TIDBITS and TRIALS

Well, as usual I am quite behind and have some catching up to do on my mission and adventure documentation. That will be an undertaking for yet another day. Instead, I will spend a little while recounting some of the more minor but meaningful moments of my journey thus far.

VOLLEYBALL
The first thing that comes to mind is volleyball. Who knew that volleyball is huge is Afghanistan!? In many villages comprised of mud homes and makeshift power lines, there are well constructed volleyball courts where the villagers have very competitive games and tournaments. And they are really good! We built a volleyball court behind our headquarters building and all the staffers would play for an hour or so daily to blow off steam and get out of the office. On quite a few occasions my boss actually ordered me to leave my office and go play despite my protests that I had an arm-length to-do list. Soon soldiers from other units came to join in and even some of the Afghan civilians working on our base. That is when we discovered they have mad volleyball skills! They were spiking it in people's faces, playing great defense...it was incredible and wildly entertaining to watch. Soon all the regular players had nicknames for their habits or quirks. Baby cakes, the terminator, franchise, beast, salmon (for always being in the net lol), 59 chevy (our old, grumpy, but loveable in a grandpa way, headquarters first sergeant), Paparazzi (me, more of a general reference to my job...Sergeant major started it by calling me Paparazzi 9 all the time), etc. We started having more and more injuries as people got a little too intense and competitive so we had to make special rules to tone it down a bit. We had one guy break his arm, another his finger, one torn ligament, and some other gashes and scrapes. Everyone, including the battalion commander, loved playing so much though, that when the safety officer added a "volleyball" section to the accidents slide the entire room erupted in objection, arguing he should just call it "recreation" and "what is your deal!? are you TRYING to get volleyball playing banned for us like sports are banned for the infantry or something!?" The LT just blinked back through his thick glasses and shrugged saying he would fix it. Our battalion commander was definitely hilarious to watch play. He is extremely competitive and high energy but he somehow always ended up on losing teams and he would get so frustrated. Threatening the LTs on the other team with physical training retribution if they made their serves or throwing his hat down in disgust when someone on his team would miss. All in fun.

INTERNATIONAL TRASH TALK AND BONDING
I have had the opportunity to directly work with the German, Swedish, Norwegian, Hungarian, Afghan, and Finnish armies, thus far, and that has been one of the most fascinating aspects of my tour. And if it wasn't interesting enough observing the way they behave and do business on my own, listening to them talk trash and poke fun at each other is even more entertaining. Germans have a reputation for being stiff and robotic. A Swedish officer told me a story of how a few German lower enlisted guys were working on bolting something to a wall with a power tool. He explained with great animation how they they were robotically fastening in one bolt after the other until one made a mistake and went right through his had. According to the Swede, this soldier just looked at it without expression, and continued bolting as if nothing ever happened. The Norwegians talked trash about the Latvians and their lack of organization. And so on and so on. All of it is generally friendly and not mean. Just poking fun at the differences. My commander and I reminisced one time about a joint mission we did with the Norwegians. I guess one of the guys got hot during the foot patrol and stopped in the middle of a questionable village to unzip the bottom half of his pants and convert them into to man capris. He finished the mission in his very European looking capris, his pale legs beaming in contrast to his GIANT flak vest and goggles. The Norwegians laughed as a few of them told me about their trip to America and how they were taken to an interrogation room in one of our airports because they were suspected for trying to "sneak" into the country. The Norwegians explained the Americans questioning them thought Norway was some poor European country where the life was harsh and uncivilized. They laughed explaining that Norway is actually one of the wealthiest countries on the face of the earth and the crime rate is one of the lowest, etc. The Swedes that I worked with offered me a bracelet off one of their own wrists that they said they had made with their unit colors and a clasp that has an image of a reindeer, their symbol. I was greatly moved by the gesture. I didn't know at the time that our task force would end up working very closely with them and some would even become great friends. I had nothing so special to give in return so I asked my Commander if we could give them one of our task force coins to show our gratitude and he agreed. On another international note, I have begun a patch collection, swapping my unit patch with any international forces I get to work with. I have a quite a few now and I have had to ask my Sergeant Major for more unit patches repeatedly because I have run out of my own patches to wear. He has now cut me off and I had to order some on my own. It is really neat to explain to people that it is an American Engineer patch and watch them look at it with pride on their shoulder after giving me theirs.

WINDMILLS
My favorite patch, hands down, is the one I got from my German friend in the Regional PsyOps (psychological operations) Support Team. She is a Captain who I worked with for a message campaign I did in a relatively hostile (at the time) city called Ghormach (more about that mission in another post). We spent a week together there with her two Afghan journalists and became good friends. One day I guess I was lost in thought and didn't realize how obvious it was because she asked me what was wrong and caught me a little off guard. I explained that I was just a little frustrated about having to explain to our own forces why information operations are so important when that time and energy should be spent on the target audience. She nodded and told me that it is one of the most difficult parts of the job. She said, many German PsyOps units have windmills on their patches because that is what we do...fight windmills like Don Quixote. We fight invisible giants in intangible battles that our own forces don't believe in most of the time and we have to convince commanders it is worthwhile, let alone the people we are actually trying to get to believe or have hope in their forces. We have a mission that seems impossible in every way most of the time but on we fight. I thought for a moment. What she said resonated so deeply with me. It felt like she was describing my very existance. A person always fighting battles of principal that others say are pointless and only hurt me politically in the end. I can never accept settling for a politically safe move when I know something isn't right. It is also another reason I probably won't last very long in the Army. People who can't put politics before principal rarely do, it seems. After our time at Ghormach and our discussion, she always signed her emails to me, "keep fighting those windmills!" Now, when I'm frustrated or emotionally exhausted from being so invested, I think about her words and it gives me strength. She left the country recently and emailed me to say goodbye. I told her what an impact she had made on me and that I would never forget her and she expressed that the feeling was mutual. I hope I see her again someday.

