Camp Phoenix has remained cold. Little Bobcat front loaders scraped up the packed ice and dumped it into the bucket of a much larger front loader that acted like a portable dumpster. Most places the snow remains, it has been packed down into ice, and many spills occur.

Before Christmas, I saw something new. I was standing in front of a tower, on a traffic detail, when a tank truck pulled up. I guessed that it was there for the porta-let, but the operator took a thick hose, and walked into the middle of the large puddle in the road. He stomped around in his rubber boots until he found the deepest part of the puddle, and then he lowered the hose, and began sucking the water up! I was astonished.

"I've never seen that before," I said.
"Me either," he said. "Most places would have just put in a gutter and sewer system, but not this place."

Lt. Colonel "Doc" O'Reilly took me off my no body armor profile. While I want to be better, I was worried both about my back, and also about being sent down range. The life of a light mortarman in the field in rough conditions is an especially difficult one. I was at least as sorry to no longer be working for SSG S and 1LT B as they were to lose me. The sergeant told me again what I great job I always did, and the lieutenant said he'd never had any worries while I was there. I was the guy with the coffee, but I was great at it.

I am now attached to Charlie Company at Camp Black Horse, a small American base in the middle of a huge ANA (Afghan National Army) base, but yesterday I and another troop were convoyed out to a Special Forces camp on top of a mountain. Our camp is tiny, but I have a building to stay in (one concern), with heat (another concern), and our mortars are in pits (so we won't be marching carrying them, yet another MAJOR concern). So, I can't take as many showers, and I have no privacy, but it's still much, much better than I'd been expecting. In comparison, in fact, it's heaven. And I still have net access.

Moving from Phoenix to Black Horse had me being forced to decide, yet again, what of the accumulations of the last six months to keep, and what to send off or give away. Powdered nonfat milk or books? Hot sauce or more socks? I ended up giving away my Preacher graphic novels, leaving most of my lotion and some vitamins, and mailing off some books and scarves to friends. I was relieved to remember I could mail, without charge, within Afghanistan, so I sent a box packed with military history books, a box of tea and coffee, and a box with my rug and floor lamp. I left my Maxim calendar and a few books, and one of my sheet sets, but kept my Dalai Lama calendar and most of my cds.

Moving always seems to leave you with unfinished business, and I have some. Some gentleman with the Sheriff's Association of Louisiana sent a nice package a couple of weeks ago. I planned on sending a thank you note, but it didn't happen before I left, and I could no longer find the business card, but if you're reading this, sir, two of my hutmates were very thankful for the red led lights, and the rest of the loot was shared with the squad. Thank you.

There has been some question whether I said yes to Jordy's marriage proposal. The ceremony is planned for September.

Some of the soldiers here at the camp were thankful to find I had several varieties of tea, some of which I quickly placed out in the common area. They were tired of plain black Lipton. Now there are several herbal varieties, green tea, chai, and some lime juice. When you're divorced from your old life, the simple things sometimes mean a lot. The incense I brought also helped our living quarters smell less like an over-ripe hampster cage.

It began snowing the day before Christmas, in the afternoon. The temperature wasn’t terribly cold, so some of the snow melted on the ground, which is good, because it just kept falling and falling. When I told Sgt. S that Christmas was my birthday, he told me not to come in. He and Lt. B covered as many tasks as possible, so that most of the medics with them could have Christmas to themselves.

I wandered into a Halo game and ended up playing for hours. I discovered that I had lost my fleece watch cap somewhere in the process of going to “midnight chow” (which actually starts at 0030), so after I finished playing Halo and took my shower, I went back to the DFAC looking for my cap. Since I was up, I attempted to make some calls before I went to sleep, and then sent out a Christmas greeting via email.

I slept until about 1800 Christmas Day, and when I walked outside, was annoyed to see that snow was still falling. Dinner was a little better than usual, but not that special. I ate some boiled shrimp and a piece of corn and a piece of cake, and commenced attempting to call family and friends- with very little success. Besides the strain on Army systems from the high call volume, the snow couldn’t have been helping much, either. I was only able to talk to Jordy for a few minutes, and to my buddy Davis for maybe four minutes, out of perhaps forty minutes of attempted calling. “System busy” and “service interruption” were two of the more popular error messages I was getting, along with the common variety busy signal. I was less than amused to also discover that both of the AT&T calling cards I had in my wallet gave 800 numbers to call that were no longer in service! How much use is it to hand out free calling cards to soldiers, and then cancel the telephone numbers given on the cards? I had some choice words for AT&T, along with the country of Afghanistan and frigid weather in general.

It wasn’t a particularly exciting 35th birthday, but things can always be worse. My 30th birthday was during my second month of Basic Training, when I had little idea of what Army life would be like, or if I was going to be sent to Iraq or Afghanistan. I suppose this birthday had more certainty.

I’m not sure exactly when it stopped snowing, but it’s knee high, in places. Today, it was bitterly cold, in fact, last night was the first night I’ve been cold with the heaters running. As I was getting dressed after my shower, a young soldier came in, shivering a little. I probably said something unkind about the country we’re in.

“I just came off a patrol”, he said. “There’s ice everywhere, man!”

“Anyone bust their ass?”

“Anyone? Heh. Everyone did. I think I fell a dozen times myself.”

“It’s like, ten degrees.”

“It’s six degrees.”

“We’re in hell.”

“Yeah.”

A drill sergeant came in today, who trains Afghan National Army NCOs. “I was riding in today,” he said, “and saw this boy out there walking, with just sandals on his feet.”

He stopped for a minute, obviously frustrated.

“I didn’t see him in time. I had a spare pare of socks in my pocket I could have thrown to him, but I didn’t see him in time.”

I looked at this kind man and wondered how he survived in this bitter land with any trace of his humanity.

“Sergeant, I don’t understand. You obviously have a kind heart. How are you able to function in this place, doing what you do?”

He met my eyes for a moment.

“You know the starfish story?”

“No, sergeant.”

“Well, this boy is walking along the beach-“

“Oh, I remember!”

“Yeah. You do what you can do.”

“What about—um – ‘corporal punishment’?”

“Well, we do what we can to discourage it, but we really can’t step in unless somebody’s about to be killed, because then we’ll have to point our weapons, and it’ll be a big confrontation. But we tell them it’s not the right thing to do.”

The sergeant continued explaining, “One guy had his leg broken.”

“Because he had disobeyed orders, or--?”

“No, he wouldn’t have sex with the officer.”

It was not a pleasant conversation, but the one thing I really brought out of it, was the need for education. There is a better way, and people need knowledge to find it.

My ears have been less than happy with the loss of my fleece cap, and I fell again today as I was walking back on the long stretch of packed down and frozen snow to the SMOC. A rather obnoxious 1LT who sometimes comes by the SMOC mentioned it to me later.

“You busted your ass out there!”

“Oh, you saw that? I sure did, sir.”

“I told them that it was a combat roll.”

““I couldn’t roll because of how the weapon was slung.”

“It was like you fell in slow motion. Everyone else is like, slip, WHAM!

“It’s all the years of practice-“

“Falling down?”

“Rolling and stuff. The system I trained in had a lot of ground work…”

I had been to the PX looking for a nice warm knit or fleece cap, but our silly tiny PX had multiple varieties of souvenir t-shirts, but no knit caps. I complained about it this evening to Special K, a Korean-American medic my age, and he told me the PX had some in stock. The LT wanted one too, so I and Special K were soon walking and sliding our way to the PX, only to find…a bare expanse of shelf.

“No way!” he said. They just got them in yesterday!”

We found a very helpful gay AAFES worker, who assured us there were still some in the store, and sent a local national worker to look for them. I began getting nervous after five minutes—I mean, it’s cold, man! But finally they were found, in both knit and fleece versions.

