Third Time's A Charm!

Why we are here...

2008-05-27T00:06:00.006-05:00

There was nothing I wanted to do more than to somehow be involved again in a humanitarian effort here in Afghanistan. I was involved some with TAO Project (http://www.taoproject.org/) and more recently, I was able to participate in a humanitarian program we have locally here in Kabul.

Having been a part of similar programs in past deployments, I was excited to get to do this again, if time allowed. Things have been so hectic throughout this deployment that I began to wonder if I was going to miss my opportunity, but finally a few days ago, I was able to get approval from my commander to travel with a local group and hand out humanitarian goods to a Koocha Camp on the outskirts of Kabul.

A Koocha Camp is an area comprised mainly of refugees, or desert nomads, who have migrated to the city to find work and earn a living for their family. The many families that comprise a Koocha Camp are former desert dwellers in some cases, shepherds, migrants, and a variety of other backgrounds. They usually converge onto a small, unclaimed, and substandard – even by Afghan standards – area of Kabul to try to make a life for themselves and their families.

This area we traveled to was no different. Set upon the side of a steep hill, they all lived in ceiling-less mud huts, or bombed out shelters that barely protected them from the harsh elements outside. Many of the walls were even constructed of sewn-together burlap sacks to cover the portions of the walls that were lying in rubble on the ground nearby. Raw sewage trickled down in a centrally located stream down a narrow walk-way and eventually ended up on the road down below. It reeked.

As soon as we pulled up we circled the vehicles as best we could in chuck wagon fashion, allowing a protective cover and a quick exit should things get out of hand. But we were here, and the refugee camp was more than ready for us. As soon as the vehicles stopped, a large crowd gathered around, barely allowing us enough room to squeeze out of them. Some quickly tried to draw the crowd toward an open area nearby as our Force Protection team simultaneously took their positions to set up perimeter security. The logistics of the trip were done. Now we were ready.

The first thing I remember was all the kids running up to each and every one of us, as if taking bets on who had the goods. Was it me? Was it Roger?... Charlie?... Gary?... Consequently, Charlie and Roger had never had the privilege of helping on a humanitarian mission such as this before, so the initial shock of 20 or so kids hanging off of them with every step was evident on their face. As for me, I welcomed it and recalled the previous humanitarian missions I’d been on in past deployments. These kids just wanted some attention and whatever we could give them. Since the humanitarian items were not yet unloaded, I took the crowd of kids I had with me and began to clap hands and play with them. Soon, I began a countdown of 3….2….1….. TAG! And then would take off running. It was a simple exchange that they quickly understood and soon took chase. They loved it. I would run…. They would catch me…. Then we‘d count down again. Pretty soon, they were picking up on the English-spoken countdown, and they‘d repeat after me, "Tr-r-r-ree… toooo…. Waaan!! TAG!!!"… and off I’d go again. It wasn’t too long before the running with 50 lbs of armor, weapon and gear wore heavily on me in the 90+ degree heat, so I began to play another game with them – thumb wrestling. I took refuge in the shade of a nearby mud wall and sat down. The 8-10 year old boys of the tribe loved this game. They’re no different than most boys that age… very competitive and very impatient. I explained in "motions" as best I could how thumb-wrestling was supposed work to those inquiring faces who knew no English. I took and demonstrated to each one "the grasp", then I held each child’s thumb with my other hand to show the 3-2-1 countdown before the wrestling begins. It was funny to watch this as some did not understand the alternating thumbs during the 3-2-1 countdown and immediately wanted to begin wrestling without waiting. Consequently, because of the jump start they got, the kids thought the boy or girl had won and they’d all cheer for them. Most times, I let them win anyway… I’d put up a good struggle… grimace and groan…. Act like I was juuuuuust about to best them, and then with a final grunt, they’d win.

Others in our group were organizing games with the kids. A couple females with our group formed a circle with the kids and played Ring Around The Rosie, London Bridges, and Duck Duck Goose. What a magnificent site to see those kids twirling around in that big circle… the smiles on their faces… and utter joy when they’d catch the person they were chasing.

I’d be remiss if I didn’t make mention of a small group from New Knoxville, Ohio. They had adopted me as their point of contact for sending donations for these kids and had sent me a few hundred beanie babies, knitted items (from their "Busy Needles" group), and other humanitarian supplies. Most of those items were sorted, and packaged into Ziploc bags for distribution to the families on this trip, but I held back a few to hand out personally. I have to send out a huge thank you to Norma (pictured) and her crew from "Operation New Knoxville Cares" for having the faith to trust this tired soldier with their many donations. Your congregation’s tireless effort from the First United Church of Christ did not go unappreciated nor was it wasted. To Norma: I am humbled by your enthusiasm and by your faith. You have strengthened my faith that good people do exist in this world, and you have also touched the lives of hundreds of impoverished Afghan children. Bless you.

At the Koocha Camp, each child was so cute and loving in their own way. Some were quiet and composed, others were boisterous and proud, but every one of them touched my heart in some way. One little girl just loved the camera and kept coming up to me and the guys and motioning with her hands held close to her face the "picture click" so we could take her picture. (pictured left) Lots of preteen boys would stand arm in arm, looking tough, wanting me to take their "tough guy" photo. Others just seemed to want "me" and whatever I could offer them - love, attention, fun, stuff. There were so many I wished I could’ve taken home with me and adopted. My heart ached for some of them; a 6-year-old girl holding her baby sister in her arms; and others with weathered-beyond-their-years faces and chapped lips – all of which I’m sure had their own heartbreaking story to tell. But through all the dirty, malnourished faces, the tattered clothes, and growling stomachs, they were still just kids, and they wanted someone to play with them like kids do. So I did.

In the end, lives were changed, hearts were touched (theirs AND mine), and the world made sense again. After three tours to the Middle East – being torn away from family, witnessing unspeakable sights, and even becoming jaded occasionally about our presence here – it is always humbling to be a part of something like this - something bigger than yourself - and get that proverbial slap in the face that says, "Wake up! You ARE doing some good here!" It’s days like this that remind us why we are here.

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40 – Reflections

2008-05-22T11:00:00.002-05:00

It’s probably not surprising that I have been feeling particularly reflective or melancholic these past couple months, but turning 40 recently certainly has given me cause to reflect. Many of you have asked how I feel now that I’ve reached this milestone and even my kids make a lot of hubbub over it. Well, here goes nothing.

I was born March 5th, 1968 at 5:20am at Home Hospital in Lafayette, Indiana. The life lived since has been an incredible journey filled with marvelous experiences, a few life-threatening incidents, and one heartbreaking event more painful than death itself. But all of them have, for better or for worse, made me who I am.

I think turning 40 puts me at that age when my perspective sharpens quite drastically. At 40 you’re at the peak – you can see the other side and your fate. But you can also see and vividly remember where you’ve come from. There will be no other time in my life quite like this one. This is the convergence of my past, my present, and the people and elements I imagine will play a major part in my future.If you could only imagine how strange and funny and exhilarating it is to be sitting here in Afghanistan again, laughing and reminiscing on my life. I mean think about it…. What would I even consider normal anymore? Everything has changed! I am outside of my comfortable life as I know it back home, I am physically and mentally exhausted most days, and I am weighed down with incredible responsibilities. I also have my recent divorce just to make things interesting. You would think I would have enough reason to look back on my last 40 years and complain.

But I can’t.

I accept responsibility for my past mistakes, and I ask God daily to give me guidance on the way He would have me go. And looking beyond myself, I also wake up every day here witnessing firsthand how poor and destitute the average Afghan citizen lives. I have also seen it in Iraq. For all of them, every day is fraught with fear… fear of the last remnants of the Taliban, or Al Qaida, who still give no value to human life and will easily steal it from them just to make a political point. I have seen the kids of the refugee camps, clinging to their prized possession – a wadded up plastic bag encircled with rubber bands to form a ball they can play with. I have seen the smiles on their faces when I give them a beanie baby, or a soccer ball, or even something as simple as a pencil or pen. I have seen the blown up remnants of old buildings – windowless, dirty, filled with raw sewage, open to the harsh elements – that many Afghans and Iraqis call home. So how can I complain about turning 40? How can I complain about “anything?!” If turning 40 has done anything for me, it has made me realize the blessings I have been afforded in my young life and to stop complaining about trivial things like the pizza that arrived late, or the car that cut me off on the freeway. My experiences have certainly given me ample opportunity to appreciate all those things. Heck, three war-time deployments to the Middle East will give anyone MORE than a healthy dose of perspective. Secretly, I wish that everyone could see what I’ve seen to understand how fortunate they are to be living in the United States.

Last night Bixby, Gary, Charlie and I sat in my room and reminisced about past deployments, recalled harrowing experiences, and laughed until we cried at the funny stories that inevitably come out of deployments like this. I needed that so much, and I am here to tell you, it was therapeutic; I haven’t laughed like that in a long time. Those are the stories that only those who have “been there” can tell - and understand. But I realized what a great friend I have in each one of them, and many others. It’s been said that if you have five friends that you can count on for anything - anything in the world - that you’ve lived a full life. As I look back on my last 40 years I realize I am easily above my quota. Those friends – military and civilian - have always been there, and thankfully, will be a part of my future.

So here I am, standing at the peak, looking forward and back. There's a lot to treasure, to appreciate, to savor, whichever way I look - sure, there's some crud, too, but you don't get to this point without being forged in the fire a few times - and look what that does to steel. I have to wonder, are 50 and 60-year olds reading this and saying to themselves, “What’s the big deal?”… 40’s a piece of cake!

Soon, I will be headed home, and friends old and new, family of birth and of love, are gathering to greet my arrival back home to my - dare I say it? - “normal” life again. I will wake up every morning realizing what a gift these last 40 years have been, living in the greatest nation on the planet. Until you’ve truly awakened in the morning and wondered if that day would be your last, you’ll never fully appreciate it.

And what of the next 40 years?... Well……. I think they’re going to be great!

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Baja 1000 - Part two...

2008-05-12T13:47:00.012-05:00

Never take for granted the ease in which you are able to hop in your car and run down to the local WalMart for household items or clothes, or how easily you can access a doctor, or conduct your financial affairs at the local bank, because all of these things –to us – require the proverbial 90-minute convoy to Bagram Air Field. And as predicted, the more convoys I participated in and the longer I spent “outside the wire”, my odds of returning safely without incident were beginning to worsen.

Last week I went on another convoy to Bagram. Again, I was convoy commander in what we lovingly refer to as a “two ship” (a nod to how we reference two aircraft on a CAS* mission), meaning we had two trucks with 5 guys between them both inside. The morning of the convoy I was uneasy, even secretly saying to myself, “Do I really want to go on this one today?... Is there any other way we can get these tasks completed without going to Bagram?”….. Much to my chagrin, I already knew the answers… and they were an obvious “No!” to both, and I had no choice. We had official business there that had to be done locally, I had to see a physician about my broken finger again, we had to take our Chief to a meeting as well, and it would take all day to accomplish all that we had on our plate. That was that. We were going.

When I went to sign out the first vehicle from the garage, they gave me the usual “parade list”, as they call it, which is the 50-some item inspection list of maintenance items to check as “functional” before taking possession of the vehicle. I noticed right away that they had given me a vehicle number that I had just driven around Kabul two days prior, and at that time was leaking antifreeze profusely. Luckily, we had returned safely from that trip after puking most of it on the ground, and as such, reported it on the mandatory second parade list. I didn’t want anyone else getting stranded with this vehicle. So when I received the keys to this vehicle again I was instantly weary of it… but no matter – I would thoroughly check it out as I always do. Pop the hood… Remove the radiator cap… Yep! No antifreeze. Not “low” antifreeze…. “NO” antifreeze! I quickly turned right around, handed the keys back to them, scolded them for ignoring my inspection sheet, and promptly got a set of keys to another vehicle to replace it. Both vehicles checked out ok. Crisis averted.

So I thought…

We were soon underway just as the sun came up that morning, admiring the sunrise over the mountains, laughing over funny stories, surprisingly nonchalant about the threat around us, but not to the point of being complacent. The trip was about as usual as we’d experienced before. We had the usual hiccups throughout the route – an ANA* truck swerved out in front of me, making me swerve over to the left side of the road, almost hitting an Afghan man walking down the road in the middle of the desert. I honestly don’t know how our trucks didn’t sideswipe each other! – heck, maybe we did and I just didn’t notice! Either way, I was NOT going to hit that man at 75mph! The roads were particularly rough from the spring thaw and there were lots of new potholes we were swerving around. Unfortunately, there was one that didn’t get away.

With about 10 miles left on the trip, we hit the Mother of all potholes. WHAM!!!! As the lead vehicle, I hit it first and it sent me airborne. When I came down, the truck was listing to the left…. I thought I had a flat… I talked to the Chief next to me, trying to assess our situation, still not sure what happened to my truck. Then at that same moment, we got a call over the radio from Seth and Alex behind us – “One, this is two, we’ve got a flat tire!”… I look back in my rear view, and sure enough I see them listing to the driver’s side just like I am. Ugh. Before I get too much further into the story, I will quickly explain that we work with the Counter IED* team at ISAF and we know where the “hot spots” for IED’s are, and we were soon approaching it, if not already in the middle of it. Stopping to change a tire is not an option. I called back on the radio and asked them how the truck was handling. They called back and said it was fish-tailing, but otherwise ok. I slowed our speed considerably because while I wasn’t sure what had happened yet to my own vehicle, I knew I was having to man-handle it more than before – and something was banging and rattling very loudly from my left front. We spent the next couple miles talking back and forth on the radio, assessing our situations. It was clear that while we were somewhat crippled, we were still mobile and able to make it on our run-flat’s (Three cheers for run-flats!) until we got to Bagram inside the secure area. Once there we would get out and take a look.

In what seemed like an eternity, we did finally reach Bagram. We breathed a collective sigh of relief, parked the trucks, got out and looked at the damage. Vehicle #2 did indeed have a flat left rear tire. But more than that, something was broken in their left rear suspension. Looking at my own vehicle, my tire was not flat, but something had also broken in my front left suspension as my truck was still listing to the left.

