EOD Missions

Some of our most entertaining missions are going out with out Explosive Ordnance Disposal (EOD) team to get rid of old munitions, such as rockets and artillery rounds. Most of these were stockpiled during the Soviet occupation. As such, they are very old, and unstable, too dangerous to use. The typical EOD mission starts with us loading up the munitions from some cache, usually at some Afghan Government facility. Then we take them out into the country-side, and lay them out.
	The using blocks of C4, the EOD guys prep the munitions for demolition.
After that, we all get away to a safe distance, and the EOD guys press the button on the remote detonator and :		BOOOOOOM!!!!!

Why Body Armor is a Good Idea(tm)

We all complain about our body armor...its heavy, its hot, it chafes, its uncomfortable...but then, we complaing about everything. But we wear it.

This video, Jack Army, shot by insurgent snipers and subsequently captured by coalition troops shows why, when it all drops in the pot, we love our body armor.

NOTE: What the sniper is saying, Allahu akhbar, translates to God is Great.

Roads...or what passes for'em

Roads here in Afghanistan...are...well they really don't quite deserve the name...they're more like well used ruts in the desert. You can see, in places, that there was once a road intended to be there, but 25 years of war and neglect have transformed the former roads into kinetic Torquemada torture devices. Especially for the crewman riding the gun. Riding the gun...is standing between the two rear seats, with your body through the top hatch...in the dust, sun and wind...

For me, being a bit taller than average, the hatch coaming is right at my hip level...and with the bumpy roads (we call it a**-kicker road for a reason) ya get banged around and rubbed raw in some very tender places. If you try to ride lower in the hatch...you are face to face with the butt end of the machine gun...and you don't want your face to meet that on the wrong end of a bump...kinda bad for your nose placement, ya know?

Anyhow...we rolled out about 50 klicks down the road...took some pics and rolled back...pretty countryside, when I had time to look...but mostly I was hanging on for dear life...literally at times.

Other than that...its been a bit cooler here, only into the upper 40s rather than the low 60s (thats in the 120s rather than the 140s to us Yanks).

Well...more to follow later...

Crispy, the erstwhile rocketeer

Now, before I begin this story, I must say that the events in it are over a month old...

About a month ago...we were in the TV lounge watching The Interpreter...good flick, by-the-by...we'd been off all day, and just hanging out watching movies...it was about 2330 or so...about 5-10 minutes before the end of the movie we hear this terrific BOOOM!!!

Off the couches, weapons in hand, hats on heads and at the door before anyone asks what it was...without knowing, we do the safe thing...run for the bunkers. While there, we learn that a rocket had been fired in our direction, but it had impacted somewhere far out into the desert. After a time to make sure no other rockets were headed our way, we went to our assigned posts. As the off squad we were the back-up and hole-fillers so we reported to our area. About 5 min later we get the word to send a grenadier into one of the towers...that'd be me.

Off I go...to the North tower...I help the person on tower duty scan the perimeter, and soon I am ordered to fire off two illumination rounds to light up the wire...
I do...and a whole lot of nothing is illuminated...eventually we stand down and head for bed, but in uni, and with all of our gear to hand.

The next day, we find out that a patrol found our rocketeer, and discovered why only one rocket had been fired. (NOTE: The rockets usually used in these attacks are Chinese built 107mm free flight rockets. They are notoriously inaccurate at the best of times, and when launched from the jury-rigged launchers used by the insurgents, they are point-and-pray weapons.) It seems that our rocketeer, immediately dubbed Crispy, had hooked up the rocket incorrectly. See, he was supposed to have hooked the wire to the rocket, and then to the battery to ignite the fuse. Crispy forgot...and hooked the rocket up first, and was standing behind the rocket when he connected it to the battery. His entire left side, both hands, and ALL of his sensitive areas got flash fried.

Amazingly he survived the night. An American patrol picked him up, and brought him back. The docs said he was burned on over 35% of his body, and in the states in a good burn facility, he would have had about a 70% chance of survival. In Afghanistan, especially after we delivered him to the local hospital...he had almost no chance, and he died one week after his aborted attack.

What's the moral of this story? Had his attack been successful, would he, or the people that hired him, have found our wounded and given them the best treatment available? Would they have fed and clothed us, dressed our wounds and used critical supplies in our care?

No.

Not a chance.

But the 'evil' American 'occupiers'...what do we do? We find him, treat him, and keep him alive as long as possible. We waited until he was stabilized (almost 4 days) before taking him to the local hospital. Even there, we checked in on him, and offered advice on how best to treat him. I don't know if the local doctors followed our docs advice or not, or whether Crispy just did not have the will to live, but he died a few days later.

Somewhere in Afghanistan, there is a widow and a son without a father...I weep for them, for their loss. But I am not sorry that Crispy failed in his attack, nor particularly sorry for his loss. Had he been successful, he would have celebrated our deaths. I don't celebrate his, but neither do I mourn.

Oh...to answer a question that I foresee coming...no, we were not scared. We had a job to do, and we did it. There was no time to think about it, to worry. It happened and we reacted as trained.

Short version...no one here was hurt or injured...nothing came close to our compound...and Crispy gets to explain his actions to Allah....

Tower Afternoon

Wrote this about a week ago, but forgot it was in my pocket...and so I am posting it now! Yay.

I sit in the north tower watching... The only movement is the desultory swaying of the windsock at the airfield. Outside the tower, the Friday music is a quiet murmur at the edge of hearing. Inside, George Strait is telling me to "Write This Down".