THE BAN
"Green on Blue" (Afghan soldiers turning on ISAF sodliers) incidents have become more frequent in the last couple weeks and all of RC-North were been ordered to halt partnership activities for a period of time due to the threat. Most of the work I do involves partnership in some way so it was strange. An entire arm of our mission set was been chopped off suddenly. I actually had an Armed Forces Network reporter visiting to cover a bunch of partnership stuff but we had to send him home early because the missions he was going to go on were canceled. BUMMER. It is sad because that is the fundamental purpose of infiltrating Afghan forces and launching attacks on us from within...disrupting the bond of tentative trust that has been established and halting the training of Afghan security forces. That is what is happening, at least temporarily. Time is already so precious since an end date has been established. Watching the media coverage of the attacks and the ban and everything has been painful. You often don't get a true glimpse of how distorted a picture the media presents compared to what is really going on but that has been very apparent to me since I've been here. This situation has been a perfect example. The sound bites and taglines heavily slanted toward one bias or another make it so that anyone reading it without background information of the real situation gets a biased impression even without reading the article.

 WALL OF WISDOM
Early in my deployment I was reading a short book my parents sent me that had inspirational quotes. I have always been a fan of short word groupings that have the awesome power to influence a persons outlook, attitude, and mood and have often made lists of my favorite sayings and quotes in the past. I decided to share this time and posted a large white paper outside my office door titles "LT Ramos' wall of wisdom." Many laughed at it at first scoffing at the idea that I, being so young and a lieutenant, could have wisdom. Nevertheless, each day I typed out a few quotes and taped them to the wall. Soon people started stopping in the halls and to read the quotes on the wall. Each time I would walk out of my office and see someone standing there reading I felt a little hope that maybe of the positive tidbits would be able to better their day. Soon, other officers and soldiers started printing out their own favorite quotes and adding them to the board. It became a place for people to share their positive insights. When I moved to Camp Marmal I had to take my paper down as we packed everything up and closed down Camp Deh Dadi II but it still stand in my memory as a simple thing I am proud of. The wall was nearly completely filled when I took it down and the picture here shows the project mid-stride.

MOVING TO MARMAL
As those of you who have read the previous posts know, I deployed in February and my first home in Afghanistan was Camp Deh Dadi II in Regional Command-North, Afghanistan. Originally Camp Spann was considered Deh Dadi I but it was renamed in honor of Johnny Michael "Mike" Spann, a paramilitary operations officer with the CIA who was the first American killed in combat in the now ongoing operation in Afghanistan.  Camp Deh Dadi was first described to me via teleconference with the advance party that deployed ahead of our main body as "a postage stamp sized s***hole." Really, I didn't think it was bad at all and it was certainly much nicer than many of the other camps I have been to in RC-North. It was not too small, not too big, had relatively nice facilities and wasn't terribly over crowded. As our main body prepared to head home in September, those of us that had been selected to stay on as part of the "TAC," responsible for maintaining continuity of leadership for the U.S. Engineers in the North until a replacement could be identified, prepared to move to Camp Marmal. Marmal is owned by the Germans and serves as the headquarters for the region. It is large, very spaced out, and over crowded. It is nestled near Mazar-e Sharif, a fairly affluent, safe, well educated area of Afghanistan, and has not been attacked directly for years. The tent I live in there is basically the same as the one at DDII but the restroom, chow hall, office, etc facilities are much more spread out. I later flew over DDII and was shocked to see how barren the old place is, now completely stripped. We handed the shell of it over to the Afghan National Army but I don't think they have begun using it much yet because there is no well for water on site and they don't have a logistical set-up for transporting large amounts of water in the area yet. Marmal has a Norwegian pizza place I am huge fan of, a German restaurant that serves Schnitzel and even a German Club called "Planet Mazar" that houses a bar (with only near-beer for Americans but the real thing for most of the Europeans) and a DJ certain nights. It has a beautiful view of some mountains and is really overall a nice place.

PROMOTION
Beyond my dutiful reasons for extending, the fact that I would be able to get my first Army promotion in a combat zone was a happy coincidence. The promotion from 2nd Lieutenant to 1st Lieutenant is basically automatic after 18 months in as long as you don't screw up too badly or get flagged for something. Nevertheless, it comes with a nice pay bump and a little bit (very little lol) of credibility so I was excited. I became eligible on November 13, 2012 but my orders didn't come through until the 20th. I tried to refrain from driving our admin. staff completely nuts during that week but I was quite anxious because the remainder of the 841st Engineer Battalion, with whom I deployed and extended with, was preparing to leave. Finally the orders came through and because their flight out was delayed a day or two, my boss and Battalion Commandeer were able to be the ones to promote me. My boss explained that when a soldier gets promoted they get to do what they want for their ceremony and I chose to have it on the roof of the Norwegian pizza place thinking it would offer a good view. I asked them not to make it mandatory because I didn't want anyone to have to stand through the ceremony that didn't want to be there. Unfortunately, it was pouring rain the day of the ceremony and my commander asked if I wanted to change venues. I started to say yes but he said he once was promoted in the rain atop a guard tower and if I wanted to do it in the rain, he would be there. With that encouragement I stated that was what I really wanted to do. My new boss who had just arrived (as part of Task Force Comet) read the orders and PBB, the other 2 guys staying longer, the Sergeant Major and my Battalion Commander attended. By then it was only barely drizzling so it worked out well and we had pizza directly after. A few others showed up about a half and hour later stating they had intended to show up and I thought it was nice of them to try at least. All in all, it was a good day. My old group left early the next morning and my boss left a note on the inside of my notebook for me to find saying "Be Good Brittany. Best wishes moving forward" and signed his name. It moved me to find it and although I didn't feel I was really close enough to anyone to really miss them, I had fond memories of the time spent with them.

Well, there are some interesting posts I still need to catch up on...the hair episode, an attack, a message campaign, some IED finds...I am in catch up mode so hopefully coming soon. 

I am the Grownd Commanda!

PBB (Permanent Battle Buddy) and I loaded the chopper for our first mission together and what would turn out to be one of my coolest experiences yet. We were to ride along with one of our route clearance platoons (RCP) on their mission in support of a Norwegian provincial reconstruction team (PRT). (For anyone who doesn't know, route clearance means moving along designated routes looking for IEDs) Fortunately, my first brief  mission with this platoon had gone well and they had invited me to ride along again. Since the ANA would be partnering on the mission, it was a great opportunity for me to get some experience to write with and some photos.

I rode in the RG (type of Mine Resistant Ambush Protected...MRAP vehicle) with the Platoon Leader(PL) and PBB rode in the vehicle behind us. Almost instantly as we showed up to their area, PBBs truck commander has whisked her away and was giving her the run down of the vehicle, procedures (including how to operate the 50 cal machine gun), and "rules" to follow. We came to find out the staff sergeant in charge of her vehicle is quite particular and, although she appreciated the lesson, had a good laugh about his immediate insistance that she 1. follow all rules and instructions promptly, 2. wear all protective equipment at all times, and whatever the other rules were.