For some absolutely insane reason- which must make perfect sense to someone (probably the same genius that decided it was a good idea to make a new combat uniform with patches that rip noisily and easily off)- it’s okay to wear the black cap with ACUs (the new Army combat uniform) and DCUs (the older Desert uniform), as well as with PTs, but the gray cap cannot be worn with DCUs. I wear both ACUs and DCUs. Of course, the PX was out of black caps. I still bought two knit caps and one fleece cap, since I wasn’t sure which one the LT would want, and I certainly wanted an extra. Did I mention, it’s COLD, man!

I had a long conversation today with one of the chaplains, a very nice man with obvious blue-collar background, who’s from Philly. He told me that we have a mortar section that, for the first time this year, will not retreat back to a base during the winter, but will instead stay in the field to keep control of the land.

Yes, that could be me, as it’s the section I was told I was being assigned to. And did I mention IT’S COLD, MAN!

Christmas and my birthday are almost upon us. When I arrived back here on Tuesday, I learned that snow had been on the ground for several days while I was gone- in fact, there was still some snow left on a folding chair outside our CP, with a hand-written sign saying “A Cold Day in Hell” attached to the chair.

I was delighted to see stacks of mail and several boxes waiting for me at Phoenix, but was disheartened to find that I was indeed going to be sent down range to be on a mortar team. About an hour later, we had a drill, and I threw on my body armor and Kevlar, solidly smacking my head on the way out and cutting my nose on the NVG (night vision) mount attached to the front of my helmet.

I expected to help clear huts during the drill, but there was evidently some confusion as to where we were supposed to be meeting. As I stood there with two squad mates, my back hurt progressively worse, until eventually, I had to take the armor off. I went to the clinic as soon as it opened for night sick call.

Our new TMC officer in charge is a very earnest and hardworking major, and he said he was afraid there was nothing he could do to improve the situation. He ordered some x-rays taken, in case any problem could be spotted, and gave me Flexeril and Prednisone, and a “no body armor” profile. It is mandatory to wear IBA while on working a gun (mortar), so the profile meant I wasn’t going anywhere for the moment.

The next day, after sleeping in to almost ten, I was advised I was going to be working in the SecFor Medical Ops as admin. Hey, alright! Besides the expected stuff, the position also includes PMCS (maintenance) functions on our two ambulances and gun truck. The hours are long, but the work isn’t hard, and the NCOIC says I’m going a great job. I certainly want my back to be okay, but I think I’ll be happy to work in the SMOC as long as I can.

I’ve seen both sleet- not the icy half-frozen slush I’m used to falling out of Southern skies, but pieces of ice that look like small hail- as well as snow since I’ve been back. Especially bad is deep snow that melts, and then freezes, so ice is everywhere. I ran into some last night while on the stupidest detail you can imagine. A sergeant and I patrolled “Lego Land” where the senior enlisted and officers lived, so be sure no freakiness was happening. I slipped and fell on the upper deck while on one patrol, but am unhurt.

Tonight, we’re having a USO show here at Camp Phoenix. Al Franken and several musical acts are here. I saw some of the show, after standing for a couple of hours directing traffic. The irony is that I think I only directed two cars in those two hours! That’s the Army for you.

I think I have thought Al Franken was an ass in the past, but I respect anyone, whatever political stance he claims, who is willing to make the effort to reach out to American troops on the front. Thanks, Al.

Happy Holidays, everyone. May this new year find you at peace with yourself and your world.

I'm in Kuwait, and should be back in Afghanistan tomorrow morning. If I am unable to provide any updates before then, I wish everyone a happy Christmas.

I don't actually ever expect "peace on earth", but I'll wish you peace, and I know you wish me the same. We'll have to settle for that, I suppose.

Time and many occasions have passed. I apologize to my readers for the delay since my last post.
First, Thanksgiving in Afghanistan was something the Army obviously tried very hard to make special. There were elaborate decorations and desserts everywhere, but I think being served my turkey by a two-star impressed me more.

I write this from Augusta, Georgia, where I have been visiting for the last two weeks. I would hate to sound as though my life in Afghanistan has so far been horrible, for it certainly hasn’t. Still, about the worst day I can imagine in the United States- barring horrible accidents and acts of god- is better than the best day in Afghanistan. I have always loved the US, but probably never as much as when I’ve been forced to leave her.

One of the last things to happen to me is a return call from Temple University, one of the Ph.D. programs to which I’m applying. I attempted to call Temple’s graduate secretary last Thursday and Friday, leaving messages with my email address and a contact number. I wanted to ensure that all my required application materials had been received, since negotiating these things from Afghanistan is more difficult than from the US.

Tuesday morning, Jordy took a message for me from Temple, indicating that everything had been received, except for my letters of reference, of which only one had been received. This is odd and troubling, since I know two of my history teachers sent letters in over a month ago. So, I find myself scrambling to get these letters again, and mail them out before I leave two days from now.

The leave process included convoying to Bagram- an ordeal both jarring and numbingly cold, as we traveled in the back of an open five-ton truck- where I stayed for two days, trying to sleep as much as possible, followed by a flight to Kuwait. A day in Kuwait led to a flight to Germany, and then to Atlanta, and a brief puddle-jumper flight to Augusta. Jordy met me at the airport.

Being deployed forces some changes, and that’s certainly true in the romantic arena. I have been dating Jordy for two and a half years, which is certainly a record for me. Since I’m a late bloomer, having gone back to college after years in the workforce and then two years in the Army after 9-11, I’m some years older than Jordy. We have a great relationship, only really having a major difference on children. I want children, and fairly soon. She wanted to wait until after getting a Ph.D., which meant perhaps another seven years.

We had decided to end the relationship when I deployed. First, it was going to be after I reported back in, but I was free on weekends, and still in Georgia. Then I was in Mississippi, so we decided not to quite end it yet. Then I was in Afghanistan- but still found myself talking to her every day, and getting more mail from her than any honest man deserves to receive. So, Jordy met me at the airport.

Being deployed must do something to your aura- well, either that or you become sensitized to observation. I suppose a third alternative could be that I was so happy to be back in the States, that I was practically glowing. In any case, I noticed a lot of people looking at me for the first few days.

My family’s not in Augusta, but I was able to visit close friends here and in nearby cities. I picked up a hunting rifle and revolver, and sighted in a Trijicon Accupoint scope I’m taking back to Afghanistan with me. I had a few drinks, but certainly fell far short of the goal I heard another soldier give before departing for leave, of being “wasted every day”. Not here: I have far too much to do.

My good friend Byron was in an auto accident two days before Thanksgiving. With the help of other friends, I helped coordinate his rescue from the hospital, and then spent a couple of afternoons with him in Waynesboro, on accident related missions, getting the accident report and recovering items recovered and held by the police for safekeeping, even walking the area where the wreck (a truck roll after leaving an icy patch of road) occurred, looking for valuables thrown from the wreck.

On 1 December, I had an excellent dinner at the Mellick's. Mrs. Mellick has really adopted me, and makes great Indian food, which I requested she serve. I unfortunately tend to wolf my food down, but I was still on the salad (my third helping, actually) as everyone else was finishing! My pal Davis told me I was "cut off" and finally took my salad away. I'm certainly not underfed at Camp Phoenix, but I really enjoyed the chance to eat some different foods than I usually get, starting with sushi for a late lunch the day I arrived.

On 2 December, I went to a party at Dr. Bratton's place, and then went with Sean and Rachel to watch a movie. Good times.

On 6 December, I spoke in one of Dr. Bratton’s anthropology classes. I had anticipated perhaps thirty minutes, but went over an hour (not entirely my fault; the Doctor was one of the people asking questions). The next evening, after a day with Byron in Waynesboro, I spoke to an audience at Augusta State.

