I’m sitting here in Bagram behind our tent, looking out towards the snow capped Hindu Kush mountains, enjoying the cool breeze blowing off their peaks, watching the unfamiliar shades of green dance in the wind…a beautiful contrast to the dust and brown of Kandahar. The tall grass is comforting, with the lazy stems dangling forward, drifting back and forth, soft and unassuming. Of course the pictures of war interrupt the scene…the grass grows into the barriers and barbed wire that separate me from the surrounding villages, helicopters and jets fly overhead, and the rumble of artillery echoes from afar. It’s an all too familiar contrast. Wrapping your hands around the ugliness and the beauty, trying to find purpose in the pointlessness. The “why’s” line up against the “becauses,” and you can only hope that you’re strong enough to squeeze the meaning out of the sponge before it runs dry. But you battle and you persevere, and you find redemption in the smaller victories: the successful missions, the smiles, laughs and friends, a good workout, and even the tall weeds and cool breeze from the mountains.
You are more numb than you were in the past months and more engulfed in the here and now. What may have caused inhibition and frustration in the earlier stages is now acceptable and expected. You dive into the cold of the present knowing that it’s the only way forward to the warmth and calm of home. Compartmentalized isn’t quite the right word to describe this mental separation…it’s more passive and almost instinctive, as if your body and mind have rewired your base, making the thought of home feel just as abnormal as Afghanistan seemed before you deployed. You think about your return, wondering how you’ll adjust, how things will feel, what people will say and how you’ll react. You know it will be wonderful, but you leave it at that, like resisting the temptation of looking at “Santa’s” presents under your mom’s bed before Christmas. You keep your eye on the ball, trying hard not to “peek” ahead of yourself, instead letting each day carry you forward to those better, happier times.
For the past few months, change has been the theme. We moved from Kandahar two weeks ago, closing the chapter on an arduous, month-long process of packing, planning and physically moving to FOB Shank. What was once a distant rumor is now a reality…that our replacements would arrive in Kandahar early enough to facilitate our move northward, that a desolate river valley south of Kabul would transform into a sustainable operating base in a matter of months, that our gear would make the 300 mile journey to our new destination unscathed, that this whole thing would come together and we’d actually move! Well, we are, in fact, getting “shanked” (as some of the guys like to refer to it), and in a few days, we will leave our transient quarters in Bagram and embark on new adventures at FOB Shank.
It feels good to be closing this first chapter of the deployment. Small milestones are sometimes the difference between keeping the glass half full or half empty, and as we wipe our hands clean of the mission in Kandahar, we are definitely making a tangible step towards our homes and families in the States. To get a sense of progress, I often play the number game in my head. “Ok…I’m halfway through the first month.” Or “I’ve been here 80 days…that’s almost a quarter of the way through. That’s like running one lap on the track for a mile run…only three to go. That’s not bad.” Once we arrive at Fob Shank, I feel like I can reset my optimistic spin on the numbers, and by the time we reestablish ourselves and obtain an effective battle rhythm – a process that took most of a month upon our arrival to Afghanistan – the light at the end of the tunnel will be bright enough to touch, let alone see.
The differences between northern and southern Afghanistan, whether environmentally or tactically, are significant. Elevation is the key difference, with higher altitudes and temperatures requiring more keen management of the helicopter’s power. In hotter and higher conditions, the engines have a harder time compressing air, which (without getting too deep into the weeds) essentially limits the helicopter’s available power and, thus, performance. The margins that we enjoyed at the lower altitudes in Kandahar simply aren’t there, which adds a new consideration when planning and flying missions. Fob Shank sits at around 7000 feet above sea level, and some of the surrounding landing zones exceed 10000 feet in elevation.
Northern Afghanistan also presents new tactical challenges. The mountains and valleys obviously canalize movement, which, at times, can limit our ability to remain unpredictable and stealthy. At the same time, however, the high mountains can also provide mask and cover, and they limit some of the lines of communication that extended much further in the flat deserts near Kandahar. When you fly, you see caves and abandoned weapon systems, mine fields and old fighting positions…all while taking in the breathtaking beauty of fertile river valleys meandering between jagged mountains that touch the sky. The season of winds, known as the “120 days of wind,” provides a cool, north to south breeze, bringing a refreshing reprieve during some of the warmer days.