So there I was, all packed up like a sardine in the back seat of the RG. The ammo cases were strapped down next to me on the left and the wall to my right angled downward to create the signature "V-shaped hull" that helps divert blasts away from the vehicle (but does not make a flat floor for you to put your feet down on), and the front passanger seat was directly in front of me. I have no idea how bigger guys sit in these seats but after a few hours I was in all kinds of weird postitions trying to keep my legs from falling asleep: feet up on the passanger seat in front of me, as if I were doing a V-up sit up, legs laying across the ammo cans with my back toward the window, turned around facing the gunner

We got up early in the morning and packed our equipment into the trucks so they could be properly strapped down. Once we were set, the PL gave a refresher brief, recovering the things had had briefed the day before and asking questions to ensure everyone was clear on the important points. The truck commander PBB was to ride with then led the group in a prayer and everyone loaded up in the vehicles.

We met the Norwegian PRT at an Afghan Uniform Police headquarters from which we would launch our operations for the next four days. It had two buildings built of modern materials (a small jail and a meeting area) and a mud building where it appeared the people who worked at the small enclosed area lived. It had a concrete wall surrounding it with barbed wire on top and 4 guard towers, one in each corner, but with buildings lined up right up to the walls that offered high vantage points and a mere cinderblock wall as defense, it was wide open in my opinion.

Before we left, the PL mentioned to me that the Norwegians had a thing for repeatedly declaring their positions and assured me that when I met the Major he would emphasize frequently that he is the "Ground Commander". Sure enough, as soon as I met he, he declared it and I couldn't help but smile and glance at the PL. We went into a mission brief/meeting and I counted that he said it 8 more times. Everytime he was going to express his opinion it came as, "Well, as the Ground Commander, I think..." or "Since I am the Ground Commander, I will do this..." Everytime I tried not to giggle...he said it with unusal emphasis, a mighty declaration of his authority and power...and with the accent...it reminded me of Arnold declaring himself Governor of California...my urge to bust out laughing increased everytime he said it.

The mission was an aggressive one, an engagement with village leaders but positioned in a way intended to draw fire from an indirect fire weapon that was used to attack the PRT and the RCP on their last visit; this would be a return to the location of our Task Force's first enemy contact.

The Norwegians prepared their vehicles to leave and PBB and I explored the grounds in the meantime, taking a look inside the jail cells. The consisted of a narrow concrete room, with a raised area and mat for sitting/sleeping, and hole in the ground for a restroom.

Before gearing back up, PBB and I took a picture in front of the restroom facilities. Outside it looks like a perfectly normal building. Inside is a collection of large holes that drain to an open area behind the building, causing the entire area to have a smell so foul, many of the Soldiers came out heaving and choking back vommit. Luckily, there was one porta-potty there and, depite the fact that it was full and almost overflowing most of the time, I used it in favor of the Afghan alternative.

Finally, we hit the road. I marvaled at the beautiful landscape, the children waving in the streets excitedly, the Russian tanks strewn about as eerie reminders of the fortitude of the northern Afghans...mere farmers who defeated an industrialized oppressor (sound familiar? I seem to remember something similar happening in American history. And then followed years of turmoile, distrust in the centralized government, refusal to recognize the centralized government, complete reformatting of the government, and so....and people say there is no hope for Afghanistan...)

The interesting thing about Afghan traffic is that the human traffic is really not the issue. Afghans speed around us, often crossing into oncoming traffic with disregard for safety or rules. Its the herds of cattle and sheep we share the road with that are often, most troublesome...dumb sickly looking animals that wander in front of and along side 40 ton vehicles without a care in the world, driven forward by 7 year olds tapping them on the butts with sticks. 

We got the area near the Afghan Local Police (ALP) check point we were supposed to visit. It wasn't until we were driving around the mountain that I realized...it was on top of a mountain...with no road. We pulled up and waited for the Nowegians. Can't act without the GROUND COMMANDER there right? The PL dismounted and tripped my way past the gunner, out the back of the RG. I charged my weapon so there was a round in my chamber and looked around. We sat relatively isolated in a valley, surrounded by hilltops. The ANA PL had transfered to our vehicle so he meet attend the meeting with us. The 3 of us stood there in valley, listening to the silence. PL was checking his mobile radio while the ANA PL and I scanned the hilltops. Every movement caused me to look more closely. In turn the ANA PL would stand next to me and look too, eventually making gestures to say it was a farmer or a sheep or whatever. The minutes seemed to expand and all I kept thinking was how easy it would be for us to be ambushed right there. We were relatively fixed, relatively isolated from the rest of our fire power, surrounded by hilltops and had a total of 3 M4 rifles and a M2 crew serve. Granted, that 50 cal could do some serious damage but positionally, we were very vulnerable and I did not like it. On a positive note, we did have close air support buzzing around on the other side of the mountain near the rest of our convoy and those Apaches would definitely fix the problem quick if anything "popped off" as our Miami guys like to say. Finally the Norwegians showed up and drove their Dingo (Their variety of MRAP) a little ways up the hill side. Let me take this oportunity to say, the Norwegians are doing it right! They go home for a week approximately every other month and their Dingos are like military luxury vehicles with plush leather seats, all kinds of leg room and even stereo systems! Their pants unzip at the knees and turn into shorts and they have no hesitation stripping down to the bare minimum to tan on their off time. I will say, however, the helmets they have barely cover their heads and they never wear them anyway which I found funny. I don't know why they bother carrying them around.