I was surprised and gratified by the audience. I had expected at least twenty people, and had hoped that perhaps enough word had gotten out for as many as fifty, which would be a pretty good attendance for a presentation like this. The room was almost packed! I was quite nervous for the first few minutes, while I was giving a few specifics about Afghanistan, but relaxed and got into the flow of the presentation as I spoke about my personal experience.

I was working for Nextel Communications on 11 September 2001. I was second-tier support, so I had to explain to more than one customer that they were having problems making calls because everyone was calling into New York to check on their families, there was a huge amount of bandwidth being used by emergency services, and Nextel had in fact also lost an antenna on the Twin Towers. All during the hours this was happening, video was rolling on the overhead monitors, showing the final seconds of the attack, over and over, and then the cataclysmic meltdown of the towers.

I walked the audience through my “regreening” at Fort Benning, and the trip to Afghanistan, and my experiences there. I know credit is given by many teachers for attending certain events, so a little over an hour after I began, I told the audience I knew this was the end of the semester, so if anyone needed to leave to study for exams, that was fine. Almost no-one did, so I went back to answering questions.

“Stay in your lane” is one phrase the Army uses to instruct soldiers to only speak regarding their own areas of experience and expertise. I endeavored to keep that instruction in mind as I fielded questions, though I struggled for a moment when a philosophy instructor- who is a great, very sweet and intelligent guy, and engaging teacher- asked about whether we were losing Afghanistan, and how we would proceed. I was told later than I gave this gentleman an icy look before I advised him that I could not speak to strategy.

Reports from several teachers after the fact have been very supportive, and some students have asked how to contact me. I can be reached via email at JRShirley(at)Gmail.com.

I was pleased to be able to bring back some shemaughs, the traditional head wrap and multifunctional scarf, for some teachers and a few friends. The shemaugh can be used any way one would typically use an American scarf, but here is one method of tying them across the face and head:: http://www.actiongear.com/agcatalog/shemagh.html

Jordy and I went to a brunch Friday morning, on the 8th. We left for Atlanta that night, where we stayed at the "W" hotel, a very posh hotel that looks like you're living in a nice night club. A little unusual, but nice. Saturday the 9th, we went to Rusan's sushi for lunch, and then to Dante's, a great fondue restaurant and jazz club, for dinner. Jordy brought a gift bag with her, and I assumed that it was a birthday present for me, since I'll be in Afghanistan Christmas day.

After dinner, Jordy gave me the bag, which had a nice chain in it.

"Thank you!"
"There's something else in there." I lifted the cotton in the box. There was a ring underneath. What...?
"Will you marry me?"
"Are you serious?" I was astonished. What about the kids? But it seemed she was willing to compromise.

Sunday, we drove to Helen, where we spent three nights in a beautiful cabin, with a combination pool and air hockey table, fireplace, and whirlpool bathtub and hot tub! We tried out "ear candles" and made S'mores in the fireplace.

I can't be home for Christmas and my birthday, but I know I've got boxes waiting on me, and some truly great memories to keep me going until I can get back to the States again.

We have been hearing discouraging things about the winter weather here. An interpreter told Rector that snow should start falling in about two weeks.

I’m down to less than a week before I’m supposed to leave Phoenix for BAF, and then on the 26th, I’m homeward bound.

Winter is nipping hard on our heels, and with the dropping temperatures, we have had a great deal of rain lately, with rain falling five of the last seven days. Camp Phoenix is almost entirely concrete, and with the low temperatures recently, the water is sitting here instead of rapidly evaporating as it did when warmer.

A cousin asked me how cold chilly was, by the Rector scale, so I asked him for clarification. He says cooler temperatures down to about 40 are chilly, and from 40 to 20 (F) is cold. There are two lower brackets on the scale, but I’ll save them for now.

We are evidently going to a “no days off” routine for the foreseeable future, since we’ve lost a few more people, and most leaves are in the next three months. This has kept me from going on two “shooter” missions providing security for the chaplains.

Speaking of leave: mine starts soon, and I am eager to see the US of A and good friends. I won’t get a chance to see my family on this trip, but you can’t always have everything. I plan on getting a lot of sleep and eating some good food. I’m also speaking at Augusta State on 7 December.

Rector and I were on the subject of dogs. He’s used hunting dogs frequently, so they get different treatment than housedogs, but there were a few he obviously had strong feelings about.
“You don’t kick another man’s dog. I had a friend over, and as he was leaving, my dog Bill licked his hand, and he kicked him. I was out the door, and dragged him down the steps and started beating on him. My dad comes out, and he says, ‘Son, what are you doing?’
‘He kicked Old Bill!’
‘Kick his ass.’
You don’t kick another man’s dog. We got Bill when I was three. He was family.”

KBR was working on tower eight today. One of the workers has been here for three years! He told us that temperatures got down to 20 below last year, and that snow lay waist deep upon the ground. Pretty scary, especially if HHC is tasked with other missions. Tower duty wouldn’t be bad, but I would hate to march on foot patrols in deep snow.

The last two days here in Kabul have been more frigid than pleasant, even during the warmest parts of the day. Rector says the temperatures currently are “not cold, but chilly.” Earlier this week, I received a package with a set of warm sweats to sleep in, and tonight, I got another pair of warm pj bottoms. With our new, colder temperatures, I’m very happy to have them.

Along with the lower temperatures, we’ve had considerably more rain than usual. Tonight, after I finished my shift in the tower and ate dinner, I was advised I was part of a flag detail that was commencing right then! That lasted for two hours, but fortunately, the rain only lasted for forty minutes or so of the time. I had fortunately pulled out my Gortex wet/cold top before I went to dinner, and so wasn’t completely soaked and cold.

I am back on day shift, and working with Rector once again. Two days ago, he was telling me about his favorite tactics to beat up people who insult him at parties.
“When they say something,” he said, “I have to ask myself, do they mean that, or are they just being funny? But then, if they keep it up, I’ll know. Sometimes, what I’ll do, is get my cooler, and sit out by their truck, and drink a beer or two while I wait for them. Now, if there’s only one way out, I’ll just sit on the porch and wait for ‘em. Then, when they come out, I’ll do the ‘frog splat’ on them.”
“The frog splat?” “Yeah, you never heard of the frog splat? It’s when you” (making motion of springing up in the air) “jump, and grab their head, and ride them down to the ground. That’s what I do. Now, my buddy, he likes to do the Frankenstein.”

When working a day shift in the tower, we usually arrive by 0640. Rector and I were in tower seven a little after ten AM today, and heard someone calling.
“Hey!” We looked around, trying to spot the noisemaker. We get yelled at a lot, since that tower is only 50 meters or so from the village.
“Hey, up in the tower!” Okay, definitely someone on our side of the Hesco Barrier. “There’s something down here you need to take a look at!”
I usually go down to handle routine things like the SOG’s morning visit, so Rector threw on his body armor and helmet, and went downstairs. He was back shortly.
“There’s a grenade down there!”
“What? A grenade?”
“Yeah, right down there, by the stairs. It’s old.”
I went down and took a look. When I was able to find it (this grenade is very old, and easily blends into the rocks), I could see this was a live grenade without the pin or spoon!
We called it in, of course, and later in the day, Explosive Ordnance Disposal came by to remove it.
A few hours later, Rector looked over at me.
“You know, seeing that grenade down there really makes me not take too kindly to all these kids throwing rocks at us.”

I saw Sergeant M as I was returning from lunch.
“You know, what you should have done, is pulled the pin and thrown that ****** back over the fence. Could gotten your CIB.”
“Sergeant…the pin was already pulled!”
“Oh- damn.”

The temperatures continue to gradually creep downward here in Kabul. Nights are now cold, and the daily temperature is actually pleasant most of the time.

Little “Hobbit” Helmer came back from his leave, and really wanted to both to be teamed back up with Whitmire, and to stay on night shift. “You’ll still be able to sleep,” he said, “because we’ll be in the tower when you’re off.” The down side? I’ll be teamed up with Little Nicky.

