, an American who owns a business that seems to have its hands in many pots. A young man, maybe mid-twenties, he has light brown hair and pale skin - he doesn’t look like a local. It surprises me, then, when he tells me that he lives in Kabul. Not on the US Military base in Kabul, but in the city.

He says there are many safe parts of the city, but certainly places you don’t want to go, alone or otherwise. He says he recently stopped running in a park near his house - it's just not safe anymore. Hali says Kabul is “like any cosmopolitan European city”, which I can only skeptically accept on face value.

James tells us of his work, how he employs locals to build furniture in one enterprise, but that it’s hard to get them to show up for work on time - cultural attitudes about work and time are very different here. It’s certainly to his credit to be involved in the community at that level, though, as it is obvious that what the country needs is more skilled workers, and more interaction with a progressive and modern industrial complex.

I know that he must be making an enormous amount of money, and when I ask him, he says “Well, something’s keeping me here. And it ain’t the women.” I keep coming back to the safety, though, and am even more surprised to learn that almost all of his travel around Afghanistan is done in a car. In the SUV he drove onto Bagram, in fact. Un-armored, no weapons, windows un-tinted.

He says he used to be able to drive down to Kandahar, but wouldn’t do that anymore - Hali interjects that too many of the bridges between here an there are controlled by the Taliban. He tells of one incident driving out to Jalalabad when he received small arms fire. He happened to be driving just ahead of a US military convoy, and so got caught up in that, but he says he simply drove faster and got out of harm’s way.

It seems an unnecessarily harrowing way to live, but also exciting, interesting, and productive.

We have a good lunch, and part ways with hugs and handshakes.

DFAC = Dining Facility

***

HUDDLE-UP

The mission I oversee in Afghanistan is not a big one - we’re at about 12 personnel all told. But we’re spread out, at 5 different FOBs, and some of the KTRs rarely see each other.

Eddie has the idea to bring everyone to Bagram at the same time, to develop some team unity, to disseminate information, and to make sure everyone’s on the same page. It sounds like a great idea, and I’m surprised that it works.

Travel within theater is notoriously difficult, and I had no expectation that everyone would get here at the same time. But they do, and on a Saturday morning we set up folding chairs and card tables we had to sign for at the MWR, and everyone meets and greets, like one big family. Their regional manager, someone I’ve worked with for a couple of years, even makes the trip in from Kuwait to give a short brief and answer questions from a higher level.

Eddie has a schedule, and has carved out an hour for me to talk to the guys. I discuss the larger context of their mission - what we back in the States do with the data they collect - something most of them have not been privy to in the past. I go on to talk about some of the things I do as a deployed analyst which have nothing to do with their mission, as my job as their government rep is not a full-time job.

I didn’t see anyone sleeping.

FOB = Forward Operating Base
MWR = Morale Welfare and Recreation

***

MY ROLE IN THE FAMILY

I’m part of the team, but not really one of them.

The KTRs I work with all wear hats with their company name on it. I wear an Army uniform. They are paid by their company, I’m paid by the Army. The KTRs have a chain of command, and I’m not in it. Not really.

As the government representative, I exist in a gray area. I do not have the power to fire anyone, but I am often asked for input on such decisions. I’m ultimately responsible to my unit for the execution of the mission in Afghanistan, but the KTRs are doing almost all of that work. I am not the boss, but their boss and I talk about almost everything. I am kept up-to-date, and problems are always run through me so that I can sign off on most courses of action. It’s a nice way for the KTRs to cover their asses, actually.

The part of my job overseeing the contract is more of a managerial position, but even then Izzy does most of that - he's responsible for all the paperwork. Maybe it’s more like being a consultant. A consultant who will get his ass chewed if he lets something bad happen under his watch.

I feel fairly well accepted; it’s hard not to be when you work so closely for so long with a group of people, and I believe they know I will look out for them as best I can. We laugh and tell jokes, and many of the KTRs I have no reservation calling my friends.