The next couple of hours were spent crawling underneath vehicle #2 in the razor sharp rocks to change the flat tire. We struggled with an inadequate jack that would not lift high enough, an extremely short tire iron that didn't provide enough leverage, and 90+ degree temperatures in the sun. But in short order, the tire was fixed and we went about our business. Later in the day, as we gathered at the rally point to start the trek back to ISAF* here, we checked over each truck and determined that the spare tire was on tight, and the suspensions, while broken, would still make the trip back. So off we went, albeit much slower this time around.

An hour and a half later, while just entering another “hot spot” just on the outskirts of Kabul, it happened. A T-section was coming up, with many cars blocking traffic to a stand-still. The text-book tactical move to avoid a dangerous choke point like that is to go off road to the side and then meet back up on the road we were turning to the right on. It was a dust storm for vehicle #2 behind us, causing all visibility to be lost, and it was one big hole after another, launching us into the air several times through the rough path, but I successfully made the transition back on the road heading right. Just as I looked into my rearview to make sure Seth & Alex were still right behind me, the fateful call came over the radio. “Uhh, one, this is two, I think we have another flat tire!” I was already looking in the mirror and noticed something was noticeably wrong this time. The truck was listing in a 45-degree angle. This was more than a flat tire. “Two, this is one, we’ll keep moving but I’ll slow down and you pull up beside me so we can get a visual of your vehicle.” “Roger… pulling up.” As Alex pulled the truck alongside the passenger side of my truck, the Chief took one look at their truck and was seen exclaiming “Oooohhhhh [expletive]!!!” Alex and Seth still didn’t know what was wrong with their vehicle but it was evident from the Chief’s reaction that things were not good. I called out, “Ok guys… I’m pulling up to a clearing here and we’ll have to stop. I’ll jump out and run back to you. STAY IN THE VEHICLE!”

We parked; I exited the vehicle and ran back to them. And in a classic move that I’ll never forget as long as I live, both Seth and Alex open their doors and lean their heads out and yell out to me, “So is it flat???” I swear if it hadn’t been such dire circumstances, I would’ve laughed so hard I would've peed my pants, but all I could muster back was a helpless, “Flat tire??!!... It isn’t even THERE!!!”

Upon turning that corner, bouncing and jolting about, they had completely lost their left rear tire! They were lucky they hadn’t completely rolled their truck. Our luck that day had already been less than desirable, but now things were clearly worse. We were now stuck in a busy, dusty IED hot spot in heavy traffic with a disabled vehicle and to make matters worse a large crowd was gathering. I ran back to my vehicle. “Roger, get out, take the front, draw your weapon and keep that crowd back. I’ll take the rear!” I ran back to our disabled truck, “Alex, Seth – get this vehicle sanitized, load everything into my truck! Chief’s got the radio. Roger and I will do perimeter security until you’re done. Got it? Good! Now GO!”

The next several minutes were spent leaning down on one knee, drawing a bead on every vehicle that was driving straight at me until they concluded that they were NOT to head my direction. I redirected the bumper to bumper traffic one by one as I kept looking back to see if Seth and Alex were done unloading their vehicle. I prayed silently that the many VBIED’s* that travel this road wouldn't find our wounded bird and drive right into the middle of us. In the meantime, an angry gas station owner was yelling at us, “I own dis place! You go! You go!!! You not leave tr-r-r-uck here!” I witnessed the mob getting face to face with Alex, clearly angry, shouting things to him as he tried desperately to get past them to transfer the things we can’t leave behind. Looking back at Roger, he had his own crowd around him and was looking in every direction, sweeping left and right with his weapon keeping everyone at bay. “When are those guys going to be done?!!”, I thought.

Finally I got the call, “Ok… Clear!!!” I motioned everyone to load into my truck and we got inside and locked the doors. Protocol kicked in and I got the radio back from the Chief and pressed the red button for 8 seconds to establish an emergency and to clear the airwaves of all traffic. Roger, Alex and Seth were now cramped in the back seat, huffing and puffing, exhausted, and clearly anxious. This was easily the scariest thing they had experienced on this tour so far and it was evident on their faces. We now had an angry crowd encircling our vehicle, banging on our windows, shouting at us. At one point, in a not-so-smart move, the Chief – a veteran of almost 30 years – opened his door to shout back at them. Luckily, he was able to get the door shut again. (by the way, in an armored vehicle, the 2-inch thick windows do NOT roll down. *grin*) Finally, a heavenly female British accent return my call for help. “Zero seven two, this is home plate, do you have an emergency?” (callsigns have been changed for OPSEC* reasons) Stunned, in a an awkward but funny moment, we all looked around at each other, smirking at the total ease in her voice and the elegance in which she delivered her call back to us over the air. (We have laugingly mimicked her voice almost daily since this episode, referring to her as ‘The Voice’) That lovely, welcome voice, oddly seemed to calm us. We briefly chuckled at the hilarity of our dire circumstances compared to her initial ignorance of it.

For the next several minutes we traded words over the radio with home plate, describing our situation, giving grid coordinates, and answering all their questions. At one point, as the crowd was getting even larger, and angrier, they asked us, “Can you remain with the vehicle?” “Negative home plate, area is hostile - will proceed to nearest safe zone and await further instructions.” “Roger zero seven two, proceed to safe zone and call in when you’ve arrived.”
Relieved, I smiled to the guys, “That’s it boys! We’re outta here!”

To shorten an already long story, we arrived at a safe zone and called in. As we awaited a recovery team to come get our vehicle, we began to wonder while they hadn’t showed up after a long while. Eventually, we received the instructions to return to ISAF. “Roger home plate, zero seven two is RTB at this time.”

We still had to trek through downtown Kabul, so the uneasiness of our trip was not gone yet, but once we returned to ISAF here, it never felt so good to get through those series of gates. Never! Wondering what happened to the recovery team, we expected them to call us to go back out with the QRF, EOD, and recovery team to help them find the truck, but we heard nothing. In fact, three days had passed and still nothing. Suddenly one morning, the Chief knocked on our door and exclaimed excitedly, “Have you guys seen what they did to your vehicle??!!” Our curiosity getting the best of us, we immediately jumped up and followed the Chief out to where our truck had been dropped off after recovery. We looked at it and were stunned. This was NOT the way we left our truck. Our truck, while sans the left rear tire, was for the most part complete and fully fixable. But what we saw was a mangled hunk of metal, yes - still missing a wheel and resting on the axle, but also with mirrors broken, buckled roof, windows shattered (2-inch thick windows mind you!), dents, scratches…. You name it! It looked like it had been involved in an accident.

What we soon learned was that ISAF* has never experienced an incident like this where a vehicle had to be left behind (that wasn’t blown up by an IED anyway) that could easily be towed back to base. Arguments between the agency that owned the vehicle and contractors tasked with retrieving it ensued. After learning the grid coordinates of this vehicle, recognizing its “hot spot” location, NO ONE wanted to go after it. Because it had been sitting for 3 days now, an EOD team had to first go and do a sweep of the vehicle, ensuring no bomb had been planted on it, then the recovery team was to load it up and bring it home. What they did, instead, was pry through the locked door – not wanting to travel back to get our keys – destroying it and all surrounding windows. They then ran a tow strap through the windows, and used a crane to pick the 8000lb truck up by its roof, and then dropped it in the back of a dump truck!! Making the situation worse, the truck was wider than the bed of the dump truck, so all the paint was scuffed, fenders were dented, and mirrors were sheared off. It was insane what they did to this truck. We stood there in total disbelief.

In the end, while we were upset about the damage to the truck, we were all thankful that we made it back safely. Even the Chief made a point to come back to my office to personally thank me for getting him home safely. "No biggie Chief!", I shrugged. A couple of my guys, in predictable fashion, were experiencing the “aftershock” that hits the next day when realizing how close they were to their first real danger “outside the wire” and I had to sit with them individually and talk to them, doing my best to ease their concerns. But once they realized my point, using the analogy of a scale with a truck on one side, and five precious lives on the other, they soon stopped regretting what happened to the truck and second-guessing themselves. There was no question – that truck meant NOTHING compared to the lives of the five guys that were sitting ducks and needed to get to safety quickly.

My last blog entry about our Baja 1000 adventures, I surmised that if I kept making these trips my luck was going to eventually be stacked against me. Well, I would be remiss if I didn’t concede that my predictions had indeed come true. Things HAD gotten worse this go around. But to me, this little incident was honestly not that bad. I’ve been in much worse situations. I’ll admit, however, that for a brief second, I felt that same anxiety come over me as I recalled an ambush my convoy took in Iraq five years ago where an angry crowd opened our doors, pulled us out of our vehicles, and assaulted us. But experience and training quickly kicked in. The nervous reactions from the other guys in the truck were a larger concern to me, and I did all I could to keep them calm. At one point, I even started singing an old Kenny Rogers song, changing the lyrics, and belted out in my best country twang, “You picked a fine time to leave me loose wheel!”…. *LOL* They all laughed. Mission accomplished for the moment. If I was calm, they were calm -that was half my battle. The other half was getting them home safe, and again thankfully, (*Whew!) mission accomplished.

I am SO ready to come home!

* CAS - Close Air Support
* ANA - Afghan National Army
* IED - Improvised Explosive Device
* VBIED - Vehicular Born Improvised Explosive Device (car bomb)
* RTB - Return To Base
* QRF - Quick Reaction Force
* EOD - Explosive Ordinance Disposal
* ISAF - International Security Assistance Force
* OPSEC - Operational Security

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Dear kids...

2008-04-28T11:14:00.016-05:00

Dear Natalie, Matthew, and Nathaniel…

I decided to write you a letter this way because I have been trying many times for several weeks to reach you by phone and email with no luck. I have called every number that I can think of where you might be and can't get anyone. I have also emailed you many times, and you don’t seem to be getting those either. This makes me very sad. So it is my hope, for whatever reason I can’t seem to reach you by phone or email that maybe you or one of your friends will see this and you will know that I haven’t forgotten about you. I also don’t know if you get to listen to the many messages I’ve left on your answering machine, but please know this:

I love you!

I miss you!

I can’t wait to come home and see you again!

I also wanted to bring you up-to-date on several things that have been happening here and back home:

Ellie had to go to the vet last week because she was hurting and couldn’t walk very well. The doctor says that she has arthritis in her hind legs. When the doctor asked how old she was, Dawn told her she was only two years old. Then the doctor asked, “Are you sure she isn’t 5 to 7 years old?” When she told her that she had just turned two in April, the doctor seemed concerned because Ellie is too young for this to be happening. This is something that normally happens in dogs much older. She is doing fine now, but has to be kept inside for two weeks to limit her movement and give her legs a chance to recover. I just wanted you to know what was happening. Ellie, I know, misses you too and can’t wait to see you again once I get home and can bring you back to the house to see her. Also, since you didn’t seem to get the email I sent with the pictures of of Ellie (and her BFF Izzy), I’m putting them in this blog too for you to see. They sure look like they’re having fun don’t they! *smile*

You may have heard the news recently about the president of Afghanistan, Hamid Karzai and some of the things going on here in Kabul. Please don’t worry because I am safe and God is watching over me and my buddies.

I have been putting together a picture book for you of all the travels of Ellie Mae, my Webkinz you gave me. She and I have traveled all over Afghanistan, Qatar and even Iraq these past few months and I have taken pictures of her at every location. She is quite the world traveler! *smile* You would be so proud of her, she has been very brave traveling to some of the locations I’ve been. I hope to finish the book shortly after I get home this year. I hope you like it!

(Here is Ellie Mae sliding down the banister at Saddam's palace in Iraq)

(Here is Ellie Mae trying to email you because she misses you.)

(I invited a few of Ellie Mae's friends over for a cookout on her birthday in April. I guess she's pretty popular! *smile* Can you find Ellie Mae?)

Matthew, I hear you are wearing glasses now! Can you have someone take a picture of you so I can see? Maybe you can have someone help you email it to me. I can’t wait to see how much older and studious you look now. *grin*

Grammy and Grandad also miss you very much and are very sad that they have not been able to see you while I’ve been away. I know they got to come to school to have lunch with you a few times, but they would like to be able to see you more, and can’t wait to be able to spend some real time with you once I get back. They wanted me to tell you that they love you and miss you very much. Did you get the package of gifts and goodies they mailed to you? Have you gotten any of the emails they’ve sent you? Did you get the package in the mail from my church? Did you get to watch the DVD of music videos I made using our pictures?

And finally, your goofy, but tired 40-year old Daddy is doing fine too. (I know you love to kid me now about my age. *wink*) My finger that I broke is not doing so well however. It is mostly useless and just hangs off to the side of my hand, making it very difficult to type. In my line of work, that is not a good thing, huh?! I don't know if I ever told you for sure, but the first doctors who X-rayed my hand were wrong. It turns out my finger was broken after all - in two spots! - and there were bone fragments floating around and all the tendons on one side of my knuckle were torn off. My finger has not been healing well, it is permanently stuck in a half-bent curve. It won't bend very far, and it also won't straighten all the way out. I've had two different orthopedic surgeons tell me that I will have to have surgery on it to fix it, but can't have it done here. I will have to wait until I get home, and then once the surgery is over, it will take 4 months of rehabilitation and exercise to help it heal correctly. (can you imagine me doing daily "exercises" with my pinky??! *LOL* Doesn't that sound funny?) Other than that, I work very long hours – sometimes 16-20 hour days – 7 days a week, and don’t get near enough sleep, but it is all part of the job we do here. Me and the guys talk about our kids and our families every day to keep our spirits up. We have one spot on the base here that actually has a couple trees and sometimes when we’re all stressed we’ll go sit under the tree and talk about home. Sometime when some of my guys are in a bad mood, I’ll take them for a walk to go get a coffee and we’ll talk. One time, I even took one of my troops for a banana split! Yummy! Sometimes, to get the guys to smile, I'll do something crazy, like when I went shopping off base last week and put on a crazy hat and shield and screamed out loud! *LOL* (see picture) Since we’re all “guys” we like to talk about stuff like “home remodeling” or our “kids’ activities & sports”, or just about what we’ll do for a vacation once we get back home. I hope to be able to take you on a vacation when I get home too. Where would you like to go? I have some ideas but want to talk to you about it and get your input. *smile*

I hope this letter gets to you. I hope you are all happy and well, and excited to see me again when I get home. It breaks my heart to not be able to talk to you, but I’ll never give up trying to call or email you because you are the most important things in the world to me! I love all of you with my life, and I will do whatever it takes to make your life a happy one. Please be good!!

Hugs and Kisses!!!!