So we get around the corner and the dingo has stopped. The Major hops out and steps into the civilian ranger type vehicle parked next to it, stating he figured it would be best if we put our weapons in the trunk. Uh what!? No, I'm not walking up to this check point unarmed...this guy really trusts these people that much? Everyone started putting their weapons in the trunk of the truck...I stood there for a moment gripping mine. The Major saw my hesitation and laughed, trust me you don't want to hold it. Um, yes I do, I do very much want to hold it, is this guy nuts!? I gigerly looked at the PL and followed his lead, putting my weapon carefully in the trunk. The Major nodded and opened the door, prepared to sit down and gestured that we should hop on the side. I looked at the direction we were facing, my eyes tracing up the steep side of the hill with tire tracks and back at the the PL with an "are you freaking kidding me? we are really going to do this?" grin. I stepped up on the narrow ledge of the truck, gripped the rack with one hand and wrapped my other arm around some kind of strange snorkle and grinned at the horrified looking translator doing the same thing on the opposite side of the truck. The PL stood next to him and ANA PL stood next to me. The engine rev'd and my heart fluttered but I just let out a laugh and held on. It was exhilerating and it occured to me that if the Army could see what we were doing right then, it would be bad. We would probably be sentenced to death by perpetual safety brief. But hey, mission first right? The truck charged up the side of the hill trying to pick up enough momentum early to carry it up through the more steep areas. The truck tilted toward me, huffing and puffing up the hill, and I held on for dear life, pushing a mental picture of the truck rolling over me and down the rest of the hill out of my mind, but considering long enough to ponder which way I should jump off to have the best chance of surviving, should such a thing happen.

 

When the truck had gone as far as it could go, it came to an exaughsted halt and we hopped off. The dirver popped the trunk and I realized they didn't actually expect me to just go wandering around outside the wire unarmed. I was so happy to have my precious, black hunk of metal back in my arms! We hiked the rest of the way up the hillside. For some of the way there was a narrow goat path that curved up the side and for some of it the slope was so steep I was hitting my elbows with my knees, trying not to end up on all fours. I loved every minute of the climb; the moment was not lost on me at all. Everything I had struggled through in the last few years flashed through my mind...Here I am, fresh out of college, butter bar on my chest, in the middle of Afghanistan, wide open, climbing a mountain to document a meeting between International military officers and the local police force we have helped build. I felt proud and humbled at the same time.

When we reached the check point, some of the men were shoveling piles of dirt, others were having tea, other were scanning the horizon on look out. There were quite a few people there. I wondered if that was because of the meeting or if they regularly had such a robust staff. The Major spoke with the local commander about the progress they were making and how many more Hesco barriers they needed to complete a better bunker area. The local commander excitedly explained how they fought off a Taliban attack only a couple weeks before from a hill about 70 yards away. He explained the local Taliban were scared of them now because they had killed one of the attackers. From what I gathered, it had been confirmed that Taliban activity in the village had significantly decreased since the checkpoint had been established on the hill overlooking it. Such success, reletively independent of coalition force support, though relatively isolated, filled me with hope. Afghanistan is a nation that will undoubtably have to find peace one village at a time. So each village, no matter how small, facing improvement and finding its footing is a win.

The discussions continued for quite some time. I marveled at the amazing view. Between the tiny route clearance trucks lined up at the base of the mountain, the rolling great hilltops, the bright blue sky, the organized mud village below, and the Apaches zooming back and forth in front of us and over the convoy, it was spectacular. The Afghans stared at me, grinned at me, whispered to each other about me...I ignored the awkwardness of dozens of eyes on me at all times, the gesturing toward my ass, the creepy invitation to have tea by myself in their tent. Its not that they are really any different than American men, I just don't think they realize I don't have to speak their language to read their body langauge. Generally they don't mean any harm but I won't lie, the staring gets old. In American culture, when someone catches you staring you usually look away, Afghans don't, they just continue with the exact same expression, indefinitenly.

I was taking lots of pictures, taking notes, and some man kept saying the same phrase to me over and over. I was trying desperately to understand what in the world he was trying to say to me and we was looking and me like I should know exactly what he was saying to me so I kept laughing and holding of my hands in confusion to demonstrate I had no idea. Finally I was dying of curiosity so I gestured for the man to come with me and I walked over to the translator. A pack of men followed. The PL was shaking his head and laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation. I laughed too when I saw him laughing and shrugged my shoulders. The translator told me the man was saying "How are you?" in slang. I laughed that the man had acted like he was trying to share national secrets with me and it turned out he was just trying to communicate a basic greeting. I explained to the man how to say "How are you" in english after I had repeated the phrase in Dari a few times in an attempt to commit it to memory. I never thought "how are you" would be such a difficult phrase to pronounce but before I knew it, there was a crowd trying to mimic my sylables and failing until I had repeated it about 10 times. "No, no, not "koo", "YOOOUUU"..."How are you"...no, not...well yea that's close enough, good job!" Then came the picture requests. Each one wanted me to take a picture of them, and then they wanted a picture with all of their buddies, and then just their best buddy, and then....yea finally I declared it would be last picture so if they wanted to be in it, line up together.

During the whole ordeal, I did mangage to find time to trade patches with one of the Norwegians; the first of my international patch collection.

Eventually we headed back down the mountain side to the truck. The ride back down on the side of the truck was significantly more fightening than the ride up. I'll admit I am still a little uneasy about tilting vehicles ever since I rolled my parents forerunner over in Oklahoma. I gasped for breath a few times as the vehicle leaned toward me. People sometimes think I don't understand what it feels like to have phobias. I have nearly hammered this vehicle rollover phobia out of my system but what it comes down to is a refusal to let that fear make decisions for me. I feel all the physical symptoms, my heart in my throat pumping harder than usual, muscles tense, cheeks get hot, shot of terror through my spine...but in my head I coax myself onward and refuse to let it control me. I breathe deeply and I control me, fear does not control me. That might sound cheezy, it is I guess, but hey, you try flipping around, unseatbelted in an SUV as it rolls twice into a ditch and hits a tree...and then riding around on edges of cliffs in 40 ton top heavy vehicles being driven by Specialists and see how you feel! I can't help the internal reaction I have but I hide it on the outside pretty well. You do what you have to do.

Remember the awakward staring thing I was talking about? Yea, thats me and the ANA PL headed down the mountain. I forgot to mention, there is no such thing as personal space in Afghanistan.

 That night we slept in a tent at the police heaquarters. The next morning we were on our way again, this time to meet with some village elders. This was the part of the mission that had us returning to the same location the PRT and RCP had taken fire last time and everyone was excited. Unfortunately, as much as I am itching to go on about how everything happened, I need to stay on the side of caution and be sparse on the details of how the mission side of things actually went down. I will say we visited the river bank in front of the village for 3 days in a row. 