But there’s an edge to it as well. When we discuss certain topics, I see them hesitant to disagree too loudly with me, and I have no delusions that it’s because I’m always right. I am deferred to more often than I should be, and it makes me strive to be better.

Recently, I had a conversation with Mark, who’s one of the supervisors out here, and it raised some questions that I shot back to the home office, to include one of the KTRs I work with Stateside. When the emails started flying, Mark backed off of some of the things he told me, and I called him on it. He told me, understandably, that he doesn’t want to make waves. “Scared” is probably too strong a word, but he was definitely not comfortable. The guy I’d emailed back in the States, my KTR buddy from the home office, is Mark’s boss’s boss’s boss - but he’s not in my chain at all. To me, he's a guy I've had many, many beers with. To Mark, he's someone who can fire him.

I try to be mindful of the position my colleagues are in as KTRs, without the job security that I enjoy, and of my own status as not-their-boss but in some role of authority. It is a role I’m fairly used to, as I played this part in Iraq for 7 months in 2007 and have been here in Afghanistan as long, but I forget sometimes.

I haven’t screwed anything up too bad yet.

KTRs = Contractors

***

RIDE-ALONG

In the course of my job, I have occasion to climb on and around, in and under Army vehicles of all shapes and sizes. Sometimes I get to ride in them.

I’ve ridden in HMMWVs plenty, and every variant of the new MRAP. Generally the rides are short, just hitching a ride from A to B, and sometimes we’re taking a vehicle out for a test ride after installing equipment. Once, at NTC in FT IRWIN, CA, I rode in a HMMWV through ditches and over brush. We were tooling at a good clip just feet from the road - the driver wanted me to feel every bump.

After the meeting (or “huddle”, above), one of the KTRs I work with arranged for anyone who wanted to be able to ride-along in an ASV on the test-track they have for assessing new vehicles and training new operators. This being one of the few vehicles I’d not ridden in, I jumped at the opportunity, as did 3 others.

As with every military vehicle, the ASV is over-sized outside, and compact inside. You crawl in the side and squeeze into the front seats, not comfortable in the least until you’re sitting looking through the windshield. Once there, though, there’s a hatch above your head that opens, and your seat rises and lowers with a the use of a toggle switch. The driver, Earl, and I raised our seats so that our heads are popping out of the hatches, which is how you always see soldiers driving around in these things - looking like whack-a-moles. Until now, I always thought they were standing up inside.

Earl peels out and the vehicle bolts forward across the dusty plain. We bank and turn quickly, leaving a massive plume of sand and dirt in our wake. We go up and down the steep grades, into and out of gullies and ditches - I constantly think we’re going to get stuck, but Earl knows the capabilities of this machine, and the wheels keep turning and working us free of each obstacle.

I’m duly impressed. It was a fun ride, and the vehicle was much more agile in off-road conditions than I’d expected.

My buddies take rides in turn, until finally Heather hops in and her driver, Chris, goes off in unexpected directions at high speed, we assume, to impress her. He disappears behind a hillock and doesn’t emerge. We hear the engine racing and we trot down to see the ASV sunk into mud. The ground was dry at the upper layer, but thick and soggy beneath. My own boots sink a good several inches depending on where I step.

It gives Chris and Earl a chance to show off the towing capability of the ASV, as they use one to pull the other out of the muck. We give Chris a decent helping of grief over it, of course.

HMMWV = High Mobility Multipurpose Wheeled Vehicle
MRAP = Mine-Resistant Ambush-Protected (vehicle)
NTC = National Training Center
KTR = Contractor
ASV = Armored Security Vehicle

***

DOGS OF SPRING

The winter is starting to break, and we had a few days this week that were downright warm. My hooch is just over the wall from the local village, and there were dogs barking late into the night

I stupidly assumed they were pets, until it was pointed out to me that: (A) the people are far too poor to afford pets, and (B) this is the first time we’ve ever heard them.

So, wild dogs are roaming the area and for a couple of nights they wound up near the condo until they were chased away or killed by the locals.