I received two lovely Halloween boxes. One had what has to be one of my favorite cards ever. It shows a cat face on the front with crossed bones like a Jolly Roger, and says, “You’re a bad influence.” The inside says, “Thanks!” I also got a cute little witch holding candy korn, and a super-soft little pumpkin.

About two weeks ago, I noticed a group of Asians here at Phoenix. I naturally thought in terms of US allies, so my first thought was Korean? Then I thought, Northern Chinese? When I was close enough to read their patches, I saw they’re Mongolian.

“How do you like that?” I asked Olsen. “We’re serving with Communists. Weird.” He laughed. The things you think you’ll never see…

The Mongolians are affable guys. I tried saying hello in Mandarin, and was quickly advised Mongolian is different! I try to make a habit of greeting everyone I come across, and I confess I’m a bit annoyed when the addressed ignores me. The Mongolians, though, respond with a cheerful “Hi!”, in chorus if you catch them in a group.

I was waiting to get a refill on my Tramadol a few days ago (I lost my first bag, so had to wait to see a PA, instead of just getting a refill), and two of the Mongolians came in. I was curious to see what sidearm one of them was carrying. (Most of the service members here, regardless of service, carry their weapons with them all the time. The Mongolians are an exception to this, as I’ve only seen a few of them wearing sidearms, and have seen no carbines.) I’d seen the grip of the handguns elsewhere, and could tell they didn’t have the Makarov I would have assumed.

The Makarov is a handgun a little larger than James Bond’s old Walther, and bears a resemblance. The 9x18mm round it fires is directly between the .380 and 9mm Luger rounds in both size and power. Makarovs have been produced by a number of former Communist Block countries.

The handgun the soldier withdrew had a plastic grip and a dull gray slide. It was marked “SW9V”. It was a Smith and Wesson Sigma! The Sigma was produced by Smith and Wesson to compete with the enormously successful Glock handguns. Sigmas were never as popular, and I’ve seen them at enormous discounts, and have heard little of them for a while. I guess they convinced the Mongolians to buy them!

(As a matter of fact, I had a nightmare, years ago, that I was being attacked, and tried to defend myself using a Sigma. This was odd, in that, if I’m armed in a dream, it’s never a nightmare! The Sigma was the exception.)

I have begun physical therapy for my back. I’m hoping the pain will be gone by the time I go on leave in about three weeks.

A lot has happened since my last update.

First, and most quickly, Specialist Rector turned 22 Saturday. If anyone would like to send him a belated card, I think he’d be surprised and pleased. His address is:

Keven Rector
HHC 1/180 INF
Camp Phoenix
APO, AE 09320

A few days ago, I was thinking about Rector’s knife usage and ability. I thought about the many knives that have been kindly given to me, and Keven’s small, battered Gerber. I had a very nice Buck/Strider folder, a very solid large folding knife, with a well-designed ATS-34 blade, that I barely used. I gave it to Keven. He didn’t say much, but had his whetstone out a little later, steadily sharpening. He had the Buck “shiver sharp” in about half an hour. Two days later, he picked up his little old Gerber, and said, “It don’t look like much, anymore [in comparison], does it?” I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have that knife. It wasn’t right that it not be used, frequently and well.

Speaking of Rector: Sgt. B told me earlier this week that I wouldn’t be teamed with him anymore. Corporal David Webb is going to be working another mission, but it will be some time before he’s sent. Sergeant B said, “Rector’s about the only guy that can get along with Webb.” I said a few unprintable things when told; I really like working with Rector. (He didn’t seem very happy about it, either, when I told him.)

Sgt B continued, “Well, since you’d said you didn’t mind working night, I thought I’d move you to there.” Oh. Okay.

I took my first PT test in months Saturday morning, since Sgt A kept riding me about getting one done for my E5 packet. I did well on pushups and sit-ups, with 93% for my age group in each category, but the run was bad. I knew I still hadn’t adjusted to the altitude and high particulate content in the air here, but didn’t know exactly how bad it would be. My first half mile I did in 3:45, but it went downhill from there, with a 17:01 time for two miles. That was a 66% score, which is 4% lower than I needed for the E5 packet.

I was supposed to work my first shift Sunday night, but found out Saturday afternoon (on my day off) that I would be working that night! My sleep schedule was out of synch for it, so I took three Benadryl and tried to get some sleep.

Gomez and Green have been really burning up the computer games the last couple of weeks. There is one medieval game that always seems to have at least one character yelling, “Defend! DEFEND!” over and over, and this last week, Gomez has been playing Scarface, often in conjunction with playing his music loudly. (Sgt B really should have cracked down on this, but it hasn’t happened.) Scarface gives the listener numerous witty vulgarisms from Al Pacino, with frequent machine-gunning as a bonus. It’s not exactly a lullaby.

I tried to sleep, with the sound of a siren cutting through my earplugs from Green playing some chase game at the other end of the hut. Finally, I drifted off, only to be awakened by Tony Montana and blaring machine guns. After a few minutes, I got up and staggered outside my area.

“Hey, I have to sleep tonight, I mean, work tonight,” I managed. “Can you please turn that down a little?” I then stumbled back to bed.

Maybe Gomez turned it down. I do know that the machine gunning was still loud even through my earplugs. I tried putting on some soft music, but the guns and yelling even went through the earplugs AND the headphones! I was getting angry, and I’m a wee bit like the Hulk. Finally I jumped down from my bunk and charged into Gomez’s area.

“I’m about to go ‘Tony Montana’ on you!” I told him through gritted teeth. I was so angry, that combined with the Benadryl, I was shaking. I told Gomez, again, to turn his game down, and after a brief (and very mature) face off, complete with witty repartee: (“You got a problem?” “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have a problem.” “You want to fight?” “You wantta?”) I left. I could feel my pulse ripping along at what must have been over 160 bpm. (For comparison, a fairly hard workout on the treadmill only puts me at about 135.)

I tried, but there was no way I was going back to sleep…even without all the noise still blaring from Alphonso Gomez’s area. I went across to our company CP and got a sick call slip.

I hurt my back while helping load our large job boxes into the passenger area of our Greyhound bus while leaving Camp Shelby. While at the clinic, we were able to isolate that the pain is between my shoulder blades, slightly to the left of my spine, and mostly occurs when I lift something, especially with my arm extended or with my left hand (or when wearing body armor, which is a daily occurrence). I also had problems going to sleep, and sleeping through the night…and still have a skin problem on my right hand.

I have been given Tramadol Hydrochloride, Hydroxyzine Hydrochloride, Methocarbamol, Triamcinolone Acetonide cream, and Ammonium Lactate Lotion.

That night, Sgt M told me that I would be moved to another B hut with night shift workers. Woohoo! I’m hoping I’ll get more sleep here, but I couldn’t get less, definitely!

I worked my first shift Saturday night with my new tower mate, Spc Whitmire. He seems like a good guy, and he’s pretty humble. I like that. For whatever reason, gun usage seems connected to masculinity for some US males, so there’s a tendency to exaggerate gun knowledge. It’s pretty silly, but it happens. Whitmire told me almost immediately that he didn’t know a lot about guns, and then used words like “production ammo”, which would be rare from someone who wasn’t fairly informed. I think we’ll work well together, and certainly worked fine our first 12-hr shift- or at least, what I can remember of it!

I began moving my things into my new B hut, L10, Sunday after my shift. My new area is about a foot smaller on the side and the front, so it’s very small (room for my bunk only, lengthwise, and bunk plus three feet, widthwise), but at least it has a lot of shelf space. I moved most of my things, and finally crashed about 1500, more than an hour after taking my Hydroxyzine Hydrochloride. I was awoken a few times, but slept pretty well until I finally made myself get up at 0230!

I need to get my grad school application paperwork finished soonest. There’s quite a long delay in getting mail to the States, so I’m hoping to find some innovative ways to bridge that.