The first day, we dismounted on the bank and the local leaders came across the "bridge" to meet us. This bridge was a fascinating mission event in and of itself! It consisted of a chain link fense stretched across the river, anchored to each end with logs and rope tied lower in attempt to give it some stability, with sticks woven through it and a blue rope tied to posts as a hand guide. What as more amazing was that the Afghans were carrying all kinds of crazy things across on this thing: giant bags of rice, logs, large jugs, motorcycles, animals, you name it! I wish I could post the video I took but it would take forever to load so not now at least. We watched them traverse this obstacle for about 30 minutes while the Major met with the village Elders. In that time, two men fell into river. Luckily they were uninjured except for the large bag of rice they lost. A villager told me some kind person had reimbursed them for it though. I'm telling you, Afghans are some of the most kind, hospitable people I have ever met.

We walked (me, the Major, PL, EOD) a total of about a mile up and down the river bank scoping out the village and determining if there were any points at the river that could be crossed by foot. As we passed our vehicles perched on the high ground I notice the oddest thing: a lone donkey. There is stood, not a person in sight that it could possibly belong to, unmoving, watching us with lack of interest. The whole thing perplexed me. Who leaves a donkey just standing there? It wasn't looking for anything, doing anything, it was like a statue save the ear that twitched every now and then.

To be honest, the Apaches kind of ruined the provacative intent of the mission. Timmy and Tommy Taliban don't want to do anything when they risk getting lit it up by a badass helicopter.

While we were scoping out the river bank, the ANA were conducting an area sweep of a piece of key terrain near by and keeping overwatch of the fighting positions we had set up. On day two, we were back and again, the ANA conducted an area sweep of the terrain. Right in the tire tracks that their humvee had travelled the day before, they found the lovely present you see below. It was kind of funny how the SGT who works with them explained it had happened. He said they went out with their mine detectors and 2 minutes later came back saying "We find wire." He said ok, well you know what to do, keep sweeping. A minute later they came back, "I find IED". When the SGT walked up to see what they had found, sure enough they had already almost completely dug out the initiation device. EOD was embedded with us for that mission so they came and did their thing, resulting in a beautiful safe expolsion disposing of the hazard. Again, the ANA found the IED when it came down to it and I was so proud and hopeful that they could keep up the good work when the coalition pulls out.

Since I was in the PLs vehicle, I was on site with the IED. The vehicles that were still on the river bank reported that they were taking small arms fire. Unfortunately, they were not able to get positive identification of who was shooting and due to the risk to the civilians in the village, they were not able to return fire. That night we feasted Norwegian MREs (meals ready to eat, what military eats when there is no kitchen essentially) and they were naturally delicious. That night another element took the tent and we slept on cots under the stars...the beautiful, beautiful Afghan stars.

Day three we were hopeful for some excitement but it never came. I forgot to mention that in the midst of all this, we had one vehicle breakdown completely, an ANA flat tire, a brief moment of being stuck in an irrigation canal that was built across the road for some reason, radio issues, and another vehicle whose power was so weak it could barely make it over a speed bumb.

After day three, we headed back to the police HQ to pick up our broken vehicle before heading back to our forward operating base (FOB). We circled the wagons outside the perimeter to wait for the recovery vehicle to grab the broken down Buffalo. We dismounted and gave MREs and water and whatever else we could to the local children that ran up to great us. They mobbed us as we unpacked the MREs to throw them out in individual pieces so they could be spread more evenly among the children. The kids are so adorable...beautiful tan skin with surprising light blue eyes sometimes or blonde hair that shows the Russian influence. They melted my heart and broke it at the same time. Little girls came around eventually, running away everytime I gestured toward them to come closer. Finally I took of my helment and eye protection and gloves and smiled at them, trying to show them I was a woman and they didn't need to be scared. I threw a water bottle basically at them and they grabbed as it skidded at their feet and ran back behind a wall, peering over as if trying to decide if they should come back. Eventually they did. I looked at them. They had matted hair, nested like it had never been brushed in their life, dusty cheeks with sores from what looked like poor hygiene and care, no shoes, torn clothing hanging of their tiny underfed bodies. I just wanted to take them in my lap and wash them and brush their hair. I hated the fear in their eyes, the timidness. An older girl came around eventually, calm and collected, poised. PBB mentioned she probably took care of all her brothers and sisters. She looked about 9 or 10, dressed in fancy clothes like she was being presented...I got thing feeling she probably was. She did seem to take care of them, the little ones brought her the stuff they had gotten and she opened the tubes of peanut butter and other snacks for them. I bonded a little with her. Talking to her through gestures and smiles. She was such a sweet little girl. I gave her my watch and she clutched it in her hand. I looked over later and saw a boy about her age taking it out of her had. She argued with him and eventually gave in. I walked over and pointed at the watch in the boys hand and pointed and the little girl. He reluctantly handed it back. I kneeled down and held the little girls wrist out. I carefully put the watch on her wrist and latched it for her so she could wear it. She gave me a million dollar smile. In the big scheme of things the whole interaction was probably meaningless but nothing I had done the entire mission felt quite so meaningful.

The Catch Up Post

I have been swamped and exhausted lately and I have failed to get this blog all caught up to the relative present so I have decided to do a  FAST FORWARD post. I will hit the big things and if I remember smaller things I figure I can always add them into posts later.


After attending the Afghan Explosives Ordnance Disposal (EOD) graduation, I had the opportunity to talk the Navy EOD guys responsible for helping train the ANA(Afghan National Army) EOD teams. I explained my job to them and they told me I was welcome to come out with them to the demolition range in two days. I accepted.

I went back to Deh Dadi II and switched out my laundry, repacked and headed back to Camp Spann the next day (yes, this time with my sleeping bag lol). Early the following morning I was all packed up like a sardine in an MRAP vehicle and headed to the demolition range. The range consisted of a wide open space with large blast pits.  The security team set up a perimeter and the ANA and EOD guys got to work placing C4 charges on some helicopter rockets that had been dropped and needed to be disposed of. They rolled out some det. cord and we moved back to watch the explosions. I climbed up in the gunner turret to video tape and was amazed that even 300 meters away I could feel the power of the explosions ripple through my body!
It was funny because the ANA route clearance guys had no problem setting up the charges but when it came time to detonate they were no where to be found at first. They had made a B-line to their vehicle, closed and locked the doors! I guess when you grow up watching explosions kill your loved ones it isn't as exciting as it is to we Americans who grow up watching cool Hollywood effects on movie screens. With some coaxing and reassurance, they stuck around for the second and third detonations.