THE BAD PART OF A BAD WEEK

(WEEK OF 01-07 MARCH 2009)


I don’t want to go into too much detail, for many reasons, but the incident recounted here is almost entirely responsible for my getting (far) behind in updating this blog.

I wear a lot of hats in theater, and the most visible is that of the government representative for a data collection mission in Afghanistan. This mission actually spans the globe, but I’m only responsible for overseeing activities here, in this theater. Generally, this is the easiest part of my job, because Izzy, Eddie, Mark, Vic, and the rest of the KTRs I work with take care of it. That’s their job, and they do it well.

Every once in a while, though, they need someone in uniform (i.e. me) to help deal with other people in uniform - it’s unfortunate, but KTRs are occasionally looked down upon and sometimes even resented by the military personnel they’re here to assist. Not always, but sometimes.

The data collection mission we take care of in Afghanistan also has personnel in Iraq, and Kuwait, and employees will occasionally move from one theater to another based on need or for a myriad of other reason. A couple of people have jobs that cover both regions and travel regularly between Iraq and Afghanistan, which must be an enormous pain in the ass. I’m glad I don’t have to do that.

We had one such employee, TJ, visit us from Iraq back in November for a few weeks, but I was never clear on his mission or value-added. I asked a lot of questions of him, and then ultimately of his bosses, and it came to pass that nobody could really justify his position - it sounds like he fit a need when the job was created, but that circumstances had changed. He was told not to re-enter Afghanistan without my first approving his mission and travel, and eventually he was told that his contract would not be renewed when it expired in May - which is not terribly uncommon.

TJ sent me an itinerary for travel into Afghanistan in January and after determining that we were already doing or didn’t need done the things he was proposing to do, I denied his request. No Afghanistan for you. He was, perhaps understandably, annoyed by this new restriction in his travel, we exchanged a few heated emails, and then we moved on. I thought no more of it.

So, it was surprising when Izzy saw TJ walking around Bagram this week.

What happened after that initial spotting is a week that Izzy and I will talk about for as long as we know each other. We twice channeled our inner bounty hunters to track him down on post, we engaged the MPs, we delivered to him a letter of termination, we changed the flights he signed up for and then restricted his destinations, we constantly monitored his movement, and we kept our respective chains of command updated on every tiny development.

The worst part, for me, was when my colleague in Iraq escalated this to his CDR, who then contacted my CDR. A problem we were handling internally suddenly became something I had to explain to everyone and their XO. My command Stateside was furious with this development, but understood I had nothing to do with it.

The crux of the problem was that TJ did not have permission to be here. In fact, he was on leave from his post in Iraq and had told his boss that he was going to Germany. Instead he came to war zone. You can perhaps imagine how the military frowns upon people coming onto active bases in Afghanistan without permission.

It was a big deal, and our sole job during this week became getting TJ out of Afghanistan. I didn’t even care where he went, as long as he was out of my AO.

He eventually left Bagram, which we learned just prior to asking the MPs to pick him up and detain him. We tracked his movement through Qatar and into Kuwait, where MPs relieved him of his military ID so that he could not take a military flight from there - we were told he had signed up for a ride into Iraq - at which point he called his boss and played dumb. He claimed never to have seen or spoken to us in Afghanistan, but didn’t deny that he came here.

The only explanation we could think of for why he came is that he was looking for a job. He knew he wasn’t going to be renewed on his current contract, and the US military presence in Iraq is shrinking just as our numbers grow in Afghanistan.

I understand his desire to stay employed, I do, but he went about this entirely the wrong way, and he got caught. He had orders allowing his travel into both theaters, but not the permission of the people who gave him those orders - he screwed up, and for a few days he became my and Izzy’s problem.

He was fired, of course, and the company that fired him paid for his ticket to the States where he became his own problem.