Flat plains stretch in all directions to the feet of the mountains. They are close by to the east, but faint, ghostly outlines to the northwest. To the north east, three blocky shapes mark the final resting place of a platoon of Soviet BTRs (wheeled troop carriers). I don't know if they were the victims of a mujuhaddin attack, mechanical failure, or just abandoned in place. Who knows? I'm sure that there is a story in it, and until I find the truth, it will have to be my own.

Ah, a clarification, on Fridays here, it is...not a down day, exactly, but a relaxed day. We play music on the loudspeakers, we can wear whatever hats we want, and if off duty, we can wear civilian clothes. Its a day to break the monotony of this lonely desert outpost.

I realize, as I post this, that it is Friday again, and the music plays over the loudspeakers once more. Another week passed, another week closer to home.

The children....

Ya know...when you read things like this Detroit Free Press: Bomber's attack on kids stuns Iraqi city its is almost pathetically easy to tell the good guys from the bad...

These are the heros that the left wants to uphold as freedom fighters...as people that are fighting foreign occupiers...

They are not. They are sick twisted evil....creatures, gotta remember that my students read this...and I ought not use any language that I'd not use in the classroom.

They targetted children deliberately...with two car bombs...one to draw a crowd...the other to kill them, knowing that there would be children...

Murdering savages...cannot defeat us...cannot defeat the ideals of democracy in the general public of Iraq...so kill the children...so that they are not able to grow up and vote...to choose their own lives. Can't have that, they might reject the murderous philosophy and perversion of religion that the murderers themselves subscribe to...

It makes me sick....because I could have been that soldier, giving out candy to the kids...giving out toys, and pencils, books, pens....things to make their lives brighter...

Will this stop me, no...because I know that the kids come, no matter what...and if they come, I will do what I can to make sure that they know that they are loved...by these strange soldiers from a distant land...and that they are important...because they are the future of these lands.

Lunch, Afghan style

Most of our duties here involve providing security for those that are coordinating the rebuilding efforts. Of course, this sometimes pulls us out at mealtimes. Today was one of those days. The person we were escorting had a lunch meeting with a local contractor, so we followed them out to the local's house in town. Well, they all ate inside, and the Force Protection (ForPro) personnel secured the street. As we are out there, as always, we act as a magnet for the iron fillings of all the local children, who soon form quite a crowd on the side of the road watching us.

One guy tries, without much success, to teach the children a "hook-em" sign...blech...they respond much better to my Gig'em from the turret of the Humvee (and no, the weapon was pointed away from the kids, and did not influence them at all!).

The group around us is mostly boys...down the street, leaning out from a door built into the wall, are a bunch of girls and very young boys...leaning out to take a look at the Americans that have occupied a portion of their street...they smile shyly and wave. As I sit in the turret, I hear a noise from my right, a metal door opening. I look over and catch a glimpse of bright eyes and colorful scarves as the door slams shut. Waiting a bit, the door opens again, and there are about 6 girls...all under 8 or so, peeking through the doorway. Just like in a cartoon their heads are all lined up. When I turn towards them, the door slams shut with much giggling.

Eventually, our crowd leaves...shortly there after, they bring rugs out to set on the ground. Lunch is coming...after everyone (except me, I'm behind the .50) is seated, they bring out huge platters with plates heaped with rice, grilled goat, some kind of meatballs, grapes and other foods. Another platter is covered with the local flat bread. Our hosts notice me, and bring me a separate platter...each of these platters had enough food for 3 times as many people as we had with us. The rice was...good, very good. Cooked to perfection, and it tasted as if it was coated with some olive oil and seasoning. Goat is...unlike any other meat I have eaten...it is very fatty and gristly...not bad, but not my first choice. The meatballs were slightly spicy, very good with the rice and flatbreads. Afghan cooking is quite good.

Anyhow...I've rambled enough...might come back and clean this up later...for now..its dinner time.

Mik

Cushy Jobs and practical jokes

We have a person here that is responsible for drawing the money that the PRT uses to pay locals, as well as money for projects. He travels a lot, gone for a week or more at a time to the larger bases. Cushy job, almost always in places with a lot of happy things like PXs, Burger Kings, etc... Well he wants an assistant. And I was told that I was it. Sounds like a great job, right? No more patrols into Indian Country, no more tower duty...

So tell me why the thought of being his assistant irritates the crud outta me?

Crazy, huh? But true, nonetheless...I cannot abide the thought of leaving my squad to go play accountant. Luckily for me...(and for some of them as well!!!) they were just joking...

I should have known when I went to talk to the finance guy and he knew nothing about it....
and as far as I know...the joke is now on him, cos he thinks he has his assistant!

Anyhow...I have read about guys that never wanted to leave their units...and now I understand them...

Mik

Observations of the day

Looking out from my tower at just after 10 AM, one could already see the heat shimmers dancing up from the desert floor. Three boys, crowded onto one bike pedal slowly up the road. Nearby, three more boys practice soccer. A large bird (possibly a vulture?) wheels effortlessly on the thermals rising up the slopes of Mt. Mother. A few workers spend their holy day building walls of cinderblocks for new houses.

As the sun and the wind clear the early morning haze, the western mountains seem to fade into sight against the sky. Nearer the tower, the odd local ants (quite large with a sharply raised abdomen) enjoy an unexpected windfall of muffin crumbs. One of our terps (interpreters) jokingly said that those ants worked with the Taliban, earning them the sobriquet of Talib-ants.

Little vehicular traffic on the roads, one man has gotten off of his motorcycle to pray. The loudest souds are the hum of the generators and the whistle of the wind through the concertina wire on the walls.

All-in-all a quiet, peaceful day in the desert.