Love,
Daddy

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Baja 1000...

2008-03-27T08:10:00.007-05:00

You know it's amazing to me the things we have to do to scrounge by here sometimes and the efforts put forth - even potentially life-threatening - that have to be done in the name of "supporting the mission." Take for instance something as simple as supplies. We are not a large compound here at HQ ISAF, so to get the "beans & bullets" to our troops we sometimes have to conjure up a convoy to Bagram Airfield - an hour north of here - to get what we need. I just got back from one of those trips – probably my 3rd or 4th now – heck I don’t remember. All I know is I’m exhausted. You drive, completely cognizant of the fact that you are driving in IED Central, and looking this way and that for anything suspicious. Intel, for instance, tells us to look out for a Toyota Corolla in black, white, red, blue…. Heck that is about EVERY car out there! They also say to look for particular trucks… SUV’s… and even an Afghan National Army vehicle that was stolen…. Ugh! So you get the picture, you basically can’t trust ANY vehicle out there because they are potential VBIED’s. Then you’ve got to navigate through a city that has no traffic laws, with people crossing the street everywhere, taxis and buses routinely stopping in the middle of the street, and - I kid you not – “donkey carts” in the middle of it all slowing up everyone and creating dangerous choke points. The key word is avoidance, and as such, we have only one rule to driving here in Afghanistan: "Drive it like you stole it”, and TRY not to hurt anyone in the process. Ha! What that entails, however, is utilizing driving maneuvers that seem to make things worse, not better. For instance, we don’t stop at most stop signs… we drive WAY faster than the rest of traffic, weaving in and out of lanes, nearly missing the corner of every vehicle we pass. We slam on the brakes so often it has become common fare to have your knees bruised upon your return from the day’s trip. We honk like we own the road, we have to swerve into oncoming one-way traffic to get around a slow vehicle that could make us vulnerable to attack; we’ve played “chicken” with oncoming cars, trucks, busses, and large jingle trucks more times that I can count. Yes, we’ve been accidents; on the convoy before this one, a car panicked and pulled out right in front of us. Our lead truck slammed into the back of it, pushing the car in front of my truck and we slammed on the brakes to avoid hitting it. Shortly afterward, a bus pulled out and again, our lead truck side-swiped it, ripping the mirror off. We're not exactly winning the hearts and minds of the Afghan people here with our highway habits!

Once we make it out of downtown Kabul into the open desert, we drive an average of 80mph on roads not fit for a fully-suspensioned Baja truck to traverse. We often slide and skid, especially in wet weather like today; we come back with dented rims from the gaping pot-holes so large they could swallow our light-armored truck whole; and we frequently go completely airborne through many of the hillcrests and dips in the road. (we have the stiff necks from slamming into the roof to prove it! ) We drive around in an 8000 lb light armored 4X4 Toyota Land Cruiser, retrofitted with 1-inch-thick windows and 1/4 inch inside armor, so it’s already extremely top-heavy. And when you have the additional weight of 2-5 passengers and their cargo, I liken the feel of driving our Land Cruiser to steering a boat on water - that’s really what it feels like. You have to anticipate the tire-roll, the heavy lean to one side with the slightest of turns - “especially” at speed, and the fact that 8000+ lbs of man and metal does not stop on a dime, no matter HOW hard you slam on those brakes. We drive tactically when in a multi-vehicle convoy, and that often means the tail vehicle will provide “block” for the lead vehicles, meaning when we come to a turn, or intersection, he will speed past us to block the oncoming cars. Last trip out, our “block” predicted his move incorrectly and locked up his brakes, skidded right through the intersection, down into a 4-foot drop-off ditch, and then smashed into the side of a mud hut. The lead vehicle is the most vulnerable. He is the lookout, calling back on the radio all the suspicious activities and sites that he observes as we're traveling. You’re a two-man team in that lead vehicle – one driving, as the other calls out cautions in the road, or our intentions – like passing a slow moving truck, then each vehicle behind the lead will, in turn, call out “Clear!” as they pass so that we know we’re all still together. Some may say, “Well, at least you’re not driving a Humvee.” What I would say to them is, “I wish we were!” At least they are wider, don’t practically roll over every time you turn the wheel, they are armored better, have ECM’s (ours don’t), and driving in full body armor in our Land Cruisers certainly doesn’t win you any comfort awards. Because we're wearing full body armor, we can’t sit back all the way. We have a 12-pound bullet-proof plate behind us, and then another up front, along with your ammo belt, all playing interference with your steering wheel. We wear our Kevlar helmets, not particularly for the threat “outside” the vehicle, but because of how often we get banged around “inside” the vehicle.

Today was one of the worst convoy’s I’ve been on. It was rainy, muddy, and to boot, I was in charge as the convoy commander today, so everyone’s safety resided on my shoulders. We had so much cargo loaded in the back, too, that all rear view visibility was gone – not that we had much to begin with. Scotti, Bixby and I had other passengers too - a couple redeploying and going on R&R, and our Chief first sergeant, the highest ranking enlisted guy in Afghanistan, who had meetings to attend. The fact that these peoples’ lives rested on my ability to put together precise and sufficiently briefed convoy procedures in the event something should “interrupt” our normal course of action, did not rest easy on my mind. This is not my first convoy - heck I've been shot at in past deployments, even ambushed, and this is also not the first time I have had a responsibility like this put on me. But weather conditions made it worse, and this was also the first convoy where we did not accompany another unit, so we were completely on our own today. What if I got everyone lost? What if we hit an IED? What if....???

A couple months ago on our first trek through this desert, I actually thought it was fun. I likened it to competing in the Baja 1000 – except under duress. But it's not so fun anymore. I don't know.... maybe it was turning 40... maybe I'm getting too old for this. Or maybe I've just been through enough situations like this now that I realize all the wonderful things I have to come home to, and am more cautious than before. Either way, these trips now seem more and more like a game of Russian Roulette, and I worry that eventually our odds will be stacked against us.

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The Royal Throne...

2008-03-24T03:53:00.012-05:00

Gosh... how long has it been now? The last post was on the 11th???? Sorry for keeping you all in suspense but I've been unable to keep up on the blog here due to various reasons.... travel for one.... internet down for another... and just B-U-S-Y lastly.

The last time I took off on another trip, I ended up heading back to my old stomping grounds - Iraq. Baghdad, specifically. In fact, I was to meet up with another ASOC like us who resides at the old palace that I used to call home in Southwest Baghdad, so returning to the very place that we occupied 5 years ago was quite an experience. For those that don't know, I was with the first units in Baghdad 5 years ago during what they now call the "major combat phase" of the war. We first took over the airport in Baghdad, lived there for a few weeks, then moved into a nearby palace. The building that the Army gave the Air Force as a way of saying "Thanks for the close air support!" was the one that I lived in - we were it's first occupants. There are a thousand stories about that experience that I just can't go into here, but suffice it to say, it was quite a time. When we landed on the tarmack in Baghdad and I stepped off the back ramp of the C-130, I looked across the runway to see Baghdad International Airport. There it was.... glowing, with power... lights.... looking back at me as if it were a living, breathing creature - NOT the once-bombed-out shelter I remember. I am here to tell you, it was emotional. I didn't expect it. It just happened.

Once we arrived at the palace, we pulled out our sleeping bags on the 4th floor and snoozed for a few hours. I awoke the next morning restless, anxious to walk around and see what they had done with the place in 5 years' time, so I got dressed and walked outside. The first thing I had to check was to see if the old outhouse that Scotti and I had built was still there. This outhouse was like none other. It was built using one of Saddam's gold chairs from his palace as the "stool", but retrofitted with a toilet seat and lid. It had stained woodwork fitted in and around the marble steps that led to the gold chair, and it also had more gold trim taken from the frame of a now-destroyed oil painting of Saddam. I could go on about this outhouse but I don't have room. For Scotti and me, it ended up being our legacy. People came from all over to use our outhouse for several months until power and plumbing was finally restored to the bombed out palace compound. Even years later, I've run into folks who talked of that outhouse, not knowing we were the ones who built it. Heck, even my own bathroom in my house was inspired by it and was decorated in an outhouse theme while a picture of Scotti and me standing in front of our outhouse resides on a shelf on the wall! *smile* So as I walked out the back door that was backdropped on the edge of the lake...... there it was. "The Royal Throne", as we referred to it, was still there. It was well worn, however, and showed how hard the last 5 years had been on it - not too different than "me" really. I felt like I had found an old friend as funny - or as sickening - as that may sound to some of you. The door we made was now off and laying on the ground, half burried in the dirt next to it. The inside was covered in a thick layer of dust and cob webs, while the outside that once shimmered a bright white coat of paint was now chipped and peeling away. The once shiny, stained and laqured wood trim inside was now drying, faded, and exposed to the elements. The round mirror, the gold and glass shelf and the toilet paper dispensors were now missing as well. But in all honesty, it still was in really good shape. A really good cleaning and paint job would've restored it to it's former luster.

(Me & Scotti, May 2003, standing in front of our newly completed "Royal Throne")

(Me, March 2008, standing in front of a now well-worn "Royal Throne")

(The inside is still mostly complete, however very dusty and weathered)

Then I remembered, Scott and I had signed the inside framework just above the door after completing the build. "Designed & built by MSgt Ken Mahoy & TSgt Scott Stadler {signatures} May 2003, OIF" Was it still there?.... A quick look inside and up over my head revealed that our signatures penned with my Sharpie marker 5 years ago were still there unbelievably. *smile* Wow... that just brought it all home. The only problem was, Scotti was not here with me to experience it. I fought hard to get him to go on the trip with me - because I really DID need his satellite expertise on my project - but after 3 attempts, the commander would not budge. I brought SSgt Chris Lambert with me instead - and he did a great job, mind you - but for obvious sentimental reasons I really wanted Scotti to come along. I was more upset than I can say that he wasn't allowed to go. Scotti was too. 'Nuff said.

The next few days there in Baghdad were busy but just before I flew out, I borrowed a vehicle from the ASOC and Chris and I went for a drive around the palace compound there, and with each direction I looked, at least a dozen memories popped back into my head. It was fun for me to be able to take Chris and point to a particular area and tell the story of what happened "right there" 5 years ago, or to walk past another area and remember the fun things that Scotti and I did when it was all so fresh and so new back then. No 10-foot tall concrete barriers blocking the beautiful view of the lake or the other palace buildings... No fences... No sandbags stacked up in front of all the windows.... No trees cut down for security reasons.... It was beautiful! And it was ours for a short spell. Looking back now - exactly 5 years later - and all that has transpired there at the palace....in Iraq.... and even in my "own" life, I can only get nostalgic for a spell, but then have to quickly divert my attention back to the now, and all the things that are going on today, and all that I have to accomplish before I get out of the sandbox here yet again. But for those few short days, it was hard not to remember back to that time 5 years ago that was so breathtaking... so exhilarating... and terrifying, yet somehow fun all at once. Before I left, I decided that I'd bring a momento back for Scotti, so Chris and I removed the brass door handle and I packed it in my backpack and brought it back to Afghanistan here. I sat with Scotti alone a few nights ago and showed him the pictures and video I took of the palace, and then, at the very end, I pulled out the door handle. We shared a good laugh over it and recalled all the great memories. We even kidded about how we could scheme to get the entire outhouse shipped back to our unit in Peoria! *lol* That outhouse has had a life of it's own, and we often joke that our outhouse is "the story the refuses to die" because of how many times it's come back to us with yet another story during it's 5-year tenure there. *grin* But this time around, sadly, I know I'm leaving it behind for good.

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Jet setter...

2008-03-11T05:28:00.005-05:00

Ok, so maybe I'm being a little facetious about the "jet setting" but this past week has pretty busy with one trip after another, most of which I can't talk about unfortunately. But I left on the 4th, the day before my birthday, spent most of the day all around Kabul here, then on the 5th I celebrated my 40th birthday somewhere in the air over Afghanistan in a blackhawk helicopter. The next day was in another location here in Afghanistan, then the next 4-5 days were spent in Qatar. I just got back late last night - very jet-lagged - and now I'm getting ready to fly out again for a spell. Ugh. So let me quickly address a few things.

1. THANK YOU to all of you who sent me Happy Birthday eCards and care packages and emails! I was QUITE overwhelmed when it all happened. On the 4th, I had just enough time to check mail before heading out and I had 11 - YES 11!! - packages mailed to me! When I got back last night I had another 6 waiting on me! Wow I don't know what to say but "thank you" to all of you that thought of me in that way. *smile* My kids sent me cupcakes in the mail with a tub of chocolate icing to put on myself and I shared those with everyone. They were goooooooood! *smile* Thanks kids! The personal letters that were written to me really put a huge smile on my face too! I wanted to give a shout out to "Brooky" for her special letter to me too. *smile* You had me smiling and laughing and I felt very special. Thank you.

(pictured above is those of us sleeping on the long C-17 cargo flight and me writing a letter to my kids in the dark)

2. My last post on the blog here did not leave anyone who read it with a warm fuzzy, so my apologies for leaving you on such a "low" and then leaving the country for a week. I am doing fine - much better now - and I'm sure you understand that we all have "those days" here and that was one such day for me. The amount of encouraging email I got offline, away from the blog site, was simply incredible. I had a couple emails that just flat out made me "lose it" but it gave me the reassurance that I needed to hear in that moment. To all of you who emailed, Thank You!

3. I turned 40 on March 5th! AAAHHH!!!!!! As you can imagine, I have quite a few "opinions" about turning 40 and I'll share those insights in another post (when I get back). Nothing terribly profound, but 40 seems to be a good age for most to look back AND look forward on one's life, and I am no different. Thanks again to all those who sent birthday wishes. Those of you who have already reached that milestone perhaps can bestow some of your wisdom on me because I still seem to want to learn things "the hard way" even at this "mature" age! *grin*

Ok.... gotta fly.... I have NO clean laundry from this past week and I've got to head out here soon. I didn't want to leave you all hanging from my last "glum" post, so now you have something else to read in the meantime.

Outta here....

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I struggle...