I will be leaving Camp Phoenix on 24 November, and flying out of Bagram on the 26th. This will hopefully put me back in the US before 1 December. I’m going back to Georgia, to see friends, eat good food, and maybe spend a day or so in the woods, real woods, with creeks and deer and turkey and maybe a good friend or two. I’m looking forward to it.

I was off today, which was nice. I always seem to have more to do than time to do it, though. I did manage to get in two gym workouts, though, and finally got around to writing a resume to include with requests for letters of reference. Looking at what I have written on my resume, it appears I have often labored dutifully at school while employed full time. Yay for me.

Four days ago, Rector and I were up in the tower, speculating why the SOG had been in Tower 7 for at least half an hour. (The SOGs almost never climbed up to the towers in the past, but have been cracking down recently, ensuring we do vital things like wear gloves and glasses while in the tower, have a range card filled out, etc.) I noticed two kids were stealing wire again.

I need to explain the layout. On the back side of Camp Phoenix, there is a wall composed of the Hesco Barriers, which are like enormous square sandbags, built to stop incoming rounds or explosions. Almost touching the walls outside the Hesco barriers is concertina (razor) wire. Farther out, just outside the village, is a 10’ chain link fence topped by barbed wire.

Now, the area to the west of Tower 8 has some concertina a little further away from the walls, as well. Children, perhaps 11-14, have been stealing wire and the poles the concertina has been attached to. We yell at them over the megaphone from the tower, and sometimes they leave. We notify Security Main, who usually tells us “Continue to observe.” Whatever.

Well, I got the megaphone. “Borro, borro!” I yelled. “Leave!” The kids started walking leisurely away. Rector and I waited for the SOG to finish whatever he was doing with the two personnel in the tower before ours. (Being infantry, we could only imagine so many things he could have found to do.) The kids came back, and Rector eased over and effortlessly picked up the microphone, as he effortlessly picks up everything. This time, the kids yelled back, then walked a few feet, and stopped. And came back. I tried again. This time, the children didn’t even look up as they carefully looped the sharp wire.

“Security Main, this is Tower 8”, I radioed. “We have two kids out here, about 120 mikes west of our tower, stealing wire. I have tried to warn them off.” Security Main said to call the SOG. Ah. For once, SOG was right there, since he could clearly see the area as well from tower 7. A patrol in progress was diverted, but the children picked up the coiled wire and carried it off, suspended between them on a post they stole, before the patrol arrived.

“Security Main, this is SOG. I have seen the compound the kids went into. It’s the blue one, back by Tower 7. Do we have permission to enter?”

“SOG, Security Main. Knock. We don’t want to kick open the door over some concertina.” We saw the patrol go by a few minutes later, and then disappear from view. Ten minutes later, they reappeared- carrying poles draped with wire! Another tower called T-8’s phone and told us fifteen bales of concertina had been found in the building. I saw Sergeant Moser that night.

“Sergeant, I heard that the patrol ‘stacked’ on that building, and kicked the door in.”
“Well, it wasn’t kicked- more pushed open, but we cleared the building, yeah.”
“I heard fifteen bundles of concertina were found!”
He nodded his bald head. The sergeant is two years younger than me, but you’d never know it. “You know what else? They had our ladder.”
”Ladder?”
“Yeah, you know, the ladder that went to the fighting position between Tower 7 and Tower 8.”
“You mean- they came over the wall and stole it?” I was shocked. That’s only about 60 meters from each tower.
“Yep. And you know, I saw the ladder- hell, we used the ladder to climb up the wall over there in the compound- and I didn’t even think about it. But, we’ll go back out tonight and get it.”

I don’t know if the sergeant did indeed go back, but the ladder’s still gone.

I was carping about the Afghan nationals.
“I hate the attitude about this place,” I raged. “The kids always want something from you. You can’t just be friendly. They’ll smile and wave, but if you smile back, they ask for something.
Even the adults- if you do the adults a favor, they’ll ask for something else.”
I related the story of the adult to whom the kite had been returned, who had demanded water, then money. Rector kept his eyes out of the tower.
“You know,” he said when I finally ran out of steam, “we did this.”
“What?”
“Well, you figure: we’ve been here five years. They figure that’s how we are.”
“You mean, we’ve taught them to expect we’ll give them stuff?”
“Yup. And they ain’t in any hurry for us to leave. Now, if it was me, I’d be a little more ruthless. I’d give ‘em nothing. They’d be like, ‘Git on out’, and start setting up their own government!”

Rector called it “sody pop”. I laughed.
“You are so country. You know, you’re probably the only one in camp who calls it that.”
”I can’t help it. It’s just how I talk.” He turning a little pink on his cherubic cheeks.
“No, no, I like it. It reminds me of my family- my uncles and aunts. They might call it that, too.”

Did I mention that boy can sharpen a knife? Oh, my. He wanted to see my new Spyderco Endura…and by “see”, I mean he had his whetstone and honing oil in his hand. Some of the newer, high-tech steels can take an incredible edge, and hold it a long time. The flip side is, that these super-steels are also fairly difficult to sharpen, because they’re so hard. The Endura is one such knife. It came sharp enough, but I guess it wasn’t up to Rector’s standards.

Rector sharpened for a while. Then he stopped and felt the edge. Then he sharpened some more. And felt the edge. And sharpened. And sharpened. I thought I detected an air of frustration. Finally, he was satisfied.

“Okay, this should do it,” he said, handing the knife back. Oh, my. I now have a 4” razor blade. I am actually afraid to touch the edge. “Now my daddy,” Rector said, picking his spit bottle back up, “he can REALLY sharpen a knife…”

Well, there have been a few changes with my work schedule and coworkers. Since I am a creature of habit, I’m still trying to adjust. About two weeks ago, we were told that our squad would now be working 7-day weeks, because the platoon is losing a few people. A poll was taken, and survey said- we would prefer to work 12-hr days, if we were able to get a day off a week. There was some negotiation, and somehow we have ended up with schedules that have us working two 12-hr days, and one 8-hr day before we get a day off. It’s not a bad schedule, but I’m still trying to reschedule my daily life.

Along with my changing hours, I have a new tower partner, Specialist Rector. Rector is a round-face country boy that looks like he should be bailing hay in the Heartland. He has a healthy country accent, a sheepish grin, and loves to hunt…and likes history, by golly. He was a bouncer for a while back in Oklahoma, and sometimes relates stories of absolutely stupid things he’s done. He’s great company, and a good coworker.

I was looking around at the landscape today, and something occurred to me. “You know, the only thing this country export is drugs, rugs, and old weapons.”
Rector pondered for a minute, spit some tobacco juice into a bottle, and nodded.
“Yep.”

When I came back from lunch, Rector had some important news. “Hey, they’re looking for two motorcycles.”
“Motorcycles? Someone been shooting at towers again?”
“Nah, they’re supposed to be these two guys with vests, suicide bombers.” He went on to describe what they were wearing. “If they come by here, be prepared to duck.”
A few minutes later, he was asleep in his chair.

Tower 6 is only feet from a fence, with several holes in it, and local nationals slip through the holes continuously throughout the day, sometimes throwing a rock or two while they’re just passing by. I was keeping my eye on this foot traffic, when I saw a man on a blue motorcycle slowly moving through a hole in the fence.

“Rector, what color did you say those motorcycles were?”
“Mm.” He barely moved. Well, damn. I picked up the microphone, and radioed in. “Security Main, this is Tower Zero-Six. Could you give me the description of those motorcycles again, over?”
“Tower Zero-Six, say again, over.”
Rector was regaining consciousness. I was given the description again, and advised that I had a blue motorcycle inside the wire.
“Hey, man, we got a motorcycle heading right for us.”
Now fully awake, Rector, sat up.
“Oh.” As the bike approached, Rector slowly dropped his head below the level of the glass windows, rather sheepishly, I thought.