KTRs = Contractors
MP = Military Police
CDR = Commander
XO = Executive Officer
AO = Area of Operations

THE GOOD PARTS OF A BAD WEEK

(WEEK OF 01-07 MARCH 2009)

OLD FRIEND

I hear that Eli is back.

Eli was the KTR lead in Afghanistan when I arrived back in August, but left shortly thereafter, was replaced by Alex, who was let go in December and was replaced by Izzy (who, we joke, has survived so far).

Eli had mentioned before he left that he’d probably be back, and actually I expected him back sooner than this, but time gets away from you out here and I guess I hadn’t realized just how much time had passed. I had heard he’d taken a job with another contracting company, but the company he’s returned with is not the one I’d heard about.

It’s common for contractors to jump around from job to job, and for companies to steal employees from one another. An approved slot in theater is a very valuable commodity for a company, but only if it can fill that slot with someone qualified and thereby charge the military for it. Companies hate leaving approved slots open for long, for every day it’s unfilled is lost revenue.

Eli is only in Bagram passing through to Kandahar where he’ll be working full time. Izzy and I walk up to the APOD to look for him, and I find him in the back where you wait after you’ve been manifested on the flight and you’re just waiting to board. They call it “Gate 1”, though it is in fact the only gate.

I sit and chat with him, catch up on his family and his new job, and relate some of what’s happened since he left. I have trouble with the latter, as in many ways it seems like he just left, and my daily life changes so little from week to week or even month to month. We talk about some of the guys who he worked with before he left and how they’re doing, and we make plans to keep in touch and to make sure we get together whenever we’re on the same post.

It’s nice to see a familiar face, and Eli is in fact the person in country I’ve known the longest, having met him last March (2008) when I visited Afghanistan for the first time.

The person I’ve known the longest in this country, I’ve known less than a year.

KTR = Contractor
BDE = Brigade

***

NEW FRIEND (WHETHER HE LIKES IT OR NOT)

We got new blood.

It’s definitely something you get used to working overseas: the constant turnover. Whether KTR, military, or civilian, all of the people you work with and meet are only here temporarily. Many do 6-month tours, which means you’ve barely gotten to know them by the time they’re getting ready to leave.

The KTRs generally do 1-year tours, though many extend for another year; the money’s good and if they’re enjoying the work they’ll stick around. KTRs receive a tax break if they spend 330 days in theater, so they rarely do less than a year and if they do more, it’s usually a whole second year.

Mark arrived this week and is a plus-up for us, a new employee not replacing anyone. He seems exceedingly friendly, which I am glad for. In addition to his Army aviation experience, Mark has caddied at a pro golf course for years and has anecdotes about the famous people he’s worked with. He caddied for Jerry Rice and my childhood hero, Bo Jackson, so I’m immediately impressed and jealous.

The KTRs and I work very closely together, and I will see Mark every day, for several hours, with the exception of when I’m traveling. It pays for us to get along, and it appears that it will be easy with him.

His arrival also continues the growth of our footprint in theater, and it’s becoming a little more like my experience in Iraq, where we had a sizeable crew. I like it.

KTR = Contractor

***

EVEN NEWER FRIEND

Most of the new people in my life I meet at the chow hall.

As crowded as it is, I try to eat just before it closes, and I end up eating with the workers after they finish their shifts. I can’t always wait until that time, though, because of meetings and other responsibilities. When I eat at any other time, I end up sharing a table with strangers, and often we talk. Sometimes I even want to.

This week I sat down at the first empty chair I could find, which was across the table from an empty seat, but with a meal tray and drink pre-positioned. A few moments after I sat down, and just as I had produced my book, a woman in civilian clothes sits down across from me.

I politely greet her, but start reading. That lasts a few seconds, but soon we’re chatting away like old friends. My new friend’s name is Hali (like “Holly”), she’s an Afghan, and she’s fascinating. In her mid- forties (I’m guessing), Hali was born in Afghanistan to parents who had met while both were studying in England.