2008-03-04T00:18:00.002-06:00

I struggle… I struggle with what to even write sometimes. Being in a war zone is of minor significance when you consider the number of good days versus bad days you have here. You just don't care that there is danger outside those walls anymore. I also realize that the “bad days” tend to seem somewhat amplified because of our circumstances, but those days – good or bad – are ubiquitous, and can’t be escaped - No matter how many times you’ve been through this, no matter how many lessons you swear you’ve learned from past deployments, no matter…… just….. no matter. Period. We have all reached the stage of this deployment where we can officially declare that “the honeymoon is over.” No more silent anxiety from the rookies worried about traveling to a war-torn country, no more pumped up bravado from men wanting to kick the enemy’s tail, no more patriotic propaganda and pep rallies urging us to “Be all we can be!”…. just hard, cold reality setting in. …those realities that finally catch up to you when you just can’t push past the pain of how much you miss your kids… or how much you miss your girlfriend or wife… and other realities, such as realizing how frustrating even some of your fellow comrades are and how damaging they can be to everyone’s morale here.

That’s where I’m at today. I suppose there should be a “blogging prerequisite” or S.O.P. that states you shouldn’t write when you’re tired and frustrated, but I can’t help it. When I was in Iraq five years ago I kept a daily journal. In it I would write the events of the day along with my most personal feelings. It was filled with my most private experiences and only one person has ever been allowed to even read it. In this blog, however, I’ve come to realize that I can’t really do that here. This is not a diary. Quite frankly, you don’t WANT to know what I’m thinking sometimes…. But allow me this rare moment to speak about the “other” side of war that most don’t get to see.

I miss my kids. As a divorced father, I already came here prewired with guilt about my failures as a father and husband, but traveling halfway around the world just exacerbates those feelings. I worry about them. I wonder how they’re doing. I wonder how they’ll cope if somehow I don’t make it home. I wonder if they begin to forget about me – if their mother even includes me in their lives by mentioning my name. Moreover, do my “kids” even talk about me much? I’m painfully aware that they read this blog, so I hope that they also understand that their Daddy is a human being with feelings….. and with flaws….. who thinks about them every minute of every day! To my kids: I love you!

Shortly before deploying, my visitation with my kids, while much too short, was filled with lots of fun-filled days and new memories. I still see vividly in my mind us all dancing around and lip-synching to the music of High School Musical 2. We even had wigs and a play microphone. My youngest son loves to play his mini-electric guitar and jam to the music playing in the background. I can still see him rocking out to “Rockstar” by Nickelback and running and sliding on his knees while never missing a riff! *lol* I miss finding my older son lying on the floor next to Ellie, our black lab, and quietly stroking her belly. He claims – and I believe him! – to be able to talk to all animals in their language. He is such an encyclopedia of animal facts and trivia, he just amazes me! I miss cooking with my daughter - my oldest child. It doesn’t matter HOW little time my kids have at my house sometimes – even just an hour and a half on Wednesdays! - she always wants to whip something up. At my house she has her own separate “nook” in the kitchen with her own cooking utensils, cookbooks, ingredients, and apron and she uses it like there is no tomorrow. Hmmm. Ironic.

I miss my best friend… the one who has since evolved into an inseparable part of my life… the other half of my once-broken heart. All of the difficulties of the past few years have always been met with her encouraging words and unconditional love and support. She has reminded me more times than I care to admit that it’s not the end of the world, and that while God may close a door, He also opens a window - if we just look. She was so right. I miss her encouragement….. I miss her smile…. I just…. MISS her!

UPDATE: …As I typed this last sentence I just received an email from her and learned of the passing of her grandpa. This is yet another side of deployments that is heart-breaking. The passing of loved ones… the births of children…. significant events in your life that you can’t be there for. I want so badly to be there to comfort her in this difficult time but have to sit here and wonder how she is doing. Is she holding up? Is she struggling like I am?

The pressures here are great. But while we’re human, replete with our many anxieties and flaws, we don’t have the luxury of letting those feelings consume us and detract us from our mission at hand. We are so pent-up at times fighting our true feelings – often stoic – that it’s no wonder so many soldiers suffer from PTSD when they return home and have trouble adjusting to a “normal” life again. You find that PTSD has really very little to do with “the fog of war” or actual combat, but rather “the fog of life.” At least the “life” we know while serving overseas as we await the return of our “normal” life back home. Until then….. I think I will continue to struggle.

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Prince Harry...

2008-03-03T06:59:00.004-06:00

The big news in Afghanistan lately has obviously been the reports of Prince Harry being secretly stationed here, and subsequently being removed. The most interesting thing about this story to us here at the ISAF Headquarters is that many of us didn't know either. Yes, there were obviously a few who knew - particularly his fellow Brits - whom posess a much higher pay grade than me. But for the most part, we had no idea. Once we got wind of the story, especially after learning that he was a FAC (Forward Air Controller) who called in close air support, we went back and looked up our past missions. We now knew his “call sign” that he used on the radio (which I can't say here for obvious reasons) and with it we were able to see just how much interaction we had with him. To our surprise, we had flown a number of missions with him, and in fact, there were a few missions that put some serious HURT on the bad guys down in the Southern provinces.

To us, we just deal in code names and call signs when we speak to the literally hundreds of different people out there, whether they be ground troops, pilots in the air, or other staff members, so flying missions for Harry was no big deal - no different than any other mission we fly a hundred times each day..... at least.... at the time. But the Brits who work with us in our ASOS (Air Support Operations Squadron) are particularly proud to have learned of their own royalty - the third in line to the throne - serving on the front lines with them. In fact, one of the Brits who works with us actually "trained" Harry last year on his duties as a FAC! He couldn't say anything at the time for obvious reasons, but once news of Harry hit the airwaves, he was finally able to share his story. Pretty fascinating stuff.

Anyway, the questions coming in asking, "Did you know Harry was there?"..... and "Did you work with him?"... were getting more frequent so I thought I would let you in on what little we did know. Honestly, in the grand scheme of things, he was just another call sign at the other end of the radio, but somehow, in the end, it "is" a little exciting that we got to be a part of it.

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Pinky And "No" Brain...

2008-03-02T05:40:00.004-06:00

I think it’s going to take me 10 years to catch up on the sleep I don’t get here….

First off, thank you to those of you who have sent me emails asking if I’m ok because I haven’t posted here in a while. *smile* The answer is “yes”, but the effects of working too many hours are starting to really wear on me. In fact, I just woke up from an unplanned “nap” (more like a “pass out”) just 30 seconds ago and now I’ve got to hit the road again soon to do something else tonight across Kabul here.

Speaking of that, since the last time I wrote, I have been traveling in and around the country here a lot lately – quite thrilling I assure you (Ugh!) – and soon I’ll be flying out of country to a few places as well so you could say that my “ops tempo” , as we refer to it, has certainly increased. I’ll spend more time in other blogs talking about those adventures but at the moment I just don’t have the time.

Another good reason I haven’t written lately is that I’ve been injured and typing on the computer has been (still is) quite difficult. We formed a volleyball team a couple weeks ago and we were playing the French (yes, it’s like the Olympics here – one country versus another! *smile*) and we were a little over-confident after pummeling the Italians just the week before. It seems the French took this little friendly competition a little too seriously because just past the halfway point we were already about 20 points behind and they were unrelenting in their efforts to bury us! Then….. it happened. Their star player – a 6 foot 5 tall Frenchman – spiked the ball over the net. And who do you think was there to deflect it? Yep. Little ol’ me. Except that it came so stinking fast that I only got my hands up about two thirds of the way and didn’t have my arms and fingers fully extended, so the ball hit my right hand – particularly my pinky – and managed to pull it out to the side, completely disjointing my pinky at the knuckle. I felt a sharp pain, but it happened so fast that I didn’t think much about it….. at least until I looked down at my hand. Ugh. Looking at my hand, I realized that my pinky was “half good” in that the bottom half up to the knuckle was straight up and down the way it should be, but the top half above the knuckle was bent and disjointed out to the side about 75 degrees! Saying nothing, I calmly walked to the side of the court to let our commander, who was our “hot swap”, come in for me. To quickly, but quietly, let him know why I was stepping out I just flashed my hand to him so that the game would not be interrupted. But I think my hand must have been worse than I realized because he “instantly” recoiled in a painful cringe and diverted his eyes. I honestly thought he was going to puke!

Pinky: "Gee Brain, what do you want to do tonight?"

The Brain: "The same thing we do every night, Pinky—Try to take over the world."

As he stepped in for me, I walked over to an Austrailian who was helping referee the game on the sidelines and asked, “Hey, can you pull on this for me?” He looked at it….. and after he was done cringing…. gave it two good tugs (as I let out a couple good yelps!) and he got it to pull back closer to “normal’ than it was, but it was still very disjointed. That’s when he said to me (in his Austrailian accent), “I-eev played Rugbee fo’ years and I’ve disjointed my fin-geh many times. But I-eev ne-ve seen one this bad mate! You nade to go to the cla-nic.”

(by the way, these pics were taken "after" the Australian pulled my finger back closer to normal!)

I’ll fast forward. The "cla-nic" couldn’t pull it back either. (Yes, they tried…. And yes, I yelped – AGAIN!). Their opinion was that there was no way it could be pulled that far out to the side without also being broken. They were also concerned about blood veins and tendons being damaged. The only clinic that was equipped to deal with broken bones was the Czech Republic tent hospital at KIA (Kabul International Aiport), which was not good news. My little crooked pinky was now committing two of the hospital staff, myself (and Bixby who offered to stay with me), and about eight Macedonian soldiers in tanks who formed our QRF (Quick Reaction Force) to racing through downtown Kabul in the middle of the dark through one of the most dangerous routes in the country! *shaking head* Needless to say I felt stupid.

Once at the clinic, I was poked at several times while I just sat there, helpless, in a chair with my arm extended out on a stretcher in front of me as they spoke in their native language their theories on what they thought was wrong. I had no idea what they were saying. I wondered if they weren’t joking about how much this was going to hurt to have it yanked back into joint! They rushed me off to a small, portable X-ray trailer and had me assume several uncomfortable positions to try to get the right angle for the picture. When the X-rays came back they looked at them, puzzled, and then said to me, “Eet ees not br-r-r-oken.” But they didn’t look like they were totally convinced.

Thirty minutes later, they had put a cast on my right hand, covering only my two outer fingers (plastering my ring finger and pinky together) that went all the way from the tips of my fingers down to my wrist. “After” it dried, they decided that they wanted to take more X-rays. What?!! (I “told” you they didn’t look convinced!) The second set of X-rays were even more uncomfortable as I now had a cast on my hand and the positions they wanted me to assume were doubly difficult. After the second set was developed, they came back and said once again that it wasn’t fractured "that they could tell", but admitted that because my ring finger was now in the way of the pinky they couldn’t really see the bone as well. Ugh! At this point I just wanted to “suit up” and put my armor back on and head back to base here. I was done with these guys. So I did.

For the last week I’ve been wearing this annoying, itchy cast with the fingers bent down at an angle, making even hunting and pecking on the keyboard difficult. Last night, I couldn’t take it any longer. After taking yet another shower, with my handy dandy plastic bag wrapped over my right hand, I unwrapped it to discover my cast completely soaked. That was the last straw. I came back to the room here and cut it off. My finger is still a discolored yellow and purplish hue, and much to my surprise, “still” sticks out to the side a little. It is also painful to the touch and still quite swollen . And for the last 24 hours I’ve painfully banged it and jammed it so many times I can’t even count. About the only advantage to not having the cast now is that I can type more easily, but what’s funny is that now that my finger is still slightly off I keep missing the keys on the right-hand side of my keyboard! Oh well… what can ya do?!

Gotta go…. Will post more tomorrow.

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Keeping up-to-date...

2008-02-17T12:14:00.008-06:00

Hello all...

I know it's been several days since I've been able to keep this blog up-to-date, but that is not because this past week hasn't been devoid of it's ups and downs nor lacking in any stories to share. It's just been a busy week, compounded by the fact that I've been sick as a dog. It doesn't matter how many times you've traveled to the Middle-East here, you are bound to succumb to the "crud" - in this case the "Afghan Crud." *smile* (just count yourself lucky you can't hear my lung-hacking barks as I write this article!)

One interesting thing that happened this past week is I apparently attracted the attention of David Stanford, Duty Officer and webmaster for the Doonesbury Town Hall. Yes THAT Doonesbury, as in the comic strip. He ran across my blog here and asked if I would be ok with him featuring an ariticle I wrote a few posts back entitled "In The Zone..." He called it "...a great day-in-the-life-and-work portrait ...a fascinating piece, and [it] really gets into an area we haven't had anyone post about before on our site...." Once I checked out his site ( http://gocomics.typepad.com/the_sandbox/ ) and found it to be legit, I said it was ok. I also learned that for getting featured on his site, I will now also receive a complimentary copy of "The Sandbox" book that came out last October - a collection of about 90 pieces from the first six months of the site. *shaking head smiling* This blog thing has really opened up a new world for me. :-)

We just had one more from our unit back home just arrive here two days ago. Seth is a "power pro" guy who will help Chris Lambert and I figure out our generator and power "issues" that plague us here. It was suggested by the outgoing unit that we bring a power pro troop but our commander initially resisted, thinking that we didn't really need him. After just the first couple weeks, it was obvious we needed his expertise, so like the rest of us, he dropped everything in his world as he knew it.... a teacher and high-school football coach.... and packed his bags for a fun-filled vacation to a cold, dirty, and lonely abode in the middle of a war zone. What fun! *smile* Wes and I helped get him situated and awaited his arrival late at night. Of course, I also had to greet him with the customary "Welcome to paradise!" He nervously smiled.

Several of you have asked about the guy who exposed his "I [heart] Condi" t-shirt to Condoleeza Rice during her visit here a few days ago and I now have a picture of said shirt. I was also given a few other pictures taken by other guys in our unit - to include another shot of Wes and I standing by Condy that I was oblivious to. Enjoy!

Today was a sad day in Kandahar - one of the worst bombings we've had in the country here in as far as the number of casualties go. It's those types of intel reports that we get that remind us to stay vigilant in what we do here, and that we are still in the middle of the fight. If ever we begin to complain about "routine" days and being locked down here on the ISAF compound, something like this always pops up and promptly reminds us to just keep our mouths SHUT!

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I "heart" Condi...

2008-02-08T02:23:00.000-06:00

Every now and then, our "ground hog day" here in Kabul gets shaken up a bit and opportunities present themselves for you to step outside the normal routine - should you choose to take advantage of them. Yesterday, one such opportunity appeared in the form of a couple dignitaries visiting the compound here - Secretary of State, Condoleeza Rice, and British Foreign Secretary, David Milibrand.