My next notable adventure was being involved with the very first U.S. outpost deconstruction in Regional Command North. You may or may not recall President Karzai calling for all U.S. COPs (combat outpost, smaller than a FOB- forward operating base) to be closed after the Koran Burning incident at Bagram. Well, that mandate fell in the laps of the Engineers so off we went to tear down COP Qaisar, a tiny little postage stamp in the Northwest. I flew with our Task Force Commander so I got to take a Blackhawk dedicated just for our trip. We still stopped 4 times for fuel and other small errands before making it to our destination but you get to fly lower and faster in the Blackhawks so the view was incredible and I didn't mind. I didn't realize until that flight how beautiful Afghanistan really is.

I spent a few days at Qaisar taking pictures, filming leader engagements between our commander and the local ANA infantry commander who had been partnering with the infantry unit occupying the COP, and learning to operate construction equipment. The last day it began to rain goats and sheep so operations had to be halted for a while but as soon as it lightened up enough to at least see, work resumed and continued into the night to make up for lost time. I had only 3 hours to sleep that night because I was catching a late night convoy over to FOB Griffin but the racket from the jackhammer and controlled explosions (trying to break up the 2 foot thick concrete maintenance tent pad) throughout the night cut that down to about an hour. I loved every minute of that experience. The work ethic and dedication of the soldiers was inspiring. They were all covered in mud, head to toe, holes in their clothes, tattered gloves, no hot showers, no internet and yet not a single complaint or bad attitude. They completed the deconstruction 4 days ahead of schedule.

We (my Task Force Commander and I) arrived at FOB Griffin about 0445 and decided to post up in the security control center while we sought to establish communications with the company commander we needed to link up with. He said he would meet us in the dining hall at 0600 when it opened. Sweet, we can sleep for an hour. I thought, as I stood there willing my eyes to stop drooping so much and look more motivated. "Well LT, I think I will just read here for an hour and then we can head over to chow" chirped my super human Task Force Commander. "Roger that, Sir!" I said with as much enthusiasm as I could muster and plopped down at an empty desk. I didn't have a book or anything so I just stared at the pictures of the family of whoever usually sat at the desk. What seemed like 5 minutes later the commander was telling me to get ready to go and I was on my feet with a smile and enthusiasm as if I had never fallen asleep with my forehead plastered to the desk. Breakfast. Drop my bags in the transient tent. 2 more annoying reminders that I am a female and thus must be extra careful, as we walk through the ANA compound...Finally I looked my commander in the eyes and said, "Sir, I carry a very large rifle and a very large knife and I'm definitely in the same weight class as these Afghan men; I feel good about my chances in a fight." "well, still take a battle buddy wherever you go." "Roger Sir." SIGH. Everyone but me was staying at a separate compound so someone had to be sent to escort me between compounds every evening and every morning. I hated that.


We met with ANA Engineer leadership although I got some subtle staring and sideways looks, it wasn't a big deal I was there. An ANA Lieutenant stood up to give me his chair, I said, "Thank you, no, no it's ok keep your seat" He gestured toward the chair, I gestured it was ok, he gestured more, I said it was ok....he growled and forcefully gestured that I sit. I did. That was that. Yikes!

The commander continued his meetings and I attended a training session with the Embedded Training Team responsible for training the ANA Route Clearance company there. They were teaching a group of Afghan non-commissioned officers map reading and plotting skills.  Here, I had my first cup of chai, Afghan tea. Well, actually, I had my first 10 cups because I kept putting my cup down to take pictures and when I would go to pick it back up it would be refilled and then I didn't want to be rude and seem wasteful by not finishing it. They offered me small taffy-like fruit flavored candies and the training team explained to me that you put them in the tea and the melt and sweeten it. The chai was also SCALDING hot...I had to let it cool for at least 20 minutes before it was drinkable. The training team explained to me that it is so hot because it is well-water and the Afghans boil it to purify it. He advised I not drink anything luke warm. This kid was just a specialist and so collected and knowledgeable! The Afghans loved him! They greeted him with hugs and fist-pounds and welcoming grins. He had none of the uneasiness some of the older ranks had being around Afghan Soldiers and clearly earned their trust and respect in the very short amount of time he had been there. Plus, the team works outside the U.S. security perimeter constantly and wears no body armor because it would portray an offensive lack of trust to the soldiers they are charged with training. 19 years old and doing tangible, tide turning, dangerous work for the American and Afghan people. It is true, what they say, about children leading us. It is also true, what they say, about specialists running the Army!


The next day first aid training was taking place and I walked over with a member of the ETT to take pictures. The medic was on the ground with a fake ANA patient and 2 ANA trainee helpers demonstrating compression bandages and tourniquets and the rest of the trainees were circled around them observing. As soon as I walked up, obvious murmuring and distraction spread through the crowd. They were all looking at me. I asked the translator what was going on. He said they are saying "Look, a female. And she is an officer! and she is very beautiful!" My face got hot. I looked back toward the group and 50 cameras and phones were pointed at me snapping pictures. I was shocked and stared at them for a heart beat before I started waving at them to put their cameras down. I kept waving while asking the translator to tell them to focus on the training! He kind of laughed and started to say something when someone through their arm around my shoulders and pulled me to their side! I looked up and the ANA LT who had insisted I sit during the meeting was smiling and gesturing for me to look at his friend holding his camera for a picture. I smiled awkwardly and backed away. Luckily before things had gotten too out of hand I had snapped a few good pictures. With a defeated look on my face I looked at the SGT in charge of the training team. He laughed and asked if I had gotten what I needed and I said yes and I should probably go so the training could continue. We started to walk back toward the lower compound and it began to pour. We jogged back until we were inside the gate. I asked the specialist why he thought things went so differently in this training. He pointed out that the other one was with leaders and these were lower enlisted soldiers. 

The next day the ANA soldiers were riding along on a short route clearance mission to the COP Qaisar site that was mere skin and bones at that point. I rode along in the Buffalo and explained the radio traffic to them through the translator. When we got to Qaisar, the Route Clearance Platoon I was riding with got a call about an IED that Afghan National Police had discovered and were requesting EOD support for. What exciting news! I said to the platoon leader, "I'm coming along, right" He agreed. Unfortunately, by the time we got to the site, we were informed the Navy Seals had already blown the IED in place. We had Navy EOD with us so who knows how those wires got crossed but you gotta love Military coordination and communication. 3 hours of driving for the flag.
 The next day I was all by my lonesome on a chopper back to Deh Dadi. That time, I rode in a little Huey in the back, almost part of the tail, seat that faces out. It was like watching Afghanistan on a movie screen. Absolutely beautiful. I was in awe. I was also practically sitting on top of the contractor in the very tiny seat next to me and I don't think he had the same appreciation for the scenery.