The motorcycle went by without exploding, but the situation underscores how poor our security is in this back area. The top of the Hesco barrier just feet away from the tower is covered with rocks that have bounced off. If any of those had been grenades, we could have had a bad day.

In the interests of dissuading rock throwing and wall climbing, I brought a bag of balloons and a couple of packets of Kool-ade with me when I returned from lunch. Rector and I mixed the packets with water to give color, and then filled some balloons. The way I figure, children will not like being hit with water balloons, and some adult presumably in their life will not be happy their child’s clothes are now dotted with purple. If this helps the adult encourage these children to cease and desist- without causing actual harm to these kids- even better. Wouldn’t you know it- the children cut back on the rock throwing when we had the means ready to discourage them! I would much rather hit a child with a balloon than a rock, which is what some of the Sergeants of the Guard have suggested. (Rector forced a child off the wall earlier in the day by “walking in” rocks on him.)

The tail end of the shift really dragged. I opened the rear door of the tower so we could see when our relief was coming. There was a dark figure down below on the other side of the fence.
“Soja! Hey, soja!”
Rector stalked out, unconsciously moving with the casual stroll of a person absolutely prepared to fight.
“You want hash?”
“Nah, man, we don’t want any of that stuff.”
“You no want hash? Is good. Five dollar.”
“No, no.”
“You want whiskey?”
“Whiskey? What kind of whiskey?”
“Vodka. American vodka.”
“American? You sure it’s not Russian?”
“Yeah, is Russian. Thirty bucks.”
“Thirty bucks? Nah, man…”
After he stepped back inside, Rector turned towards me.
“Can you believe that? Thirty bucks!”

Recently read: John Hutchings’ The Names Not on the Wall (recommended. Extremely gripping story of a Navy corpsman assigned to a six-month tour with the Marines in Vietnam. Though poorly edited, this is still worth reading, if you can deal with the emotion.) James McDonough’s Platoon Leader (highly recommended- excellent autobiography of a fresh lieutenant’s tour of Vietnam.) John Arnold’s History -A Very Short Introduction (recommended) Dan Brown’s Angels and Demons (okay. Dan Brown writes interesting plots, carried out by intelligent people who make the stupidest comments about subjects they should understand)

I’ve still been receiving quite a few packages, many of them holding books. I like, no, I LOVE books. I’m going to have to start giving them away faster, though, as my personal area is getting smaller. I was especially delighted yesterday to find 5 bottles of good ginger ale sent from a close friend in Texas. The altitude changes somehow conspired to drain a small amount from one bottle, but the remainder in the bottle was bubbly and delicious. (I have an inordinate appreciation of ginger, along with avocados, sesame seeds, and hot peppers.) Talk about luxury! I enjoyed the ginger ale even more than I would have alcohol.

Fall is here, with temperatures dipping into the 50s at night and in the mornings. The crisp air bring and sweet and sad nostalgia, with thoughts of childhood friends dashing through newly chill nights for candy, thoughts of Thanksgiving, and Christmas.

We (Secfor) were told yesterday that most of us would be subject to midshift rotation. In other words, we’re going someplace else in November or December. I can’t be certain I’ll be one of these people, but I’m trying to be transferred to the chaplains, anyway. It’ll be more work than I do now, but I think I might be happier…and I might be transferred someplace else, where my house companions don’t make noise late at night!

This announcement about the rotations was given in a “town hall” meeting that was held for lower enlisted troops, E5 and below. (I’m not really certain why I saw E6s asking questions.) One of the first things General Pritt mentioned was that the Afghans have not previously been trained in IED detection and removal. “Does anyone find this strange?” Actually, not at all- especially when the General gave a statistic a few minutes later that an estimated 60-80% of the Afghan National Police are corrupt. See, learning how to find and remove IEDs means learning how to ARM and PLACE IEDs. Why should it be strange that we be reluctant to give out training that could be used effectively against us? Why isn’t this obvious to a General, or is it obvious, and he’s being disingenuous? In any case, they’ll now be trained for this.

In all the previous Camp Phoenix years, the budget for the dual-purpose mission of helping nearby local nationals and building rapport has been about $2 million. Phoenix 5 will have between $30-40 million. Hopefully, some good will come of it.

When I stopped by the chapel tonight, Henson was folding programs. “What are those for?”
“These are for the dedication tonight,” he said, in his disarming Kentucky drawl.
“Look at this. Shirley.” He pointed to the page.
“What? Who is that?”
“That’s a list of people we’re thanking, and that’s you, man.”
Wow. I really haven’t done that much, just a few hours here and there helping the chaplains set up, but I guess they really appreciate it. The head chaplain agreed yesterday that they would be happy to have me, but said we now needed to find a justification. Captain Montgomery asked what I could do.
“Well- what do you need?”
It seems that one chaplain’s assistant will be leaving in about two months. They need someone with office worker skills. Easy enough. Now, I just have to get my chain of command to approve it. Sergeant B said he’ll support me, so I just have to pitch the idea higher up the chain.

I’d been in a funk for a few days. I was doing some writing yesterday evening, and to block out the sounds, I put on my HD 201 headphones. I received Garth Brooks’ The Hits a few days ago, and I listened to it. Someone once told me that country music is not a good choice when you’re feeling sad, and boy, were they on the money! When I got to We Shall Be Free, I listened to it at least four or five times in a row. I’d never heard it before, and I felt even sadder.

I thought that maybe, if something happened to me, I would want it played at my memorial service- which would feature no-one preaching at anyone else, just an injunction that we all love each other, and maybe hopefully a few memories of good times shared.

When we're free to love anyone we choose When this world's big enough for all different views
When we all can worship from our own kind of pew
Then we shall be free
We shall be free

What a beautiful wish, I thought. Too bad it’ll never happen. People just can’t stop fighting, can’t be secure enough to not need to try to force beliefs on others, can’t just let go of their fear that drives them to strike out and force others away- instead of reaching out in love to our fellow brothers and sisters.

I didn’t get much sleep, and I was more than a little annoyed at all the noise Williams, Howard, and Gomez made up until 0130! The lack of consideration is what really burns me up.

Anyway, I managed to lose my soap yesterday, so took a shower without it. Feeling dirty today didn’t help my black mood as I waited for Sgt. B to finish his “fat boy pt”- and his showing up two hours after he finished didn’t help either. No, I didn’t really miss him, but it always feels as though he’s taking advantage. It’s that whole fairness thing again.

I finally talked myself into a better mood, after explaining to Sgt B the lack of logic in believing homosexuality is sinful, but that it’s okay to break most of the other six hundred and something commandments found in the Old Testament of the Bible. (I’m really not sure how we got on that subject, of all things. Maybe it was seeing a few sheep in the field. There are evidently a minority of rams who only mount other rams.) Most Americans don’t agree that the punishment for raping a virgin should be marriage to the rapist (per Old Testament law), or that habitual drunks should be renounced by their parents and stoned to death, and may even (gasp!) eat shellfish. Why choose to obey just some of the commandments? It’s not like the sergeant refuses to work on Saturday.

I really despair at the tendency of most American Christians to believe without question what they’ve been told without actually reading it for themselves, but I suppose this tendency holds true for most peoples, not just Westerners. I visited the smaller bazaar held in the French Quarter for the first time today, and bought what I believe is a good copy of a Braendlin Armory Martini-Henry style carbine. I purchased it with the Army Heritage Museum in mind, but wanted to make a choice that I’d be okay with keeping if the Museum wasn’t interested.

I spoke with the vendor, who had a variety of knives- many obviously made for tourists, plus quite a few bayonets (I bought two Ishapores- made by an arsenal in India for Enfield-pattern rifles) for a few minutes. He had been recommended to me.