Now I'll be the first to say that meet-n-greets are not really my thing, but something intrigued me about Ms. Rice and I thought I would go - if for nothing more than to break the redundant cycle of my days here. Many years ago I used to work for D.I.A. at the Pentagon and seeing high-ranking Generals and government dignitaries were an everyday occurance. Back then, Colin Powell was the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff and Dick Cheney was the Secretary of Defense, ironically. Lunches spent in the center courtyard of the Pentagon regularly turned up familiar TV personalities and the like. Five years ago I spent every waking moment with the likes of other Generals and government officials whom are now portrayed as heroes in non-fiction books that recount the major combat phase in Iraq. And also during that time, shortly after successfully taking Baghdad, Don Rumsfeld was coming to visit us to say congrats and I was one of only 6 chosen to to attend, but I turned it down because I had other work to do. The guy I let replace me came back jumping around, thrilled that he went, and thanked me by turning the viewscreen on his camera around for me to see that he had just had his picture taken side by side with the Secretary of Defense himself! Ugh. Oh well... I'm glad he was happy, but through it all I've come to realize one thing. They're just people. So going to see Condy Rice was more of an, "Ehhhhh, what the heck!" kind of choice.

A few others from my unit and I went to stand in line in front of the gymnasium - the only place big enough to house that many people. After standing in line for about 30 minutes, the announcement came that she would be delayed by an hour. We left. When we came back an hour later, we were let in the door, checked for weapons, passed through security, and led into the gymnasium. I had slowly wandered my way back to the gym after running a few errands, but little did I know that as soon as I had walked in, WHACK!.. they shut the door behind me and wouldn't let anyone else in.

The Sergeant Major on the compound here ran us through several drills of getting lined up in formation, standing at attention, resting "at ease", and bunching up X number of steps into a second formation. I had NO idea that this was going to be such a dog-n-pony show.... I mean sheesh!.. I just wanted to hear her two-minute speech, shake hands if the opportunity presented itself, and then get back to work.

Well, soon one hour turned into two..... and then we got the message that she would be here in 30 minutes..... An hour had passed and still no one. To fight the bordeom, I egged the guys on to run up on the still-empty stage and get our picture taken all together, so we did. And then finally, after another 90 minutes, we were all called to attention and in walked our dignitaries. Finally! After 3 1/2 hours of waiting, they were here.

As expected, they both got up on the make-shift stage - back dropped with the flags from each of the 39 nations represented here and covered with a huge traditional Afghan rug for good measure - and spoke of the work we were doing and the pride they had in us and the many sacrifices we had made. To be perfectly honest, I originally just wanted this part to be over, but when Condoleeza got up on stage, I felt that her words were very sincere and genuine. It was an impromptu speech... nothing prepared.... and she spoke with candor and made good eye contact with all of us as she scanned the entire gymnasium from left to right. She made no mention of her attempts to try to garner more support from other NATO nations..... she just simply said, "Thanks!" I have to say, I for one, was pleasantly impressed with her.

After the short speeches by both, they came down off the stage, Condi going left, and Milibrand going right, to shake the hands of the troops. I was on the right and was awaiting my chance just to see her up close, not expecting to actually get to shake hands with her or anything, but then something happened by the time she got to the middle formation to shake hands. Lieutenant Cox, an EW (Electronic Warfare) guy that works with us pulled a fast one on Ms. Rice and unzipped his flight suit. He then pulled it open to expose his t-shirt underneath that had written on it, "I [heart] Condi Rice!" *LOL* Once he did that, the formation erupted into laughter. The news media, not wanting to be left out, went running over to them to see what had happened and then filmed the entire thing. We were briefed beforehand not to ask for autographs, but Cox didn't care. He asked her if she'd sign his shirt and she happily obliged. *smile* That was the ice-breaker we needed! Once that happened, all formations and semblance of organization were gone. She then began to simply walk through the crowd, shaking hands and taking pictures with everyone that was left - to include "my" formation (which now looked more like a cluster than anything else).

A minute or two had passed, and then BOOM... there she was, standing right in front of me. She reached out her hand and I shook it as I said, "Thank you..." (I don't even know WHAT I was saying thank you about!... It's just the only thing I could think of to say! *lol*) She said, "Heeeeyyy... thanks for your service. Nice to meet you!".... About that time, Wes asked if he could have his picture taken with her, and she turned around in between the two of us and "SNAP!"... a picture was taken for posterity.

The thing I observed about her was that she was very genuine when greeting all the troops here, and would often say to them, "Hey you want to switch cameras now and have your picture taken too?" so that no one was left out. She laughed - not a fake laugh - and engaged in real conversations with many people. She wasn't just putting on a show in my opinion. But based on how the previous day's agenda went with other NATO commanders and Afghan Prime Minister, Hamid Karzi, I'm sure this was probably the highlight of her day.

I wish her and Mr. Millibrand well in their quest to get more support here from other NATO nations because I for one don't want the U.S. to have to pick up the slack AGAIN and be forced to come back for my "fourth" tour.

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Random thoughts...

2008-02-03T18:53:00.000-06:00

It's not been "all" doom and gloom here by what you hear in the news reports, and hopefully you get a glimpse into some of what real life is here at ISAF in Kabul by reading this blog. But let me share with you some other not-so-well-known truths I've discovered so far on this tour and some other light-hearted things we do to keep ourselves entertained here.

Lessons learned so far:

Do not take off your shoes on a cross-Atlantic flight and expect to find clean, “dry” floors in the lavatory
Do not take off your glasses, place them in your unzipped toiletry bag, and expect to find them later after swinging and dangling your toiletry bag on your way back to your room from the shower.
Do not mix a packet of Crystal Light lemonade into your water bottle, and then immediately attempt to put in your contacts without first washing your hands!
Do not go to chow with your M-4 Carbine, unsling your weapon, sit down and eat, and then walk out lighter than when you came in.
Do not put on your armored vest AFTER you’ve already slung your weapon over your shoulder!
Do not walk into work carrying 5 care packages you just received in front of the only guy in your unit who hasn’t received any mail!

And some other fun things we do here to keep entertained.....

Recently we all finally finished in-processing the base by attending the last orientation class about a week ago. But up until that day, before getting issued our meal cards, we had to manually "sign in" when going to the chow hall to eat. There were over 30 different notepads with each nation's flag on it, so it was a hassle to sign in every day. It only took 2 or 3 episodes of this to turn it into a fun exercise in names. One day Bixby signed in as Bert, and I signed in underneath him as Ernie. The next day I was LuLu, and he was Trixy... and on and on and.... (you get the picture.... *grin*)

We also have these forms that have to be filled in and submitted to the chow hall if you plan on picking up a "to go" meal, for instance, if you are on-shift and can't leave your post. Bixby went to pick up two meals for "Bruce Banner" and "Clark Kent" the other day when two of his guys couldn't leave their post. *lol* It's not done to make fun of the guy who sits there monitoring signatures, but it does seem peculiar to us that he can't even read English. *smile*

Ok...enough random humor for now.... have to head to work.

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Boring Days...NOT

2008-02-02T20:02:00.000-06:00

Some days around here you have to be careful what you complain about. A couple days ago the guys and I had just complained about how boring it was that morning, and then BOOM!, off goes another bomb just a few blocks away. Strangely enough, I heard it muffled in the background, but didn’t even take notice, but Roger was the one who said, “Was that a bomb?...” We all looked around the room at each other, pondering his question, and then finally said, “Yeah…. I guess that was.” And without missing a beat, went back to work without even opening the door to see what happened. Heck, no one even got out of their seat for that matter… nor was another word spoken about it. (It’s a surreal world we live in here.)

About an hour and a half later, someone called my shop. Roger answered, but couldn’t understand a word he was saying so he gave the phone to me. Now, I won't go into detail about what was said or what exactly occurred, because I am sensitive to the fact that my family – and particularly my kids – read this blog, so I’ll just say it was VERY suspicious. And rather than act on what I was told to do in that phone conversation, I questioned him on several fronts, stalled him, and then notified the authorities. Before we knew it, the gentleman at the other end of the phone call was gone. Crisis averted. What really bothers me about all this is that, this time, it directly involved me. This was not some incident I heard about second-hand, or some “boom” I heard down the street. It was “right there” in front of me and I had to deal with it. This whole "suspicious" episode encompassed about an hour of time, and it was exhilarating, frustrating, and frightening, all-in-one. By the time it was all over I was exhausted. But when we finally knew that the coast was clear, the guys and I decided that we would no longer complain about being bored. *smile*

Despite the threats of that morning, the day went on as usual (finally) and by lunch time, I had taken Roger and Wes back to Bakhtar Jewelry for a full-course Afghan meal that Ismatullah and Abdul were preparing for us. Inside their little shop there, they brought in home-cooked delicacies, like beef and chicken kabob, a rice/beef/spices/grapes combo in a big bowl, another spicy meat wrapped into what looked like a fillet, and then lots and LOTS of fire-oven-cooked Afghan bread. (and of course, once again, LOTS of green tea! *smile*) They both spread out a nice table cloth over their jewelry counter, brought in fancy plates and silverware, set out the chairs, and made a nice spread. You can tell by the pictures, this was no small meal. This is the way Afghans congregate or, in our case, “negotiate” when doing business. I have brought just about everyone from my unit into their shop now, and they’ve all purchased various items, but the ironic thing is I haven’t yet. I guess you could say that I’m working on what they refer to as my “friend price” and maybe at some point I can afford to actually buy something there. Either way, I love sitting and chatting with them. They’re incredible people.

Things at work have been busy… and to add to our hectic schedule, we’ve recently discovered some additional duties that we’re supposed to perform that we weren’t told about by the outgoing unit. *frown* A critical data link for a "key office" (can't say who) went down at the end of the month because their crypto expired and….. well…. we fixed it once we were frantically made aware of it. Add it to the list I suppose. Also, I have resigned myself to the fact that there is no such thing as an 8-hour day…. It just doesn’t work…. Minimum 12… most of the time 15-16 now… but that’s still better than before, and besides!... What would I do with my extra time here anyway? *smile* Ok…. Don’t answer that. *lol*

Praying for more “boring” days ahead….

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Short...

2008-01-28T13:01:00.002-06:00

...shortest verse in the Bible:

"Jesus wept." (John 11:35)

...shortest blog entry in Third Times A Charm:

"Ken slept."

(I'm too tired to post much tonight.... Yaaaaawwnnn!.... G'nite all!) *grin*

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G.I. Jill

2008-01-27T15:43:00.000-06:00

For those of you who don’t know who Jill Stevens is, you should get to know her. As she competed in the Miss America pageant tonight, she represented what I thought was a real role model – not just a “model” – and came away a winner despite what the judges said by their votes! Of the 52 contestants, she was in the top 16, being voted as “America’s Choice” by an online poll taken on TLC’s website. THAT speaks for itself right there!

Sgt. Jill Stevens is an Army medic who served in Afghanistan for a year from 2004 to 2005. While there, she tended not only to soldiers in the clinic at Bagram Air Field, but also to the Afghan people in the surrounding villages. It was on one of those trips to the village of Jegdalek that I had the privilege of meeting her.

I’ll be the first to admit, I didn’t know her… nor did I converse with her much. My only recollection was being a part of a conversation with her and several others at one point when I was drinking the green tea offered to us by the village elders, but that’s about the extent of it. My day there in Jegdalek was about so much more and our chance encounter was relatively uneventful. What that day did, however, was bring focus and purpose to my desire to help the Afghan children in some way, and changed me in ways that I cannot begin to convey. I have spoken of that day many times with friends and family and some still ask me about it. When my kids first learned I was heading back to Afghanistan, the first sentence out of their mouth was a disappointed, “Again??!!”….. The second was an excited, “Are you going back to see Zahid??!!

Zahid was a young, twelve-year-old boy whom I befriended when a series of events led me to him as I cleaned and bandaged several of the other villagers who had cuts or other minor injuries. He had severely chapped lips so I gave him my lip balm out of my medical kit and some baby wipes to clean his face with. We spent the entire day together, getting to know each other… our families… our professions. I discovered that at the young age of twelve, he was already an English teacher in the school there in the village. At one point, Zahid and I even taught an impromptu English class together to the other pre-teen boys of the village. Much later in the day, we walked up a nearby hill that overlooked the village, to the top of a very long rocky staircase leading to the school, and sat down together. It was quiet up there…. We shared more stories, talking again about family as I showed him pictures of my kids. He then introduced me to his father and uncle who were masons and mixed the cement for the new school. As we relaxed there in the breeze on the top of that hill, we shared one of the most memorable moments of my young life as we seemingly broke the language barrier with hand motions, simple expressions, and newly-learned expressions in each of our own languages. At one point, I had run out of paper with which to write, so Zahid used my pen to write on the palm of my hand. *lol* And then, without warning, Zahid reached back into his pocket and pulled out a small rock with a large ruby still embedded in it. He took one of my hands, flipped it over and cupped the palm of my hand. He then placed that ruby in my hand to give to me, as he simultaneously patted his other hand over his heart and said, “You! My friend!”
He was “giving” me that ruby because he considered me a friend! *sniff* That ruby was probably worth more in value than a month’s salary, yet he gave it to me. I’m telling you, I almost “lost it” right then and there! As I fought back the tears, I fumbled for something to give back to him as my way of affirming my friendship as well…. and then I remembered - every teenage boy in the tribe had asked me repeatedly for my sunglasses and I had turned them down. I even had to fight some boys off as they grabbed for them. Knowing they were of some value to Zahid as well, I took them off and proceeded to slowly slip them over his eyes and ears as I mimicked his same motion over my heart and said, “Zahid! My friend!” It was, without hesitation, one of the most amazing moments in my life.

Soon we had to head back down the hill because we got the call over the radio that the Chinook’s were on their way back, and it was at that moment when I observed Jill playing tag with the young girls of the village. I admired how she was not afraid to be goofy, and it was evident all the girls knew her and loved her by their laughter and the expressions on their faces. (I even remember all the girls shouting, “Jill!..Jill!!” when we first got off the helo' after landing!) As I watched fondly from a short distance, I took pictures of that moment and remember thinking to myself, “Whoever this girl is, she GETS it!” I also observed at least half a dozen other young male soldiers there providing security for our contingent who were obviously smitten with her, but she had nothing to do with that. She was there for those kids, and it made quite an impression on me.