When I arrived back at Deh Dadi, no one was there to pick me up at the flight line. I looked around, chuckled, and snapped the chest snap on my ruck. I walked a little more than a mile in full battle rattle back to our headquarters and continued straight into the Task Force Commander's office. I said, "Sir! I'm back and I would like my patch! I have been waiting patiently!" When a Soldier reaches the 30 days in theater mark, they receive a "combat patch" to wear on their right shoulder signifying their veteran status. I had missed all of the patching ceremonies while I was gone and was excited for my right shoulder to finally have something on it below the flag. The commander laughed and started rummaging through his drawer to find a spare patch to give me. He went to put it on me and we both realized I was wearing a combat shirt which doesn't have a space for the patch. He told me to go shower and change and he would have our Command Sergeant Major patch me when I got back. My commander took the picture while Sergeant Major placed the 18th Engineer Brigade patch, that I am still wearing now, on my right shoulder.

Mike Spann

I walked back to my tent and pulled out my assault pack. What to pack...what to pack....The words of an ROTC instructor echoed in my head "When you are an officer, people won't tell you what to pack, what you decide bring is what you have." I was only going for an over-nighter but here they say always be ready to be stuck a minimum of 72 hours. I packed a couple pairs of socks, bras, undershirts, underwear....an extra uniform, a flashlight, phone from home I use as an alarm/charger, camera/charger, malaria pills, hygiene kit, laptop, extra eyepro, pt uniform, shower shoes...I hesitated....maybe I should bring my sleeping bag or a blanket...pillow? No, it's just one night, I'll be fine. It has been warm lately and I'll be in a tent. I'll just crash in my uniform. Worst Case scenario I can always buy a blanket at the exchange there. I crawled into my bed, checked my Facebook, and knocked out.

A few hours later I headed to my office to get some routine work done. I had told my NCOIC to take the morning off and get done whatever he needed to before we left. The Supply Sergeant stopped by to give me the blank cds I had requested the day before and I told him about my trip. He asked how much ammo I had, I said 10 rounds. He asked how many magazines I had, I said two magazine. The Supply Sergeant laughed at me....a lot. When he calmed down he said, "LT what the hell did you do with all your ammo!?" I said, "That was all they gave me! They said that was all they had." He laughed more, "LT, they issued again when we got here." I stared at him. "Well no one told me! I thought everyone had 10 rounds!" Supply Sergeant shook his head, "So you were about to go outside the wire with 10 rounds? I hope you have really good aim! Come on, we will square you away." I grinned and grabbed my weapon to follow him. He placed 6 magazines on the table. He handed me stacks of 5.56 ball rounds on little metal racks. I looked at him, looked at the stacks of bullets and sighed. I picked up the first rack and pulled the first bullet off and put it in my magazine. I loaded a second round. A third. The Supply Sergeant was rummaging through boxes until he turned around with a small piece of metal. I looked at it and looked at him. "What's that? A magazine broke?" He laughs more. "No, LT, this is a speed loader. Watch." He picked up one of the racks and a magazine and placed the "speed loader" on the end of the magazine. He fitted the rack into the groove of the "speed loader" and placed the other end of the rack against the table and pressed the magazine down onto the rack. Instantly the entire rack of bullets was loaded! I was amazed! Here I thought I was going to spend the next hour loading over 100 bullets by hand! And all those times at the range I hand wondered how they loaded the mags so fast! And such a simple little tool! "wow! That's awesome Sergeant! Do I get to keep this thing?" He nodded and I clutched it with excitement.

A few hours later my NCOIC and I were in full kit (body armor WITH the annoying neck and groin protectors and terminator looking attachment holding all my magazines, eye protection, gloves, helmet, weapon) standing at the flight-line. A civilian Canadian version of a Chinook helicopter gracefully landed before us and we waddled up to our seats. About a minute and a half later we were climbing back off the helicopter at Camp Mike Spann, DDII's senselessly close next door neighbor.

One of my former maintenance chiefs, now assigned to the partnership office, and the former StratCom LT picked us up at the flight-line in a white pick-up. Oddly enough, the helipad was outside the compound in this case so we got searched on the way in. We removed all of our armor at the Partnership office and spent a couple hours talking about all things StratCom and Partnership. We went to the Dining Facility for dinner and then spent another hour working at the office before retiring to the transit tents we would spend the night in.  I wandered a bit until I found the female showers.. rifle slung, fixed blade knife in one hand, hygiene kit in the other, flashlight on my head. After an icy shower I sloshed in wet flip-flops, same posture as I came, back to my tent.

A civilian sleeping bag was rolled out on the bed across from the one I had picked and a backpack on the floor next to it. I stared at the items for a while before getting fully dressed again and pulling my laptop out to watch a show on my computer and possibly check Facebook. I placed my backpack behind my head and relaxed a bit. No internet. I watched a show I had brought with me and then placed my laptop on the floor next to me as I began to fade into sleep. I was groggy and half-conscious when I heard the other lady walk in. She was sturdy and tall, brunette, and dressed like a hiker. I said hello, she said hello, I slipped back into a light sleep. I was shivering. I felt the ache in my muscles as I woke up. The resonating ache from clenching them too long. I peered around in the darkness before reaching into my backpack for my spare uniform top. I pulled it tightly around my chest and tried to relax my muscles. I felt better for a few moments and then began shivering again, as if the cold had only been delayed by the extra layer. I figured eventually I would fall back asleep. I was so tired. I decided to try to relax and ignore it. I kept shivering, not easing any closer to sleep. I grunted and sat up. Of course, the night I'm here it gets hold. When the hell did it get cold! I looked around the tent with my flashlight. Earlier I had a seen an abandoned sheet. I spotted it again with the light. I creeped over and inspected it without touching it. A candy wrapper, a shoelace, lots of dust....it doesn't look like it is covered in anything strange or diseased...I leaned down and sniffed it. It smelled like dust. I stared at it for a while and felt the ache in my muscles, fought the urge to clatter my teeth together, and finally put the flashlight band around my head and picked up the sheet. I leaned away as I shook it out, more time than necessary probably. Wow, I'm really going to use this random dusty sheet. Next time I'll bring the damn sleeping bag. I laid back down wrapping the extra top and the sheet around me, careful not to touch the sheet to my face, in case it had coodies or something. I woke up from the cold a few more times but at least was able to sleep in between.