Her parents were both activists, and she spent her youth “vacationing” around Southwest Asia learning about the region; the history, politics, and culture. Often imprisoned or under threat, her parents instilled in her a strong sense of social responsibility. Though attending school in Europe, she returned to Afghanistan to fight on the front lines against the Russians during the Soviet-Afghan War.

Following the end of that conflict, she lived in Europe, Afghanistan, and the States teaching and becoming more involved in human rights and conflict resolution with various NGOs. When the war in Iraq flared up, she deployed with the Marines to work with locals.

Though she lived off-base with the locals in Iraq, she tells only one harrowing tale. Stranded on the side of a road with her driver (her car had been disabled by US soldiers, with bullets) she and her driver were apprehended by Al-Qaeda for several hours before they were able to escape and run away.

She told me that story and was clearly frustrated with the US Soldiers. Not for disabling her car - that happens a lot - but for leaving her there.

She came home to Afghanistan a year or so ago and lives “on the economy”, renting a house in the capital city of Kabul. She claims it’s safe, if you know where to go and where not to go, claiming even that much of it is like any metropolitan European city. I express my doubts.

We have a great lunch and then I offer to help her find her friend’s office so she can drop off some luggage prior to a trip to Kandahar. We fail in finding him, so I offer to store her bags in my room.

I call Izzy to pick us up and the two of them hit it off. By the time we’ve moved some of her bags into my room and dropped her off at the DVQ, she’s telling us both to call her “Aunt Hali”.

She was one of the more interesting meal-friends I’ve made, and probably one I’ll keep in touch with as well.

NGO = Non-Government Organization
DVQ = Distinguished Visitor’s Quarters (which is simply a wooden hut with tiny, plywood-demarcated rooms barely large enough to hold a bed)

***

BIRDS!

Eddie was on a C-130 taking off from an outlying FOB trying to return to Bagram that hit a flock of birds just as it was lifting off. It immediately came back to Earth, jostling everyone aboard, and the plane was then quickly evacuated as smoke billowed from the engines.

Nothing like that has ever happened to me, Mom.

FOB = Forward Operating Base

***

MILESTONE

Everyone has a countdown. I have 3.

The first is the time to my R&R, wherein I count down the days between my arrival and the time I get to have a beer, and see my family and friends (in that order). On that countdown, I passed the 2/3 mark this week.

The other two are less encouraging, counting down the time between my arrival and two possible pull-out dates in 2010. I try not to look at them too much.

R&R = Rest & Recuperation (or sometimes Rest & Relaxation)

***

THE RODEO COMES TO AFGHANISTAN

I first meet them walking home from the APOD with Izzy.

We suddenly find ourselves amongst a gaggle of civilians: a few guys with cowboy hats on, and a girl with a bright pink jacket, big sunglasses, and wearing enough makeup for all of them. Without looking too closely, I assume the girl is one of the Russian workers who come in for KBR; they’re always dressed up far too much for a military base in Afghanistan, and we always assume they’re on the prowl for an American husband.

Izzy and I are chatting away and I realize I’m swearing up a storm when the fashion queen shoots me a surprised look. It’s definitely a bad habit I pick up when I’m in theater, because most of the soldiers swear a lot and I slip right into it. I’m usually pretty good about controlling it in the right context, but I clearly failed here.

I realize these people are probably the Pro-Rodeo riders we’ve seen the flyers for. I ask them when the show is and one of the guys says “Well, it’s not really a show, but we’ll be at the MWR tomorrow night”.

I thank them for coming, they thank me for being here, and we part ways at the intersection.

Izzy and I plan to go to the Rodeo show the next night...

We head over to the MWR tent just after dinner. It’s far too warm, of course, but we stand around for a while as a few of the visitors walk around and shake hands. There are five of them, 2 women and 3 men: professional cowboys and cowgirls.

Before the meet & greet really gets going, one of the cowgirls sings the national anthem while we stand at attention – she tells us she wanted to sing it for herself, so that she could say she did that out here.