Fast-forward to a few months ago - I saw a news story on the Internet with the headline, “Soldier Trades in Kevlar for Tiara” or some such thing. Intrigued, I clicked on it and saw someone done up in makeup in an Army uniform that I didn’t recognize at first, but then I scrolled down, and there was a photo of Jill, holding a young girl that I recognized from the village of Jegdalek that day. I can only imagine the wild ride she’s had since those days in Afghanistan that led up to the stage at The Planet Hollywood Resort tonight in Las Vegas!

As I worked tonight, with the AFN (Armed Forces Network) channel set to “Miss America - Reality Check” and later the pageant itself, I was impressed with her conservative approach to dress and appearance, not wanting to make her body a showcase. She was funny, and had more depth to her than any of the other contestants. And when the final 15 were announced - sans her name - it didn’t surprise me at all to see that all the fans had voted her to be the 16th contestant to vie for the crown. To me, she had already WON the competition at that moment. It didn’t matter what the judges thought about her unwillingness to change and make herself more competitive by mimicking the likes of Paris Hilton or Lindsey Lohan. She stayed true to herself and her values and set the “real” example for all young girls out there who look up to her. I can honestly say she is someone whom I wouldn’t mind my “own” daughter meeting and looking up to.

At the end of the day, I’m sure she’s glad to be able to get her life back after all the fuss and preparation for the Miss America pageant, but “post pageant”, I can still see her in a leadership role somewhere, paving the way for young women in America and even abroad to believe in themselves and their capabilities.

One such way where she still "paves the way" is by being the spokesperson for The Afghanistan Orphanage Project (http://www.taoproject.org/). She and others from her Army unit formed that non-profit organization after coming back from Afghanistan. That chance connection to her is what led me to the TAO Project several months ago as I emailed them offering any help I could for them since learning of my impending trip back to Kabul, Afghanistan -just 12 short miles from where they want to build the orphanage. To make a long story short, I have been helping behind the scenes logistically, and have also been the “address” for them with which to send humanitarian assistance and any items needed for the orphanage that they are building. I would encourage you to check out their website and please donate to their efforts, no matter how large or small the amount.

Well, that’s about it for now…. It was nice to see Jill do so well, but better yet, it was nice to see her come away from all of this with her identity still intact, confident in who she is and still a role model to others. Congratulations Jill!

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Another day in the life….

2008-01-26T12:00:00.000-06:00

I wanted to let everyone know I’ve been getting their mail… I’ve gotten 5 packages and 2 letters to date already and it has been wonderful! I think it goes without saying how much we depend on mail here. Even in this Internet age of email, webcams, instant messaging and free Internet phone conversations, there is still nothing like getting a card, letter, or care package in the mail. The U.S. post office on the compound here is conveniently “in between” just about everywhere we need to go, so we are constantly stopping by and checking the spreadsheet of who got mail that hangs on a clipboard on the outside wall. I seem to be the one who got mail “first” and subsequently the one who’s gotten the “most” mail so far again, and I’m going to get lynched here soon if some of the other guys don’t start getting mail soon. *smile* I was afraid someone would say something soon, and it finally happened today when I picked up two more boxes today – one from the VFW Ladies Auxiliary in Danville IL and one from Operation New Knoxville Cares. I think I am going to have to start hiding my mail. (Above is a picture of the Beanie Babies that Operation New Knoxville Cares sent me to give to the orphanage in just their “first” package last week)

Yesterday was an interesting day in that Bixby and I had to embark on a journey off post here into downtown Kabul to walk over to the U.S. Embassy several blocks away. We had to issue equipment and help provide training on it to the team that provides security to the U.S. Ambassador. Call them the Ambassador’s “secret service” if you will. That trek was interesting on a couple fronts – First, because it was the first time we had ventured off post (“walking” in Kabul’s downtown streets no less!) and Second, because I have never been to a U.S. Embassy before.

Bixby and I suited up in our full “battle rattle”, with armor, weapon, Kevlar, radios, etc to ensure our safety and I have to admit I was a little anxious as we walked through all the concrete barriers, checkpoints and gates and finally found ourselves “outside the fishbowl” on our own. To be honest, we only knew the general direction of the Embassy too, and did not know where the series of gates and checkpoints were to actually get “in” so we began our walk on a wing and a prayer. Several minutes later, we did find the right gate (first of many!) to get in and began the rigorous process of getting access to get in. (we had to get temporary “walking” badges just to allow us to walk from one building to the next just so we could get our next badge in the Embassy building itself! – in other words, security is TIGHT! *smile*) Once Bix and I got there, we learned that the team wanted to push back training a couple hours, so we walked around the campus and found a nice coffee shop. It was there we ran into our other acquaintances that had flown in (two from Al Udeid, one from Bagram) to help train as well, so we all sat down, kicked back while enjoying a tall Macchiato coffee and shared “war stories.”

Master Sergeant Hurst, from Bagram Air Field here in Afghanistan, is a prior Afghanistan & Iraq veteran like Bixby and I, however, his vehicle was struck with an I.E.D. (hidden roadside bomb) a few years ago and now walks around with a glass eye and visible scars. He begged to remain in the Air Force and in his career field and after much rehabilitation, it was granted. He is an incredible individual and it was a pleasure to get to know him and share stories. It’s these kind of guys that you truly feel uninhibited with while sharing your “own” stories because there is an element of “been there, done that” that you just can’t explain to someone who has no idea. There was a Lieutenant Colonel and a Staff Sergeant also from Al Udeid there and we all laughed and sipped on our coffee, killing time with our stories of the funnier side of war that we’ve all experienced. I can’t explain it, but there is a healing power in rare moments like that. As much as you try to convey to friends and family what it is like to live in a combat zone and live through the gamut of emotions that is “war”, you resolve to yourself that it just isn’t possible. So not having to “prefix” a conversation like that with fellow veterans is nice because that element is already understood. You can skip right past it all and get to the story because they are already feeling what you’re feeling as you recount those past episodes.

Three o’clock finally came and we met back in the Embassy and began unpacking our cool, neat-o, gee-wiz gizmos that they’ll use in their convoys and security details as they transport the Ambassador and other visiting congressional delegates from the United States. It was there that I learned that the reason for our delay in training was they had to handle a “situation” that happened in Kandahar that morning. Apparently there was a kidnapping of a U.S. aid worker and they were getting the intel on that to help find her and her captors. I hope and pray for her and her family that she is found soon.

The training lasted well into the evening, unexpectedly, and Bixby and I now found ourselves having to walk back through downtown Kabul in the dark - NOT exactly what we were expecting nor hoping for! After putting on our many layers and locking and loading, we slowly made the hike back to the ISAF compound here, constantly turning around, covering fire for each other as we kept a look in all directions and behind every corner. When we reached the first security checkpoint at ISAF, I felt the relief rush over me as I gladly whipped out my military I.D. and hastened past the armed Afghani guard. Whew!

I arranged to take Wes and Roger back to see Ismatullah and Abdul again at Bahktar Jewelry a couple days ago because they’ve never had the pleasure of tasting the Coultcha. As we entered, there was an older German officer already in there who enjoys sitting down for a cup of Green Tea on occasion as well. I’ve been in there enough times now that I’ve had the pleasure of meeting this gentleman before, but Wes and Roger were oblivious to this guy's hilarious antics and jokes, so it was a real hoot to all sit down there in that cramped little store and laugh and joke and eat. "So" anticipated and enjoyed are these get-togethers by Ismatullah & Abdul (hereto referred to as Izzy and Abby! *smile*) that they go all out for us sometimes. Not only did they bring the Coultcha, but they also brought out the Eesh-Meesh, a new kind of “Cake” (this time with a jelly-like orange center layer), a new concoction called Gee-bee-lee (think elephant ears covered in sticky, sugary glaze), and then there were these round pastries with a cream center. Izzy tried to pronounce the name to me and I was just having a difficult time understanding…. It sounded something like “Cr-r-reem-a-r-r-r-ro”. After several futile exchanges, Roger chimed in as the light bulb went on and exclaimed in his thick Chicago accent, “He’s saying Cream Roll!!” (LOL!! Here we go again!) We all laughed and then sat down with our cup of Green Tea and spent the next half-hour or so forgetting about the war and how much we missed our loved ones back home. Times like these are so necessary. *sigh* I hope Roger and Wes understand this. It’s not the food I’m there for….. it’s the relationships and the memories and the added benefit of momentarily forgetting that we are stuck here, in another country… away from our kids…our family….. our comfy world as we know it.

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In The Zone...

2008-01-25T16:05:00.000-06:00

Some days I really love my job. We can moan and complain all we want about the living conditions here, the weather, the absence of most amenities we enjoy back in the states, much less the fact that there “is” an element of danger living here, but every now and then there are those weeks where you realize why you’re here. This week was one of those weeks.

With all the talk about trying new foods, travel woes, and old friends in past blogs, it is easy to forget sometimes to those not here that there is still a war going on. The lion’s share of what I do each and every day you never hear about because…. Well…. It’s boring. At least I think anyway… but also because it’s just not the sort of thing that most people want to hear about. We are a society… scratch that!... a “country” who’s fed up with the War on Terror and while most support those of us who are serving their country, most don’t want to hear the details of what actually goes on in Afghanistan, Iraq and abroad. It was also my choice not to brow-beat the war efforts into any of you reading this but allow me this rare instance to speak a little about what an average day is like for me here when I’m “working.”

I have set hours that I am supposed to be “in the office” so-to-speak, but we all kind of chuckle at that posted schedule because we are always there before, during, and after our posted hours. Case in point, I worked 21 hours yesterday, slept 4 hours, and then worked 19 hours today. (I really should be in bed now!) My days typically begin around 5am with a quick check of email after putting on my uniform, and then the usual cold jaunt across the compound to the chow hall to get breakfast. A quick cappuccino on my way out and off to the Comm Shack I go.

I am considered a “maintenance group” guy and I am the NCOIC (Non-Commissioned Officer in Charge) of the other enlisted “maintenance” guys here. Our day began with problems for the “operations” guys in the command post (called the CJOC – Combined Joint Operations Center) and when I went to respond to it, there was a TIC (Troops In Contact – basically our troops were in a firefight) going on in the East. We couldn’t scramble any aircraft out to help them by providing close air support because the systems I support were not working. Sparing you the details, the “fix” was dependent upon another admin from another unit elsewhere on base fixing the server I had no access to. That required me to go to the “Helpdesk” and ask for their assistance.

In my years in this business and especially through my past deployments, I’ve learned that there are those times when you can't be the "nice guy" and have to be a thorn in someone’s side to get the desired results you want – “IF” there is a sufficient emergency to warrant it. This was one such occasion.

I went to the helpdesk, cut in line past four other people – much to their chagrin – and explained my situation to them. The answer I got back was, “You’ll have to wait, they don’t come into work until 11:30.” Heh heh….. What followed was a heated conversation with a fellow Master Sergeant that I’m not particularly proud of, but he quickly got a new sense of urgency and heeded my demands that he get “what’s-his-name” out of bed – NOW! – and get him in here to fix this problem. “Ummm…. Ok …. I’ll send someone to get him…” “No!, YOU will go get him now and then come find me at the ASOC desk in the CJOC!”, I replied. (Ok… so I was a little hot under the collar… but our guys in the field were in a firefight, with no help, and this guy is moaning about having to wake someone up to help???? Come on!!)

Soon, “what’s-his-name” was in…. he fumbled around for 10 minutes and then determined that he didn’t know how to fix the problem. What????!!! He then told me that there is one other person who can fix it but she’s not here either. Well what do you think happened next?... *grin* Any takers? Yep, I made him wake her up as well.

While she was working on that, I went back to do what I could back in the CJOC… and about that time, Scotti had just left to go to bed after yet another double-shift, like he’s been doing for the past week, trying to get a system we have here working that provides a Predator feed (an unmanned aerial vehicle that flies over and provides reconnaissance video to us) back to the CJOC. He had just finally got this system working after fighting night and day for a week, and went to bed exhausted but reassured that he had accomplished what he set out to do. Less than 30 minutes after he left, one of our CH-47 Chinook helicopters crashed landed east of here. We were immediately able to get a video of the downed chopper up on the large screen on the wall so that we could direct efforts to scramble aircraft to protect them, send another Blackhawk and Apache helo’ out to provide support, and send an A-team out as well to provide security as they rescue the 13 people that were on that helo’. Without that predator feed that Scotti got working, none of this would have been possible. And he slept through the whole thing! But he while he slept off the exhaustion of the past week, he helped save the lives of 4 crew members and 9 very grateful passengers.

As the day went on, we had 4 or 5 other “TIC’s” that we responded to, and I had various other computer system “glitches” that always appear as a result of a new team coming in to work. Call it “turnover terror” if you will…. There are only so many things an outgoing unit can tell us in 3-4 days time, so all these “glitches” were ones they had experienced as well but just forgot to tell us, or just didn’t have an answer for. Ugh. I ran around from office to office, compound to compound all day throughout these emergencies to finally come to a point where I was almost done with my double-shift as well. Then we had Italian & German military guys come to the Comm Shack, upset because they destroyed a satellite antenna cable of theirs and we didn’t have a spare one to give them, so we soldered and repaired it for them. Later that night we had a scheduled outage of our satellite to upgrade our bandwidth, however, it was using modems, terminals, GPS clocks and other equipment that we’ve never even “seen” before, much less used. What was supposed to be a 2 hour downtime ended up taking 5 hours, but we accomplished in one attempt what the preceding unit couldn’t figure out in three previous attempts over the course of the entire year they were here in Afghanistan! A couple days ago we made national news because of a TIC we maintained that lasted for over 21 hours with no lives lost. Today we simultaneously controlled aircraft for 5 TIC’s, one of which lasted for over 20 hours.

Anyway, I am not saying all of this to put a feather in our cap. I am just really proud of the guys here and the job they have been doing and continue to do. It’s the sort of thing that reminds you why you chose the military and why you love what you do. We’ve had little time to get spun up on what the outgoing unit left for us, but despite that fact, I can comfortably say “we are in the zone!”

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Getting acclimated...

