Lest We Forget (12 page)

"
So the Taliban can’t see me!”  My response suggested that even with less than two years in, and as merely a corporal, I was already as salty as they come. 

Our next big mission of this deployment wouldn’t come for several weeks.  What started as an action packed trip turned into another long
grinding tour, until one night when we were all gathered up right before boarding the helicopters.

"Well, this isn't good
,” said one of the squad leaders.

"What's going on?" I asked.

"The JSOC Chaplin wants to pray for us before we leave on this mission."

"That's a first!  It's probably because we are all going to die"
joked one of the older privates.

"Sounds about right
,” said another. 

These guys had an amazing sense of humor
.  I had been exposed to it as a kid in the fire stations of Peoria, Arizona so it wasn’t too shocking.  However, these were 19 and 20 year olds that were talking like the firefighters that were friends of my father.  Those men had seen 20 years of carnage to become that cynical, these Rangers took the fast track apparently.  In just a couple of years of war fighting they had already become as callous as men that had been working civilian EMS for decades.

I image the speech delivered by the Chaplain was a heartfelt one.  I, however, was too busy trying to figure out how to work
a radio to pay attention.  Up until this point I’d somehow managed to avoid having to carry a radio on a mission.  To be honest, I don't think that I needed one for this objective either but at this point I was the only NCO in the platoon that didn't have one, a fact that got under the skin of some of the other guys.  As a medic I frequently got away with things that other NCO’s wouldn’t, not intentionally of course. I finally get it to work as we board the Chinook helicopters for what would be my first hostage rescue mission. 

Tucked between my body armor and plate carrier is a 3'x5' American flag.  I wanted to be able to give a gift to my father upon returning from this deployment that was significant, something to say thank you for all that he had done to support me.  I figured that carrying the flag of our country on a historically significant mission would suffice.

We were informed that a _____ contractor had been captured by Taliban forces in the _____ province of Afghanistan.  During the Operation Order I ask if our guy has any medical conditions to consider.  I am informed that he has asthma so I locate and add an albuterol inhaler to my packing list.  I also add a couple of red bulls to my pack.  The clock was ticking but as important as speed was to the success of the mission, accuracy would be just as crucial.  With these types of missions the stakes are a great deal higher than a direct action kill/capture objective.  Our platoon’s role was to be infilled a couple of clicks outside of the village to act as an immediate back up plan for the Seals that would be doing a high altitude free-fall parachute jump into the objective. 

The flight from BAF was one of the longest I have ever experienced in a
helo.  We are pulled off target multiple times so as to not compromise the SEALs infill.  We hovered around in the back of that cramped Chinook literally all night.  We took off at just after sunset and finally got on objective minutes before the sun came up.  My entire body cramps up in the heat of the Afghan night. There are guys on top of guys in the back of that floating bus.  Despite the uncomfortable conditions no one complains.  By the time that we land my legs are cramped beyond belief and I have trouble running off of the back gate into the pitch-black desert night. 

We form a semicircle around the back of our rotary winged aircraft to provide rear security for its take off.  After hours of incessant noise and vibration it is completely silent, a shift so severe that it sends a shiver up my spine.  We sit in place holding security for at least twenty minutes
; everyone is on high alert.  The sun begins to illuminate the silhouettes of a few of the Rangers to my left and right.  It is difficult to tell through the night vision goggles but as soon as things become a little brighter it becomes evident that we are, from a tactical standpoint, in about the worst possible place imaginable.  We are sitting completely exposed on a hill with absolutely no cover or concealment.  There are ridges to three sides of us that featured large rock formations that would be ideal for enemy sniper positions.  Missions like these do not require an officer above the rank of platoon leader; however, it is common for higher-ranking officers to add themselves to the manifest.  

They do nothing but get in the way and more often than not they are there for glory, for medals, and as a means by which to potentially achieve
their next promotion.  Not all officers are this way but 90% of them are and the one that erroneously put himself on this mission was all that and more.  He felt that since he was the highest ranking guy on the ground that he should be calling the shots.  To be honest, he had less than half the combat experience of the youngest private in our platoon and it showed.  His decision was to do nothing.  We sat on that exposed piece of ground for hours in the burning sun with no cover.  At the time, no one knew what was going on.  For at least six hours we sat, waiting for orders and getting burned beyond belief.  Finally the call is made to move us into the rocks for cover.

By this point our platoon was dehydrated and pissed off.  We had been receiving updates that the Taliban had moved the hostage into the hills where we were located.  We had small patrol elements searching but initially came up with nothing. 