Eventually they all stand up front, pass a microphone around, tell a little about themselves, relate stories from the clips of their careers showing on a screen behind them, and answer a few questions.

They’re all very appreciative of the men and women in the armed forces, and I’m always moved by hearing that unconcealed respect for what our guys and gals in uniform are doing out here. One of the cowgirls, Ms. Liz Pinkston, only starts to speak briefly before having to stop – she’s choked up by being here.

One of the questions they answer is whether any of them has ever “mutton busted”, something I’ve never heard of. Apparently it’s what you do with really little kids, sort of to train them early for rodeo riding, but perhaps more just to amuse the adults – you put them on a sheep and tell them to hang on for dear life.

Ms. Jimmy Kay Davis refers to it as “organized child abuse” and says that when people on ranches get bored they “put a helmet and pads on a kid and strap ‘em to a farm animal”.

The cowboys and cowgirls also answer questions about injuries, and most have pretty brutal stories about being thrown and trampled, and several are walking around with screws littering their bodies.

They lament that they don’t have any cattle to get on out here, and I suggest we could wrangle them up a camel or two. The soldiers around me nod approvingly to my idea, but nobody bites. .

After the Q&A, we line up to walk through and shake hands, get signatures on a sheet they provide with pictures and bios, and chat them up. I’ve never been to a rodeo and doubt I could name a rider on demand, but based on their accomplishments it seems we got a good crew to come visit us. They are Mr. Tater Porter, Mr. Jessy Davis, Mr. Dan Mortensen, Ms. Jimmy Kay Davis, and Ms. Liz Pinkston.

They’re all really nice, and happy to be here. I take the opportunity to apologize for swearing a bit much when I saw Ms. Pinkston yesterday and it takes her a moment to remember the incident before she laughs it off.

Izzy and I walk back to the condo, agreeing that it’s good of these guys to come out. When we mention how appreciative they are, we admit we know it’s really for the guys and gals who are rolling out on mission, being shot at by the enemy and returning fire.

Izzy and I are proud of our jobs out here, we’re cogs in the machine, but these sorts of things aren’t really about us – and, ultimately, we’re here for those soldiers in harm’s way, too.

DFAC = Dining Facility
MWR = Morale, Welfare & Recreation

GUESS WHO'S COMING TO DINNER - AGAIN

(WEEK OF 25-28FEBRUARY 2009)

GUESS WHO’S COMING TO DINNER - AGAIN

We have another VIP visit, and associated dinner, this week.

AMC (my MACOM) changed leadership in November, and the new CG, a 4-star General, is coming through for a site visit and high-level meetings. She also works in time for the perfunctory meal with the staff followed by a short speech and Q&A.

It’s always fun to see a general officer, and the more stars the better so long as you’re not asked to brief them. I briefed the former CG once and it was made very clear to me beforehand that I’d better be completely squared away - I hadn’t actually needed that advice, as I’d seen him tear into some guys before. I practiced my brief for hours beforehand and it went well.

This time all I’m asked to do is eat and listen. I am among the world’s best at those two things.

The dinner is held in a room off the side of the main dining room at the DFAC, and the food is the same as it always is for these events: steak, macaroni and cheese, green beans, mashed potatoes, bread, salad.

The visiting contingent is actually quite a bit larger than usual, with the CG bringing a BG (1-star), an MG (2-star), her CSM, and an acting Assistant Secretary of the Army (a post which is normally a presidential appointment though was not in this case, thus the “acting”).

The dinner goes off without incident, and it’s interesting to hear the ASA and CG speak about their experiences in Afghanistan - what strikes them as needing work, etc. The ASA answers some logistical questions about moving equipment through Pakistan (often hairy) and there are the common and expected questions about housing - there is never enough housing.

After the Q&A, a select few of the BDE staff are presented awards for their service in country as they prepare to return home. Generally the BDE CDR will pin the medals, but they try to take advantage of the CG’s presence and she’s obviously amenable to taking part in the ceremony.