2008-01-20T21:39:00.000-06:00

I think I am finally starting to get used to my new environment here. Even though this is not the first, or second, deployment, there still remains an adjustment period where you just have to get acclimated to your surroundings. For me, some things sunk in right away. Landing in a combat zone, there is training that kicks in automatically – always keeping a good SA (situational awareness) of your surroundings, handling your weapon, that sort of thing – but you also need to establish routines to keep yourself busy and prevent you from going insane! I’m trying to keep a somewhat normal work/play/sleeping schedule now so that I don’t practically kill myself like I’ve done this past week while working double & triple shifts.

Some of the things I’ve started doing to also acclimate myself to this new temporary home is to get out and do something else besides eat, sleep and work. This past week, a Tech Sergeant from the outgoing unit introduced me to Ismatullah & Abdul who run the Bakhter Jewelry shop in a little Afghani shopping section of the compound here. I visit their teeny little 8’x8’ shop there almost daily to say Hi and look around. I pull up a chair and we talk a lot about each others’ cultures, families, and especially food. As a token of their thanks for stopping by and chatting, they’ve treated me to a new Afghani delicacy the last several visits. My first treat was a pastry called Coultcha, which is a thick, flaky pastry with an orange-like sticky-sweet jelly in the middle layer. And of course, in Afghanistan, many cups of traditional hot Afghani Green Tea are consumed with each meal. The next day Scotti came with me and we were treated to a puffed corn snack caled Holta and another room-dried (not sun-dried) green grape concoction called Eesh-Meesh. (by the way, there really “is” no correct spelling for all these items – all I can do is spell them like they’re pronounced). Of course, copious amounts of Green Tea were once again consumed! As we were leaving that day, they shouted, “Come back tomor-r-row and we make something vetty special for-r-r-r you!” The next day I came back in around lunchtime, excited and right on schedule. I opened the door of the store to find Ismatullah smiling and reaching behind his small jewelry counter to get something. “What could it be this time?”, I thought. Momentarily lost in my own imagination, I didn’t notice what he had reached for - until it was practically under my nose….. it was…. well….. a CAKE! But who really knows “what” it really is…. I mean, this is Afghanistan, right? It looked like a yellow, six-inch square, baked in this brown wax paper. As Ismatullah unwrapped the paper to begin slicing it up, I could hardly contain my excitement to learn the name of yet another new Afghani culinary delight! “Ismatullah, what do you call this?”, I asked, excitedly. Looking bewildered, he replied, “It is CAKE!” Thinking I had misunderstood him, I asked again what it was, and without missing a beat, he immediately replied – once again – “It is cake! “Ooohhhhh!!”, I said embarrassed.….. and then the room erupted into laughter, as Abdul, Ismatullah and I realized the humor in that exchange of cultures. *LOL*

Speaking of food, living on a base that has over 30 nations represented certainly presents ample opportunity to get out and try some food from one of the other nations’ little restaurants, so Scotti and I went to a tiny little Italian shoppette and decided to order two of their pizzas. Scotti ordered the Prosciutto Crudo pizza…. Yeah!... I didn’t know what in the world it was either! Turns out it was smoked lamb meat topped with tomatoes and mozzarella cheese. Whew! I decided to opt for the Pizza Capricciosa. What is that, you ask?….. Well I had to look it up too. It is tomatoes, mozzarella, sausage, salami, pepperoni, ham, mushrooms, artichokes, and green olives. Ugh. But hey! We’re here to try new things, right? Soooo…. We both dove into our strange-looking pizzas with gusto. After a couple bites, we decided to try each other’s pizza. Soon, I heard a CRUNCH! And then Scotti moaned in excruciating pain. Turns out when Italians put green olives on their pizzas, they do NOT pit them! He swears he chipped a tooth on that thing! *smile*

Another thing I’ve started to do is work out in the gym, and in fact, I just returned from my Yoga class. Ok…… uummm…. stop laughing! Gimme a break - it said “Stretching Class” when I signed up. *lol* Truth is, I like to run and I’ve not gotten out to jog in several months and know I need to stretch badly to get back into shape for it so hey!... I signed up. It wasn’t until today that learned from the gym staff that it was Yoga, but “wow” do I feel great! We stretched for an hour and a half! I think all the stretching and running I’ve done in the past paid off though, because even though I’ve been out of it for a spell, I was still more limber than many others in my class. *grin* But I have to remember to NOT sit on the mat next to the hairy Macedonian who likes to wear tight shorts and a tank top and smells like he hasn’t showered in a week! YUCK!!!

Early this morning, Wes, Roger and I decided to climb up onto the roof of the building where we have our satellite dishes mounted and get a good view of the majestic, white-capped mountains that surround most of this city. They are a site to behold! They remind me very much of the mountains I saw that surrounded Bagram three years ago. They are so massive, and intimidating!...yet quiet, and somehow peaceful. Wes snapped a photo of me while we were up there. I stood there and thought to myself, “If only those mountain ranges could talk!” They’ve witnessed decades of war and suffering here… and yet they stand tall, unaffected, having out-lived every conflict. I wish Afghanistan’s people were as resilient….. heck, I wish we ALL were!

Well, my first 8-hour work day turned into an 11-hour day instead, but it was still by far the shortest day I’ve had here yet. But since I'm trying hard to maintain a schedule, it's time to say G’nite!

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Familiar faces...

2008-01-19T02:11:00.000-06:00

“The best mirror is an old friend.”- George Herbert

You know there’s something to be said about the joy of seeing a familiar face. Last night the six “second wave” guys from my unit arrived. I can't explain why it was so good to see them - it just was. Their trip here was a little more convenient in that they didn’t have to fly North from Al Udeid, Qatar to Bagram Air Field and then turn right around and fly South back down to KAIA (Kabul International Airport). Instead they were able to fly directly here from Qatar. (lucky ducks!!) Anyway, Alex was the only one of the six who had been deployed before (3 years ago in Afghanistan) so watching the other five step out of the back of those British armored Land Cruisers was precious! I saw a lot of wide-eyed and dazed looks on the guys faces. You could tell that it was just sinking in that they were actually HERE - in Afghanistan! *grin* They had just run the gauntlet down the road we refer to as IED Alley from the airport to the ISAF compound here and that was their first “honest” realization that they weren’t in Kansas anymore Toto! Roger, our radio guy, admitted to being scared. That’s ok… he’s right to feel that way, and even bigger for admitting it. But in any event, I was just darn glad to see them. I was their welcoming committee and had been awaiting their arrival for a couple hours in the cold. You could tell that they were just as glad to see me too…. There was a sincerity and honest enthusiasm in their handshakes. Hearty hello’s and greetings were exchanged. I shook all their hands and said, “Welcome to paradise!”…. That seemed to be an effective ice-breaker considering they hadn’t even had time to exhale from their uneasy trip through downtown Kabul. It was a way to say to them, “Hey, you made it man!... You can breathe now!” ;-)

From a purely selfish viewpoint, I was also glad to see the guys because that meant I could now get started on a somewhat normal work schedule too! From the moment we arrived here 6 days ago, I’ve been working 20+ hour days, only to take a short 2 to 4-hour nap, then start it all over again. Getting turnover from the guys that were leaving was difficult because they ALL wanted my complete attention and if they couldn’t find me, they would send somebody to go look for me. Once I had worked over 33 hours straight and just finally “hit the wall” so I told the guys I was going to take a two-hour nap. When they couldn’t find me, they sent Bixby back to my room here to get me! Bix woke me up and back I went for another double-shift. It’s been like this since the moment I arrived. This is partly why I haven’t been able to update the blog here as often as I would like either. So NOW do you understand why I am excited to see these guys?!! I really even should be in bed now, but wanted to send this update out. Tomorrow morning I will begin my first actual 8-hour shift! Whooo-hoooo!!!!

Yesterday was also our weekly Friday Bazaar, where the local Afghanis bring their goods to an open market just outside the compound here, such as rugs, jewels, DVD’s ($1 each!), hand-carved items, precious stones, scarves, traditional clothing and head gear…. You name it, it is there. I took one picture of just a very small section of it, but the bazaar filled an entire soccer field, so it was row after row, solicitation after solicitation from every man or boy who said, “My friend!... You buy [fill in the blank]?”… I’ve learned that if you don’t want to be bothered too much you wear sunglasses and keep your hands in your pockets. *grin*

Well, I’ve got to get to bed and at least get a “little” sleep before my short 8-hour shift in a few hours! Nite all!

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Serena Hotel bombing...

2008-01-16T21:48:00.000-06:00

I want to quickly address the attacks on the Serena Hotel here in Kabul the other day because I now there are some out there who are concerned. Let me first say, I’m fine. In fact, truth be told, I never even knew it happened until I woke up and checked the on-line news. The Serena Hotel is just a couple blocks from here and from others’ accounts of the bombing, it shook the base here pretty good. I don’t know if I’m just too jaded to notice anymore, or if I was just too tired to care, but – laughingly – I slept right through it.

But let me also put it this way. Say you lived in a small town and there is a shooting down a few blocks from you. Chances are you won’t hear much about it unless you get a call or you hear it on the news either. So my point is, it really was no big deal and even though it was suicide bombers, it is the usual stuff here. Part of what I do is provide and maintain the computer and communication systems that help those higher ranking than me call in the close air support, radio the QRF’s (Quick Reaction Forces), call in the medevac teams, etc…. and a slew of other related decisions, so if I’m on shift, then yes, I know all about what’s going on usually before it hits the news, but if I’m back here in my room, then I’m just as oblivious as the next person – even, apparently, when it’s a bomb that shakes the ground. *smile*

As for what that attack means, I see it as yet another attack on peace and progress in the post-war Afghanistan. But I also understand that things like this happen, and we simply do our part to combat it as best we can.

Finally, please don’t worry. This is what we do and why we’re here, simply put. There is a lot of good being done here that you’ll never hear about (although I hope my blog helps alleviate some of that absence of good news) and then there are the bad days, like the bombing at the Serena Hotel.

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Bag Drag - Final

2008-01-15T21:16:00.000-06:00

To try and catch everyone up on how the 3rd & final phase of the “bag drag” took place seems an ominous task at this stage of the game. I’ve been here on-station for 3 days now and it has been so extremely hectic that the trip here is almost a distant memory.

Here is a pic of me awaiting my flight in Baltimore.

After we left Germany, we flew to Al Udeid Air Base in Qatar, a little country off the Western edge of Saudi Arabia that almost resembles a thumb sticking up. For those of you that know your geography, you’ll realize that we flew from way North of Afghanistan, to a country way South of it. Wha…???? Yeah… me too. I don’t know why either, but someone smarter than me knows out there. ;-)

Anyway, at Al Udeid, we in-processed through several different stations, and buildings, got issued even “more” items, such as heavy body armor, chemical gear, medical kits and such that we now had to include in our already-monstrous bag drag. Ugh. After a few hours of rushing around, then – of course – “waiting” (don’t forget the “Hurry up and wait!” mantra), we boarded a C-130 cargo plane for Afghanistan. If you don’t know what a C-130 is, let alone know what it’s like to fly in the belly of one, then ooohhhhhh you are missin’ out! Besides the uncomfortable red cargo-strap seats you sit on for hours, you are literally sardined in there, side-by-side with all your new best friends that are just as uncomfortable as you. You are sitting knee-to-groin with the person(s) across from you as well, so if you become uncomfortable – and you will! – then shift around carefully so you don’t have the guy sitting across from you cursing you in his new-found Mickey Mouse voice! Ouch!!

Past experience in C-130’s has also taught me to dress warmly from head to toe because it’s cold at 30,000 feet in a cargo jet not known for its amenities nor designed for passengers’ comfort. As many times as I’ve graced the inside of one while being transported to and fro, it has – without fail – been one of the coldest, ice-pack-like, experiences I’ve been exposed (ha!) to. So I boarded this lovely example of a C-130 H-model from the Nashville Air National Guard, I sat down, confident, even somewhat cocky, from my keen sense of preparedness – and then it hit me…. "It’s WARM in here!! In fact, it's down right HOT! Huh???"

The military will teach you to be prepared for anything and to have a plan in place, but every General officer will also tell you that on the first day of any war, the battle plan gets thrown out the window. Well, so much for "my" battle plan. The next five hours in the air was miserable, with pools of sweat soaking through my many layers. Since we were strapped and crammed in, it wasn't like we could just get up and, ohhh…… take our coat off! *shaking head* That was a long flight. ‘Nuff said!

We landed at my old stomping grounds at Bagram Air Field in Afghanistan. Again, for you geography buffs out there, let me illustrate: We flew from South of Kabul to a location now North of Kabul. Why didn’t we land in Kabul? Again, a fine, fine question that I don’t have an answer to.

Once landing in Bagram, we were treated quite auspiciously to the fine offerings the military transient is usually afforded on such a journey – a massive tent filled with cots and about 300 other soldiers! ;-) After bag-dragging yet again, we stuffed everything in and around the cots we secured and then were told to hang out for the night until the next flight out to Kabul the next morning. (that is my cot in the center of the picture - not much room to move around)

The trip to Kabul began about 0500 the next morning. We stumbled around outside, still half asleep and quite under-dressed, trying to find the port-o-johns in the freezing darkness. Soon after we were packing, quietly as possible to avoid awakening the 293 other sleeping bears, and by 0600 we were loading two trucks in the frigid air, “rushing” down to the passenger terminal (hereto referred to as the "PAX Terminal") to catch our flight. It seems that we had been given some bad info the night before on when our show-time should have been. We were told 0600, but what it really ended up being was 0445! Somehow we got all those bags loaded, transported, and palletized (stacked and strapped on a aircraft cargo pallet) in only 30 minutes! It was truly a major accomplishment! Success! Now all we have to do is catch our flight that literally leaves in a few minutes, right? Wrong! We rushed over to the PAX Terminal, passed everyone else in line because we were already manifested on the flight... and then waited… and uhhhh.....waited some more. We were all just sitting there and nothing was happening. Finally, I inquired with our commander and he said that we were on flight "####" (which I already knew) and that they don't post the actual "take off" times.... Well, I've been down this road before at Bagram several times so I went back into the other PAX building and started asking the people behind the PAX counter for answers.... and THAT is where we learned that the flight had maintenance issues. Maintenance issues??!! I politely informed her that there are several of us still waiting for that flight and that we didn't know what was going on. So she grabbed the mic and made an announcement over the intercom. By the time I walked back to where the other guys were, the commander saw me walk up and said, reassuredly... (wanna take a guess???).... *grin* "The plane has maintenance issues and is grounded until they fix them".... Ummmm.... ok sir! (*lol*) I paused, smiled, and then just kept walking, never saying a word. *grin*

Ok... several hours later the "maintenance issues" were fixed and we loaded onto a bus with all our gear and they taxied us out onto the runway to load onto the C-130. We had to put on full battle-rattle (armor, Kevlar, etc.) for this trip which surprised me somewhat.... in all that time I sat at the PAX terminal, lots of other flights left for other locations around Afghanistan.... many of which I know are fairly hostile environments. But they didn't have to armor up. And we had to??? Hmmm..... not a revelation that gives you a warm fuzzy. Anyway, the flight to Kabul was quick.... maybe 20 minutes at most... we landed, opened up the rear of the aircraft, and they just threw our stuff out and we were on our own. We buddied up and started carrying each others' gear but there were a few Army guys on board too, and they just left their stuff there on the plane.... the C-130 Loadmaster called out and said... "Um, you guys need to come back and get all this stuff!".... She did't know it wasn't ours, but being the kind, understanding Flyboys we were, we first dropped off our stuff we were already carrying, and then walked all the way back out to the plane and got their stuff too. Then the plane took off, just as soon as we walked away.