Eventually _____'s tragic fate was discovered.  Someone in the village tipped off the hostage takers about American presence in the village.  We suspected that three Taliban members took their hostage into the hills just outside of the village, his head was with an old band saw.  We call for exfill but are denied.  We are told that it is too dangerous.  The 160th has already lost too many birds this rotation and they won't touch down until they can do so under the cover of darkness.  I get a little upset about this.  We have over 30 guys exposed like sitting ducks.  Our lives are trivialized in the grand scope of the fight.  It is better to leave us out there than risk losing another helo.  I understand the decision but it doesn't make it any less shitty.

By this time the hunger pains start stabbing at me.  I could feel my low blood sugar affecting my ability to move.  At this point we had been awake for well over 30 hours and we still
had at least another six on that rock.  Ohhh shit, I forgot about those Red Bulls!  The can nearly burns my hand as I pull it from my pack.  Down the hatch!  I feel my blood sugar instantly rise and I feel alert for the first time since we exited the Chinook.  The high would be short lived, however.  Within an hour of dusk I crash.  I crash hard!  I can't focus at all; I'm going to pass out.  I didn't really pack any food because this was supposed to be a quick in-and-out.  The mission plan called for us to be extracted by dawn.  Stupid.  In the hundred missions that I would help conduct after this one I never made that same stupid mistake.  Food would become as essential on my packing list as ammo regardless of how short the mission was supposed to be.  I ask my buddy Nick if he has anything to eat.  I feel terrible doing this because I am supposed to be the one looking out for these guys and now I am asking for their help.  He produces a Harvest bar from his assault pack and tosses it to me.  He might as well have tossed me a Thanksgiving dinner with all the trimmings.  It was strawberry and hard as a rock.  Most strawberry foods are delicious but strawberry Harvest bars taste like absolute shit under most circumstances, not this time though.  I was so grateful for that piece of food.  I don’t think I would have maintained combat effectiveness without balancing out my blood sugar with that bar.  Still to this day I swear that it saved my life.

What could have been another beautiful Afghan sunset is ignored as our platoon positions itself for
exfil.  I volunteer to carry the man’s remains to the bird along with a couple of other guys.  The flight crew takes the body bag containing _____ .  My Platoon Sergeant and I form a choke point at the tail of the helo to count everyone as they get on.  Over the deafening churning of the rotor blades overhead I yell, "WE'RE UP SERGEANT!" I’m the last one to board and try to find a spot in the packed Chinook, there is no place to sit.  Except.  Except on that body bag.  It's a four-hour flight back to Bagram Air Field.  I spend the last few hours of that very long day sitting on top of our failed mission.

             
Our platoon conducted a few other missions on that deployment but the majority of our time was spent training.  We had the opportunity to travel to another unit’s compound in the mountains.  It was a surreal experience having the opportunity to work with them and their facility was absolutely incredible.  Tucked into the mountain landscape, the work that they conducted was amazing. They had their own mock villages set up for practicing raids complete with fully furnished houses.  We practiced close quarter combat and live tissue training with their unit. I wish that I could talk about it in further detail, however in an effort to respect the secret nature of what they do I must refrain. 

             
We frequently found ourselves at a place called East River Range, which wasn’t really much of a shooting range to speak of.  It was more like the place out in the desert in Arizona where I would shoot as a kid growing up.  Just a dirt road that led to a lot of open desert with a mountain back drop.  There was never a shortage of ammo to shoot.  Being the medic, I was able to float around and cross train with all of the different weapon systems.  The guys from our mortar section were eager to teach me how to lob a 60mm a few hundred meters.  The snipers taught with the proficiency of a college professor on windage and trajectory all of their various toys.  I was able to throw several rounds through the Barrett 50 Cal. which, needless to say, was cool as fuck! The breachers would show me all the ways that they use to gain access to a building including the shotgun, halligan and C4 charge.  We shot anti-tank rockets and deployed claymore mines and threw grenades.  As cool as all that was, none of it was as fun as shooting the MK 19 grenade launcher.  The MK 19 is a belt fed, air-cooled, fully automatic truck mounted grenade launcher that is capable of hucking up to 60 grenades per minute at a distance of up to 2 kilometers.  Typically you fire that piece of war glory in six to nine round bursts, then you wait.  The rounds seem to float in the air like a fade away jump shot.  Since light travels faster than sound the operator gets to see impact of the half dozen grenades a couple of seconds before hearing their explosion.  I can still feel my belly jiggle from laughing like a young child at the joy I exuded from firing that weapon.

We continued to grow as a platoon, teac
hing one another the skills that we had become specialists in.  As I taught the men in my platoon first responder skills they taught me how to do their jobs.  We gained a more comprehensive proficiency as a unit.  We would need every bit of that proficiency if we were going to survive our next deployment. 

Shortly after my 23rd birthday I board the massive cargo plane to return home from Afghanistan for a second time. 

Training force on force with simunition rounds on Bagram Airfield.

Shooting mortars on East River Range