A brief statement is read with everyone standing at attention, and the CG pins a medal on the lapel of the honoree. A handshake with each of the CG and ASA complete the ceremony, and then the honored says a few words of appreciation.

The crowd dissipates fairly quickly after the awards, though the CG and ASA stick around for a few minutes to take pictures with some of the pack. I’m chatting with a colleague near the back of the room when the CG comes by to pick up her cover. She smiles at me and we shake hands.

“Thanks for your service,” she says.

“Thank YOU, ma’am.”

AMC = Army Materiel Command
MACOM = Major Command
CG = Commanding General
DFAC = Dining Facility
BG = Brigadier General
MG = Major General
CSM = Command Sergeant Major
BDE CDR = Brigade Commander

***

TRAILBLAZERS

One of the persons receiving an award for service well done, just prior to her redeployment* is my friend and colleague Dianne.

Dianne has always been one of the more squared-away persons I work with at the BDE, and iss helpful and friendly to boot. I have a chance to catch up with her after the dinner and she indicates that it is a particular honor to be presented her civilian service award by GEN Dunwoody, our CG.

The reason for this is that GEN Dunwoody, in addition to being our CG, was the first woman to reach the rank of 4-Star General (or equivalent) in any branch of the US military - an advancement rightly earned by all accounts. It was a big deal when she pinned on the 4th star last November, and it made it more of an honor to meet her, listen to her speak, and to shake her hand.

My friend Ken, a SFC, was serving at FT BELVOIR, VA, last November when she was promoted, and was asked to be a security escort during the ceremony - one of a large team. Aware of the historicity of the event, he gladly served, and also asked his wife to bring their two young daughters.

Dianne is genuinely moved by the experience, and tells me a little about her own experiences in the military. I hadn’t known that Dianne served, but not only had she been an officer, she went to West Point in 1976 as a member of the first class to admit women cadets.

We unfortunately don’t get a chance to speak at length about her experiences during that time, but I am duly impressed. It seems even more appropriate, now, that she had the opportunity to meet and be honored by another trailblazer, and put into perspective for me the strides that have been made by and for women in the military.

Not that we’re done advancing, of course.

BDE = Brigade
CG = Commanding General
SFC = Sergeant First Class

* Redeployment = going home. It sounds more like you’re deploying again, and for this reasonI have long argued for the use of “undeploying” but it hasn’t caught on.

***

HE CALLS HIMSELF “A RELIC”

Though I didn’t get a chance to speak to him (aside from a “Hi, how are you?” - “Good, sir”) the AMC CSM, CSM Mellinger, is actually the last active duty draftee in the US military.

Drafted in 1972 during the Nixon administration for service during the Vietnam War, CSM Mellinger is still serving after almost 27 years and is the highest-ranking NCO in my command.

AMC = Army Materiel Command
CSM = Command Sergeant Major
NCO = Non-Commissioned Officer

***

YOU THINK I’M SOMEONE ELSE, DON’T YOU?

I’m certain this COL has me confused with someone else.

I see him once a week at a VTC held at the BDE, and occasionally out and about the post. Every time I see him, he gets a big smile and shakes my hand, pats me on the back, and animatedly asks how I am. I respond in kind, but with a fair amount of confusion tinging the whole experience from my end.

I thought at first that he’s just a very friendly guy, and by all appearances he does seem particularly nice, especially for an O-6. But I can be sitting in a row of people, all of whom he sees as often as he sees me, and he picks me out to greet, happily.

A few months ago I had a request from home that I chased up a chain to a MAJ who stonewalled me. She was downright rude, and refused to help, which baffled me because I wasn’t asking for much. This MAJ ultimately worked for the abovementioned COL (though there are some folks in between), and I considered going over her head to him for help.

I worried about that, though, because I was afraid if I actually explained what it is I do, he’d realize I’m not whoever he thinks I am. It’s not that I wanted the attention, but I was afraid it would embarrass him, and therefore me, when it dawned on him that I hadn’t said anything earlier.