Luckily, at that point, Captain Preis, from the unit we're replacing at ISAF, was there to get us set up on a ride down to the ISAF facility. Finally some help! He met us and helped us get situated. Because our flight was delayed, we missed our scheduled ride with the Brits (British Army) down to ISAF so we had some time to kill there at KAIA as they refer to it. (Kabul International Airport) They had a few Afghani shops and restaurants there so we did a little shopping and perusing, then ate at the chow hall. I bought some knock-off Oakley sunglasses for $7 and some good Swiss Toblerone chocolate at the German PX. YUM!!!

When it came time for the ride down to Kabul, the British convoy commander gave us our ROE (Rules of Engagement) brief in case anything should "happen" along the way.... we loaded up, packed like sardines (5 each) into the back of two different up-armored British LandRover SUV’s and started the nervous trek through the wild, wild west through downtown Kabul to the ISAF compound. The roads at first were very rough.. barely even pavement, with lots of bumps and holes bouncing us around inside, then it turned into a paved road and it was better, but the traffic is CRAZY here! There are no stoplights, no stop signs (“observed” anyway), and people u-turn or merge with no warning. Kids and adults, alike, nonchalantly walk across the street in traffic... mules and old wagons slowing down traffic.... and then there were the warning signs we were briefed to look out for, such as sudden moves by vehicles headed in your direction... people standing for no reason on the side of the road... unusual objects abandoned alongside the road. Probably the scariest thing that happened was a truck that was speeding in our direction who then turned RIGHT at us and we had to hit the brakes. The Brits used some “flowery expletives” to each other and over the radio..... but we just sat there in the back, weapons loaded, ready to engage if we had to.... but luckily, he was just a guy in a hurry.

What is funny to me now is that none of this even bothered me. It was all the same stuff I've seen before here in Afghanistan, and especially in Baghdad. But for one of the passengers from our unit, who shall remain nameless to protect his identity, it was a nerve-wracking experience. He's never been deployed before and this was his "first" experience in a real combat zone. Once we reached base here, he said, quite seriously, "I'm glad that's over!.... One more time down that road (when he leaves for home) at that's IT for me!..."

When we reached base here, one of the guys from the outgoing unit was already standing by waiting on us.... he helped us through the in-processing and getting rooms and the whole bit. One thing that was actually great about that was of the seven people here so far from the 182nd, only three of us got "permanent" billeting... everyone else got temporary housing - including the commander! The three people????? Well it's me, Scotti, and Bixby - my battle buddies from our two past deployments to Iraq & Afghanistan. The “veterans” if you will. *grin* This base is packed "tight", so the three of us share a single room that is about 15' X 8'. That's it!... That holds us, three beds, three wall lockers, a desk, a small set of shelves, a space heater and ALL of our gear!.... Needless to say, it is crowded in here! But I'd rather be with these two guys than anyone else.... so I'm not complaining one bit. Plus.... the internet works in this room and life is good!

We’re here!

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Whew!...

2008-01-13T11:58:00.000-06:00

This is just a quick post to let everyone know that I'm finally in Kabul. It has been a long, exhausting few days and I promise to finish the "Bag Drag" series once I get some sleep. (seems to be a recurring theme for me.... sleep - or lack of it! *lol*) Anyway, I have a long day ahead tomorrow and the out-going unit is MORE than anxious to begin giving us turnover and I'm going to work part of the midnight shift, all the day shift, and part of the swing shift combined so that I can get turnover from all the parties involved. I will be working with them for the next several days to garner as much knowledge off of them as possible so I will post as often as I can. The Internet here is very slow and intermittent, but I'm still glad we have it..... until then.... just know that I am safe.

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Bag Drag - Part 2

2008-01-11T04:59:00.000-06:00

Yaaawwwnnn!....

Hmmm.... someone just woke me up - again - to kick me off the plane here at Ramstein AB in Germany.... I'm a little disoriented, groggy, and just plain tired and ready to find a bed.

Our first jump across the pond landed us in Shannon, Ireland. Here's what I remember of that airport.... ummm... let's see.... I got off the walkway, found the nearest - and I mean NEAREST row of unoccupied seats... and laid across them and slept - HARD! Sometime later - about an hour and a half I'm told - our FDT (Fighter Duty Tech) woke me up to get back on the plane. On that jaunt across the Atlantic they showed at least three movies..... Transformers (which I only caught the last half of after waking up), Daddy Daycare (or Day camp?) or some such thing.... I really don't know.... why?.... you guessed it - I was asleep again! And the third movie?.... Haven't a clue. *lol* Once again, asleep.

This is what I remember about these bag drags; messed up sleep schedules, and rushing around just so we can sit around for the next leg of the trip. That's where another frequently-used military phrase comes into play - "Hurry up and wait!" We have been rushed through hallways and turnstiles, much like cattle going to market, only to be told to just "sit" and wait for them to call us. It's ok though.... this is the way it works. I know this.

One last thing I'll say about Ramstein here is that the facility here is MUCH improved.... brand new passenger terminal, complete with play areas for the kids, family lounges, nice art deco styling, and best of all, free wireless internet hot spots (nod to the USO for providing it).... so all in all, I realize that this could be much, much worse. Yaaawwwnnn.... ssttrrreeeetttchhhh..... I just need more sleep.

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Bag Drag - Part 1

2008-01-10T17:27:00.000-06:00

It seems amazing how connected you can stay as you travel away from home.... even for me, who normally keeps a Blackberry at my side and has seen firsthand the I.T. world change for the last 22 years professionally, it still amazes me how far we've come. I'm sitting on the floor at BWI (Baltimore/Washington International) airport taking a breather from the ominous "bag drag", while connected to the Internet w/ my laptop here....

The bag drag, as we affectionately refer to it, is the inevitable, painful movement from airport to airport, miltary base to miltary base, for the next two days.... only to be eventually dropped off "part way" and catch a space-available military cargo flight onto your final destination. (Funny, commercial airlines don't seem to want to fly into war zones.... hmmm....) The easy part is done... now comes the fun part.... across the pond!

As for me... BWI seems like an old familiar friend... but this is a friendship I hope to sever after this tour... (sorry BWI, no offense to you... ) ;-)

And on that note our last call just came over the intercom.... guess I better catch my flight.

See you on the other side of the pond!.....

(P.S. Happy 41st Anniversary to my parents!!!)

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Wow!

2008-01-08T13:54:00.000-06:00

Wow!, I just created this blog two days ago and the emails and well-wishes are flooding in, so let me address a couple quick items that I'm getting asked at lot about....

First, my physical (snail) mail address. Many of you have asked how to send care packages for me and the rest of my unit and here is where you can mail them to.

Ken Mahoy
USNSE
HQ ISAF
APO AE 09356

Note: Please do not use my rank of Master Sergeant (MSgt.) in the address; just list it exactly as seen above.

Secondly, for those that wanted to become involved with TAO Project, let me first say, "Awesome!".... But I also wanted to clarify that the orphanage has not been built yet. At this point sending school supplies and such would be somewhat premature, but I certainly won't refuse them. ;-) But in all honesty, if you want to make the biggest impact for them, visit their site (TAO Project) and make a monetary donation. I'll post more later on the utter poverty and need for help I witnessed in Afghanistan three years ago, but please know that whatever you can give - no matter how insignificant it may seem to you - is sorely needed there.

And lastly, as always, thank you so much for your encouraging words that are already flowing in. Just because this is now my third trip to the sandbox, it doesn't make any of this "routine" in ANY way. Saying good-bye to your kids... your family... are still just as difficult - if not more so, simply because I've been down this road before and "know" how difficult this is going to be for them. It hurts. Plain and simple.

I think this blog thing is going to work out. :-) I've gotten lots of good responses already and I promise to keep posting as often as possible to keep you all in the loop.

"The world is not yet exhausted; let me see something tomorrow which I never saw before." - Samual Johnson

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Third Time's A Charm...

2008-01-06T22:24:00.000-06:00

"Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man." William Shakespeare, "King John", Act 3 Scene 4

There's just no good way to write this. How does a meat and potatoes, midwestern "guard guy" convey his experiences already encountered in the Middle-East, through two previous deployments, in a way that hasn't already been done? This "twice-told tale" now reaches its third, and hopefully final, act. But how can I take this new Middle-Eastern adventure and make it even remotely captivating to the reader? At this point, I'm just not sure... Heck, does anyone even remember that there is still a war on terror going on?...

"Yeah, we peaked on the phone." Claire Colburn - "Elizabethtown"

I'll begin with a brief history... When I was in Kuwait & Iraq in 2003 for what some of us in the military still refer to as the "major combat phase", I thought I had seen it all. Or at least as far as the human experience goes, I really thought I had "peaked!" I mean, how many old men have you heard tell tale of their wartime encounters?... those moments that changed them... that defined them - often speaking of those days in the same way a small-town barber still reminisces about the glory days on his high-school championship basketball team. How many books have been written about war?... the anxiety?... the turmoil?... the excitement?... the agony of losing friends?... the exhiliration of success in battle?... All of these experiences bundled up into one big testament to the generations of soldiers to follow - and here I was witnessing it all firsthand! To me, this was IT! I was there! In my mind I thought, "It doesn't get any better - or worse depending on one's viewpoint - than this!" But in the end, it was but a blip on the map in a life that had so much more to see and do, and just as soon as my tour to the sandbox had begun, it was over just as quickly. Life went on and I came home a changed man - certainly! - but one who had so much more to experience... so much more to see.... so much more life to live.

"I only regret that I have but one life to lose for my country." - Nathan Hale, 22 September 1776

The excitement was not over yet. In December of 2004, my unit deployed yet again to the Middle-East, but this time to Bagram Air Field in Afghanistan. I went this time with the expectation - or hope - of having a fairly boring tour, at least when compared to my experiences in Iraq. But you know how they say, "Be careful what you wish for!".... my initial stay in Afghanistan was just that! Boring!... But then again, I felt like I had used up all my 9 lives in Iraq and somehow still came out fairly unscathed, so "boring" in Afghanistan was good, right?! Well, I must admit, I am not one to sit idle for long. Sure, my mission was first priority, but even with the usual hiccups that happen when you first take turnover from the outgoing unit, I was able to maintain the computer systems & communications equipment there with relative ease. So, because of the absolutely poor conditions I witnessed in Iraq two years prior, I began to seek out any humanitarian effort that was taking place to offer my help. I was also going stir crazy, and was convinced I'd hexed myself somehow by making the "boring" prediction to alleviate friends' & family's concerns when told to "keep my head low" and "be safe" as I departed for Afghanistan. I had to DO something!... It was groundhog day, every day! *smile* I was simply working, eating, and sleeping - day in and day out! Ahhh!!! I soon came across CW5 Layne Pace, an Apache pilot from the Utah National Guard. He and several others in his unit were working with the Egyptian & Korean hospitals on base offering humanitarian goods to the Afghanis who were being treated there. I signed on to help, and loved every minute of it. That soon led to another opportunity to fly out to the remote village of Jegdalek to provide humanitarian supplies there too. That day began with an all-night shift - on my birthday! - and then a two-hour helo flight out the next morning to Jegdalek with the others. I did not sleep and spent the entire day at Jegdalek, but in the world's biggest understatement, that experience was one of my "defining moments!"

"That was then, this is now" - The Monkees

Those that know me realize that I just took two combat tours, and the countless, separate, experiences from each - that could have kept everyone entertained for days on end! - and whittled them down, somewhat impossibly, to only two short paragraphs. :-) As Micky Dolenz eluded to in the song above, those events were all in the past and if you were lucky enough to live through them with me by reading my emails, then you understand how much I left out for brevity's sake. But this is now! - already 2008 - and I am sitting here in the hotel room, just hours from rotating out of the States.... wondering..... marveling!... at what this tour may bring to the table. Better yet, what will "I" bring to the table with me? I won't naively make the same mistake by wishing for - or assuming - a boring tour because I...... ummm... well..... I just can't help myself! I'm not one to sit idly by and watch the world go 'round while counting down the days until I come home again. As cliche as it may sound, I want to leave this place knowing I've made a difference somehow... whether it be in the lives of fellow soldiers, or perhaps in the lives of the orphan children of Afghanistan. Either way, I am convinced that this tour will not disappoint.

"Try a thing you haven't done three times. Once, to get over the fear of doing it. Twice, to learn how to do it. And a third time to figure out whether you like it or not." - Virgil Thomson

Well here we go!.... My third tour to the Middle-East in 5-years' time. Like Mr. Thomson's quote above, I got over my fear in the first tour..... I felt I "figured things out" in the second.... and well.... for my third?.... time will tell I suppose. But I suspect - quite predictably - that I will like it. Through an already-established collaboration, I hope to be assisting The Afghanistan Orphanage Project (TAO Project) while in-theatre and you just never know what other opportunities may present themselves! *smile* I believe that these deployments - like "life" - are what you make of them, so I'm ready to make this one memorable, meaningful, and with any luck, instrumental in making life better for the Afghanis. Maybe I needed those first two deployments to "get it" - to be prepared for this time around... *shrug* Either way, sit back.... listen in.... and enjoy the ride through the blogosphere as we travel this uncharted road together, because I believe that great things are about to happen!

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