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.