Luckily, the request was pulled back from the home office and I walked away from the problem, letting the MAJ think she won (which rankled me).

Before the 4-star dinner, I see this COL and he walks by me, smiling. I have grown a beard and probably need to trim it up; the COL actually pulls on my beard for a second and says “Gettin’ pretty scruffy!” and keeps walking.

I can only imagine he has me confused with someone else.

COL = Colonel
VTC = Video Teleconference
BDE = Brigade
O-6 = the rank of COL in Army
MAJ = Major

A DENTIST AND THE MOUNTAINS

(24FEB2009)

I have taken far too many pictures of the mountains.

I grew up on an island and perhaps over many years at and around the beach I eventually came to take them for granted. When I commuted to college I drove over one of the most picturesque bridges every single day, twice, and at some point maybe it stopped taking my breath away.

Having moved away from Rhode Island several years ago and returning maybe once a year, the majesty of the ocean has returned and I am moved by the many views my hometown has to offer – I always take some time to drive around the island, and I have my favorite spots to catch a view, to get my fill.

I have apparently not been in Afghanistan long enough to be lulled by the mountains.

Every time I walk out of my front door, my eyes turn to the mountains – is it clear today? Are they snow-capped? More or less snow than yesterday? Are there clouds lollygagging around the peaks? Is the sun almost sneaking behind them?

When I drive from one side of post to the other (almost daily, and often more than once daily), I have my camera out to catch a picture of an ascending plane against the mountains in the background or a unique view of the sun or the clouds on the mountains. I believe I’ve taken almost every picture that could be taken, but I can’t stop. The mountains still awe me.

Today I walk out of my room, see that it’s a clear day, and see that I’m not the only one who sees it. A soldier is standing up on the bunker outside my door, taking pictures of the peaks. I’ve done that.

He climbs down after a few minutes and asks me if I know what mountains these are – “The Hindu Kush”, I tell him. He tells me he’s new in country, just arrived yesterday, and that he’s blown away by the view. We chat for a few minutes; he’s a dentist and I have teeth, so that’s a subject. He’s doing a short tour – just four months. I’d be home now if that were my length of deployment.

He asks me about the post, and I feel like an old-timer, a veteran of Bagram Air Field, because I know my way around and can give directions to the 4 places anyone would ever want to go.

He thanks me for my time, and I send him on his way with “Welcome to Afghanistan.”

WASTED TIME?

(23FEB2009)

I often go to lunch late, which affords me a table to myself and time to read.

I’m reading and munching, reading and drinking today when a gaggle of soldiers sits down at the next table and begins horsing around and talking loudly. From the snippets of their conversation I hear, it’s obvious that they’re new in country.

The first thing I think is that I don’t remember what it’s like to be new in country. I’ve been here just shy of 6 months now, which is a good chunk of time – more than some deployments in their entirety.

They start talking about what they brought with them. One mentions he has a guitar that he plans to learn while he’s here, and another says he brought a harmonica. It is not, I’m sure, that they won’t be busy with their jobs here – almost everyone is – but there is always downtime, and they’re smart, I think, to make good use of it.

I always deploy with grand thoughts of what I’ll do with my spare hours – I’ll write or learn a foreign language, I’ll take classes online or workout more. I never do them, though, or at least never to the extent that I planned when I was still in the States.

It’s like being in prison, I think. If you’ve got to be there, you might as well make use of the time as best you can. I work, a lot, but I do have free time. I write this blog, though not nearly as much as I should, and I workout, though again not nearly as much as I should.

I think sometimes that I’m just doing my time, but I don’t want to just survive this (though that is the bare minimum for a successful deployment). I certainly have learned a lot, and of course I have a job I’m proud of and which is important, but there’s always something more I could be doing, something more I could take home with me.

I’m spending an awful lot of time out here in the Middle East, and am sacrificing a lot more than just time to be here. I should strive to make the most of the opportunity presented me, away from all the distractions of home.

I’m going to ask for a piano in my next care package.