In the morning, I packed up my gear before meeting my NCOIC in the Dining Facility for breakfast. Afterward, we grabbed our gear and headed back to the partnership office. Our Battalion Commander and Commander Sergeant Major flew in and we all went to the Afghan National Security Forces Engineer School EOD (specialists that disarm bombs) graduation. There was a speaker and a long prayer (which technically, my hair should have been covered for but after 10 years of working with us they don't expect American women to follow their cultural/religious rules, but had I known at the time, I would have covered my hair out of respect) and then a line of professors, senior ranking officers, dignitaries, and our own CSM and BC formed at the front of the room. The enthusiasm of the Afghan Soldiers was inspiring! Upon hearing their name, they each proudly stood up, marched dramatically down the hall, lifting their arms and legs as high as they could go with each step, halted in front of the person holding their certificate and saluted, shooting "I am ready to receive my certificate" in Dari. Upon receiving their certificate they would shake hands, about face, hold the certificate over their head proudly and shout in Dari, "I have graduated and served my country!" After the ceremony I was able to interview the top graduate in the class. He had served in the Afghan Army for 6 years, 2 of those years as an officer. He said he did not have a wife and his mother was proud of his military service but unhappy about him working with explosives. I asked him why he joined the army and he said all the young men were joining to serve their country. I asked him why he became an officer and he said he wanted to someday command brigades. I asked him why EOD and he said he liked being able to make bombs safe so that children wouldn't get hurt. I asked him, if he could tell the Afghan people one thing, what would it be? He said to keep and open mind and hope for the future.

I was interrupted by the Specialist pulling security for me during the interview and we were hurried back to the office. I spent 15 minutes at the bazaar looking at the handmade crafts and buying a phone card before it was time to gear up. We convoyed back to DDII which was the most roundabout 1 hour route to go next door trip I have ever been on. I was glued to the ballistic window looking at the village, the people and the buildings, for the first time. It was completely fascinating. We cleared weapons and fueled up upon returning and went to drop our gear. When I walked back into my tent, after what seemed like much longer than 24 hrs, there was the sleeping bag I decided to leave, mocking me.

STRATCOM!

I walked into the TOC (operations center, where the staff works) the day after I finished inventorying and signing over the Maintenance Platoon equipment to one of the Chiefs. I had spent the evening before getting all of the brooding and pouting out of my system so that I could show up with a positive attitude, ready to make the best of things. I knocked on the Executive Officer's door and a crisp "what!?" came hurling back at me. Very officially I stated, "LT Ramos, reporting as requested, Sir!" There was a pause and then he shouted, "I'm not ready for you yet! Come back in 20!" "Roger that!" and I stood awkwardly in the hallway, peeking next door into the room I was relatively sure would be my new office. 20 minutes later I knocked on the door again he said he needed 10 more minutes. 10 more minutes of standing awkwardly in the hallway. It wasn't long enough to go do anything and I felt so out of place. Staff....I couldn't believe I had already ended up on staff! Damn. 

10 minutes later I knocked on the door and he said he was ready for me. I put my professional, confident face on and walked inside. He said have a seat, I did. He read the first paragraph in the initial counseling which was an overview of what STRATCOM! is and then explained a little further. He went on about how it would largely be what I made it because it is a new position but the Brigade and Theater commands were very focused on it. He stated my working hours were 0800 to 2100 daily and "there are no days off, this is WAR." He continued talking about a D3A targeting process...I had no idea what he was talking about but continued to nod, making a mental note to look that up. I asked a few questions, he gave a few answers. He seemed displeased with my NCOIC (non-commissioned officer in charge), that set off an alarm in my head given the fiasco I had just dealt with, but I was making this my new start and I decided it would be a clean slate for my new NCOIC too. He gave me a copy of my counseling and  I went to my office...next door. It was very dusty and I wasn't exactly sure what to do with myself yet so I found baby wipes and started cleaning everything. I figured my NCOIC would show up eventually and I would get some clarification from him on exactly what STRATCOM! is. An hour later he still hadn't showed up. There was a rock sitting on the file cabinet that had writing on it. I took a closer look and found it had hurricane flags drawn on it (we are Task Force Hurricane) with What is StratCom? written on it. Below that it said "ahh........". Yea, exactly I thought, who the hell knows. At this point I had decided it wasn't a real job.

I waited around for a while longer, logged in to my computers, explored the building a bit, checked back to see if my NCOIC had shown up yet, sent an email to the former StratCom Officer (who, by the XO's description had been an epic failure so I wasn't sure how much I was going to get from him) and finally headed back to my tent. I wasn't really supposed to start until the next day and I had no idea what to do anyway. There wasn't exactly a manual.

I was almost to the door and the current operations officer told me there was a staff sync meeting in 3 minutes as he passed me. Again, awkward standing in the hallway. I waited until someone emerged from their office and seemed to be heading to a meeting and followed them. Little did I know I was entering my first fire fight! I sat in the conference room, blank faced and quiet, observing. People were laughing, yelling, climbing on the walls, eating glue, it was insane! The meeting began and the play turned vicious. Buses were driving, people were getting thrown under them. Sniper shots whizzed past me, duck! shapnal! Who knew a staff meeting could be so dangerous! I looked at everyone in the room like they were lunatics. These people had be cooped up in offices far too long. I gotta get out before I lose it like these people! What happened to them!?

After the staff meeting I decided to check my email one more time before I left. The former StratCom officer was stationed at a camp very near ours. I knocked on the XO's door and explained why I needed to go to this other camp and meet with former Strategic Communications Officer. He agreed it shouldn't be a problem for me and my NCOIC to go the day after next and I was excited to be "leaving the wire" (going off base grounds) for the first time. 

The next day I met my NCOIC and explained we would be going on the trip the next day. He generally explained the products he had been responsible for before: newsletter, facebook, cutlines (picture briefs), weekly Staff Meeting slides, storyboards, articles, etc. From the products I was generally get the idea of the job but I was still missing what was strategic about it. My NCOIC seemed helpful and willing to work with me as a team so I was relieve and hopeful. We both headed home that evening and prepared for our trip.

Sadly in the excitement, I didn't pack my sleeping bag...