“I was told you are an honest man,” I said, giving him my best soul-searching glance.
“Is that true?”

“No,” he replied with a grin. I couldn’t help laughing.

I bought an Afghan boy’s outfit to send to Dr. Bratton, since she is an anthropologist and obligated to be interested, and called it a day. Sgt D called me outside soon after I returned to the B-hut.

“It looks like Nicky is trying to get kicked out,” he told me, looking like an earnest chipmunk. “He told Jay today he’s not taking his medicine. I hope he gets kicked out without getting any money!” Sergeant D has a brother who gets paid a psych disability check, and it really infuriates the sergeant. “There are people out there, veterans, missing arms and legs, who could use that money.” He really doesn’t want Little Nicky to get a psychiatric discharge if it means Nicky will get a government check forever after.

“Well, sergeant, if he’s not taking his medicine, that’s refusing a direct order. He can be busted for that.”

As I talked to Sgt D, Sgt B walked up and handed me a letter with a beautiful envelope. “You’ve got, like, four packages in the CP.”

Really? I’ve been so spoiled by almost daily letters and packages that I’d really missed not getting anything for the last three days. I walked over to our company HQ hut, and started sifting through the mail.

Wow! I DID have four packages, plus a book from Amazon. It felt like Christmas, or my birthday. I had three boxes jammed to the gills with beautiful books, with one of the boxes containing almost all historical books. The other box had two bowls with snap-on tops…and a Batman pillowcase! I grinned even wider than I had already been.

Happiness comes from inside, not from any external thing, but I’ll tell you, a box full of love sure don’t hurt.

I have my own shampoo now (I’d been sent some previously, but gave it away), and more CDs, and LOTS of books to share. I even had a few computer games. I took most of the religious and self-help books to the chapel, and left some female-oriented reading in the general area on the chapel porch.

Today started out as the worst day I’ve had since I’ve been in Afghanistan. It managed to end as a pretty darn good day. Thanks.

I was off today, and got some much-needed sleep. After a leisurely breakfast and cleaning the B Hut- it’s my week to clean the common areas- I went to the chapel, to see if there was something I could do to help the chaplains today. I ended up helping Henson move some things around, and also put some boxes up in the attic areas.

“I’m really glad you’re here,” Henson said. “I’m scared to death of heights.”

Well, me too, but these spaces weren’t THAT high, and I’m an agile little monkey.

“We have to be quiet when we put the things in that side,” Henson said.

“Um- why?”

“It’s over the JAG area…and they don’t know that it’s there!”

After leaving the chapel, I moved some pictures from my camera to a flash drive, and then was roped into a detail. Our squad was assigned to lower and raise the FLIR tower at the front of Camp Phoenix. The FLIR sits on the very top of a four story+ building. Unfortunately, our squad was separated on the way up…so, Sgt D, Sgt B, and I wandered around for 15 minutes, until an E7 opened a door and guided us up! The FLIR had already been re-raised by the time we made it.

Green got a throwing star Friday, and he, Gomez, and Jay are having a blast with it. They drew a target on the door on their end of the B Hut, and are now talking about getting throwing stars for everyone, like darts.

We had a team meeting tonight. Sergeant B was obviously hoping to clear the air about some things- especially related to noise early and late- but everyone seemed reluctant to speak when given the opportunity. I finally opened up.

“I’ve been told that people would prefer for me not to try to make sure everyone’s up in the morning…so, I won’t try to wake everybody.”

Jay pointed out that someone always had the day off, so it would be better to just knock on the doors of people on the squad who needed to get up.

“That’s what we’ve decided to do,” Sergeant D spoke up.

“What about noise at night?” Sergeant B asked. Everyone seemed to think it was pretty much okay. I finally said something again.

“I know I probably wake easier than anybody else here, and I have good hearing. But, it doesn’t seem quite fair to have to wear earplugs at midnight or later, because someone’s got the TV playing loudly enough to hear.”

“Why’s everyone looking at me?” Green asked.

“Because it’s you, dude,” I told him.

“Yeah, you deaf -,” Gomez added.

“If there’s a game on, I’m gonna watch it,” Green said. “I never turn the TV up past eight, anyway.”

“I have an extra set of headphones, if anyone needs them to listen to a game late,” Sergeant D offered.

After the meeting broke up, Jay was talking about the escalating threat here. According to him, Kabul is about to become the hottest spot in Afghanistan. I won’t go into specifics, but if the information we’ve been given is accurate, the attacks we’ve had here recently are only the beginning, and just the tip of the iceberg. Nicky started talking about one of his friends who saw the devastation over the FLIR and cried at seeing the bodies of the Afghans.

Since it was Nicky telling the story, it’s difficult to know if it’s true, but it could be. The deaths are real, whether his friend saw them, or not.

Mac and I worked out, some time on the treadmill followed by a short but intensive upper body workout. I guilted Mac into doing another set of abwork. I was ready to continue, but Mac was beat, so we left.

“You can stay, you know,” he said, as we walked towards the door. “Yeah…no.” It’s just more social to eat with a friend, you know? So I left with him.

Tonight was a Mexican food night, with enchiladas, fajitas, and everything that goes with them. I ventured to not only get some beef fajitas and beans, but actually got a little salsa for the first time in two weeks. It’s great not being sick.

Our favorite chaplain’s assistant, Henson, was there, and we enjoyed our meal. I told the two about my idea to open a restaurant called “The Awesome Avocado”, dedicated to the proposition that everything is better with avocado and cheese. Henson owns a restaurant, and both he and Mac liked the idea. Both of them picture it as a yuppie type place, which doesn’t bother me. As long as I make money and enjoy myself.

I really was making a pretty big mess, with my guacamole (sadly in need of lime juice), bean, and beef fajitas. Mac was laughing at the green mess smeared on my face, but it was good, though Henson said there was NO WAY we were going to start our wrestling regimen tonight! We would wait for a night without Mexican food.

BOOM! The building shook. Incoming!? There was an instant of quiet, perhaps while everyone registered what had happened, or looked at their neighbor to be sure it had really happened, and then everyone was in furious motion, pushing chairs back and dashing towards the exits.

I was halfway to the door, moving fast, when I saw Sergeant Major C. “Everyone get their sensitive items and get to the bunkers,” he yelled commandingly. “Get to the bunkers!” Every inch the heroic leader.

It’s great that he cares. Really it is. But what the hell does he THINK we’re doing?

There was a bit of a backup at the doors, so I took an extra second to open a cooler and grab a Diet Coke, then I was outside, suddenly trying to remember where the nearest bunkers where. I can run fast when I have to, and I was really traveling, as I ran towards my left, hoping that my extra second of drink retrieval wouldn’t cause me to get caught by an incoming mortar round, and then I was in a bunker. I beat most people in. After a minute, Mac was in the bunker, too. He was confused that I made it before him, as he had been sitting closer to the door, and made it out first.

A captain in the low bunker with us started yelling at the people near the open sides or actually outside. “If there’s indirect, standing there won’t help. Push in. Push in, whether you make your buddy smile, or not.”

The captain actually ended up being good company. He told Mac and I stories about Iraq, while everyone waited to learn what was going on, or take more fire. I was interested to hear him address Jonahs. I had to ask about the other side.

Are there people who are lucky to be around? Oh, yeah, he assured me. There was a specialist in Iraq.

“It was like he could smell IEDs. He knew when we were going to be ambushed, too. It was amazing. Everyone always wanted to be with him.”

Eventually we were told the explosion had been a VBIED 300 meters outside Phoenix. No apparent US/Coalition casualties, but some local nationals injured and likely some killed.

Little Nicky has been the subject of conversation again, unfortunately. I sometimes have asked Sergeant B if we can talk about something else. I called him on it one day.