We had a chance to visit our new home at FOB Shank a few days ago, checking on its progress while dropping off a team to start building up some of our living and working areas. The comparison between a place like Kandahar or Bagram to a place like Fob Shank would be like comparing a night at a cheap hotel in a city to a night sleeping under the stars in the woods. Bagram and Kandahar have the basic amenities, have the coffee shops and chapels, the big gyms and large dining facilities. But they also have too many people, too little space, and too much “brass” (senior leadership)…it’s easy to feel a little claustrophobic. In contrast, just like sleeping in the woods, Shank might lack some of the basic comforts that we’ve enjoyed over the past few months, but it’s open, there’s space, the air is fresh and there’s a sense of autonomy that just wasn’t there in our old home. The change will certainly be appreciated.
Friends continue to grow closer and more abundant. I’ve laughed until I cried on many occasions over the past few months, and I honestly don’t think I could convey the hilarity…it’s just those times where “you had to be there.” My platoon sergeant, Gunny (or “the gun”, as we now call him) has an almost irresistibly amusing “steam.” When he gets on a rant about the Army, a Soldier, or some other grievance, we all just sit back and laugh at the old man’s cracking patience, red face, and expletive laden sermon. Of course his tirades are in private, and he’s really just saying all of the things that we wish we could, but there’s something about his punchline tactlessness that makes me laugh…uncontrollably…until I cry.
Our First Sergeant provides another consistent source of laughter. While we were at Kandahar, he constantly downloaded movies and songs on his computer with a sketchy downloading service, which, in turn, laced his computer with a stream of viruses. Of course he always denied that the viruses were a result of his downloading scheme, just as any stubborn First Sergeant would. One day he stopped me in the hall, looking frazzled to say the least. I asked him what was wrong and he said that he had a pretty devastating virus on his computer, so I stopped by his room to check it out. He sat down at his computer…”Look at this man…I just don’t understand it…everytime I try to open any program, this picture shows up on my computer…I can’t get into anything...it’s this same picture everytime.” The picture that wouldn’t go away was some foreign model in a bikini, and I almost fell down laughing when he showed me the “infection” on his computer. He still denies that the virus was from the downloading service, even after buying a new computer and ceasing his movie/song intake. I beg to differ.
The forming of the “Comanchero Cigar Club” has been another gift that’s fallen on our laps over the past few months. One of the more charismatic pilots in our company, Justin, took it upon himself to write to a troop friendly cigar club from the states. I’m not sure what he wrote, but he hit the right chord with some very generous aficionados. We have received close to a thousand cigars, quality lighters, cutters, trays, and magazines. And when I say cigars, I mean an excessive amount of some excessively nice stuff…the other day I smoked an aged Cuban Monte-Cristo from 1985. It’s pretty satisfying to sit around with a bunch of guys and puff away at a ten-dollar token of generosity, especially when most of us would be content with a 50-cent cigar from the grocery store. It reminds me of some of the opulence I partook in with my amigos back home, when our “campouts” turned into something fit for a rock star, with only the finest meats, drinks and comforts. To share the wealth, we’ve started bagging up cigars and accessories to hand out to our passengers when we fly. Lord knows those guys on the ground can use a boost every now and then.
And so the grind continues, now with the high mountains standing in the distance…a firm reminder of the peaks and valleys that we’ll surely endure in the coming months. But they also remind me of the redeeming constants of man, the beauty of life, the things that even the ugliness of war can’t hind. The birds still chirp in the morning and the clouds look just as brilliant as they churn and flow in the windy sky. A hearty laugh feels just as good, and the love for those near and far grows more than I thought it could. I love the resilience of it all…it’s a blessing I count everyday. Just like the other mountains I’ve scaled over the years, the view is almost always worth the clim
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