“Sergeant, let me be sure I understand. You’re upset that this little twerp wastes so much of your time with these BS stories, right?”
“Yeah.”
“So, you’re going to take even more of your precious time repeating these same damn stories AGAIN, and waste still more time- and my time, too- repeating a story that wasted your time when you heard it the first time?”
“Well…okay. I see your point.”

Nicky has been telling us that his grandmother has died. He also claims that he gave a DNR- even though he is not next of kin, and does not have a power of attorney. Sure. “And he says,” Sgt B. told me, “That her last wish was that he stay here in Afghanistan.” Yeah, like we believe any of that. Two days ago, Sgt B told me that Nicky was going to be given a psych eval, since he had managed to finally alienate the platoon sergeant for the last time.

Yesterday, Sgt B told me that Nicky’s squad leader had gotten him to admit his long string of lies. Today, Nicky visited the doctor at the TMC. From what I’ve overheard, it seems Nicky is going to be getting weekly counseling, and has also been given some medicine to take at night. The problem is, the little bastard lies so much, it’s hard to even believe something as straightforward as that. Sad.

I was really upset about this whole affair. “The worst thing,” I fumed to Sgt B, “is that he forces us to be monstrous. With all these stories of people dying around him, or in his arms, we can’t be sympathetic, even if some of this story is true. We’re supposed to be there for our squad, but he’s forced us away with all these lies.”

I really wanted to apply some of the old “wall to wall counseling”.
“In the old Army,” I told Sgt B, “I could have cured him in a week.”
“Yeah. How?”
“Well, every time he started to tell another ludicrous story, I’d hit in the gut. Eventually, he’d learn to stop lying. Then he could just be a decent squad member.”
I guess we’ll see what happens. It’s really hard to be sympathetic for even pathetic people when they deliberately attempt to cynically manipulate your emotions.

I’ve found it difficult to do much studying recently. I don’t have a hard job by any means, but I really doubt the US can accomplish anything positive here in the long run, and I see this whole war- at least, the long-term occupation- as doomed to failure. We’ll just have another puppet government propped up the US, ready to devolve into anarchy when we pop smoke and leave. I don’t believe most of the Afghan people really want us here, and I share their feelings. As much as I want peace for as many people as possible, I don’t much want us here, either.

I received a package from my cousin a few days ago, and was delighted to find it also had letters from two of my aunts, and little posters made for me by two of my young second cousins. I know I have it so much easier than so many other US troops, both in the past and present, but mail really brightens the day. I think I get more than just about anyone else in my company, both from the many kind people at home…and the helpful folks at Amazon.com!

It was a bit surreal, being here in Afghanistan on the fifth anniversary of the 9-11 attacks. An announcement was made over the camp loudspeakers just before each time an airplane crashed, followed by a moment of silence. Details raised and lowered flags all day. Flags could be brought to the flagpoles, and a personal flag could be flown over the camp, and then returned to the owner. I had hoped to get a flag myself, but they sold extremely quickly. I was on two of the details, so I went for a haircut that I really didn’t need, just to be sure I was as “squared away” as I could be, in respect.

We watched the perimeter very carefully Monday, but no Taliban tried to mount an attack on my walls!

I began taking an abbreviated Dari course Monday night. As I was walking back, I saw the 9-11 movie playing on the firehouse wall. I watched for a few minutes, and then had to leave. I was watching a very suspenseful movie, and I knew the white hats wouldn’t win, and as I walked away, I thought: “I know how this ends, at least up to today”.

I remember working at my wireless communications job, watching footage of the attacks, while fielding calls from customers in New York who wanted to know why their phones weren’t working. On the first day, it was because our antennae on the WTC were gone, and (phone) traffic in and out of NY was at record levels, swamping the system. On succeeding days, I was able to explain that my employer had loaned thousands of wireless units with radio capability to rescue workers, and rushed mobile hardware to the area, to support the additional load.

I don’t know what may happen here in Afghanistan, but I fight growing cynicism towards the possibility of a stable, long-term, democratic government in power.
------------------
I finally got a really large mug, which gives me an inordinate amount of joy. I used it today to make ramen for breakfast, and loaded up the ramen with sesame seeds, while looking longingly at my various hot sauces. Even without the spice, the soup was good. I am really looking forward to being able to eat what I want again! Still, I’m very fortunate, since all the dried fruits, nuts, and seeds I’ve been sent give me some reasonable and healthy options.

I have been sent some pictures to put on my walls. I manage to stay pretty busy here, so I still haven’t pinned most of the pictures up yet, but I have already tacked up the pics of dogs and kids. I’m really happy to have them.

Today I received a rather large package. I assured the sergeant who brought it that there would be no contraband in the box, as this was the mother-type who sent me Christian books with almost every package! He said something was leaking, and I assumed it might be aftershave. As soon as I cut the box open, I could smell homemade granola. It was beautiful, a rich honey-and-oats smell that made me drool after my proscribed diet lately.

Unfortunately, the granola was EVERYWHERE, along with Jolly Ranchers. I’m really not sure how the granola escaped, since the large plastic container it was stored in appeared to be firmly closed! I was quite sad about the loss, though I was happy to have the tea, beverage powders (including little “to go” sugar free beverage mixes that you add to a bottle of water. I’ve recently discovered that the Crystal Light tea flavors actually will flavor 2 bottles worth of water, which encourages hydrating without adding significant calories), snacks, wipes, and- well, gosh, everything in the box. When I made it down to the granola tub, I found there was about a third left. YES! It is excellent, too. The oatmeal here at Phoenix is so bad, that I might be afraid I’d lose my taste for it, so it’s nice to have some oats with flavor.

It’s been hard to force myself to study much, in the last few days. I’m hoping to be back to 100% soon, so I can lay off the meds, and concentrate on learning and other self-improvement. Sometimes I get a little buzz, but all things considered, I’d rather be well. I’m sure that’ll be soon enough, and I’ll go back to forgetting how good “normal” feels.

(Friday)

I have been experiencing abdominal pain since Monday night. After trying various strategies, including periods of nothing but juice and water, I went to the Troop Medical Clinic today. Doc O’Leary listened to my symptoms and told me I had a virus. He then assured me that everyone who ate in the KBR DFAC was going to get one at some point.

I have been placed on a “bland foods diet”. (Actually, my sheet says “Bland Diet”.) It consists almost solely of carbohydrate sources: soda, Gatorade, jello, crackers, pudding, cream of wheat, oatmeal, and chicken soup and beef broth. I suppose I’m finally going to eat the ramen I’ve got stored! Maybe I’ll get to work on the 22 gallons worth of Gatorade we have, as well.

I have been given two medicines, dicyclomine and omeprazole, and was also told to stop taking my doxycycline (used as an anti-malarial). I am not happy about not being allowed dairy products and spicy food, but am very, very thankful to have finally gotten some relief after taking my medicine this afternoon. I’m also glad I’ve received a couple of pounds of sesame seeds: I’m pretty sure I’m going to use them all in the next three weeks.

I think this episode is going to interfere with my fitness program until October, as I’m afraid to do much muscle-building exercise until I can eat more protein. If this is the worst I encounter while I’m in Afghanistan, though, I’ll count myself fortunate.

3 September 2006

Fall is definitely coming. It was pleasantly cool until 0930 this morning, which is a first in my time here. It rained yesterday, with hail, and rained for an unusually long time (for here) today.

We suffered some casualties from Phoenix yesterday, but I cannot go into detail for security reasons.

Last night, I got two packages, and three postcards that I will happily tack up on my walls. One of the packages included some acne medication, and I can already see a difference, thankfully. The other package held the knife my close friend Shane Justice made for me, and Tom McArdle, engraver par extraordinaire, kindly- and beautifully- engraved for me…forwarded to me by knife and sheath maker Tom Krein with a sheath and a strange lack of any bill for shipping or sheath. So many people have been so generous to me; it’s very humbling.

I was feeling somewhat guilty for all the generosity that’s been shown to me, but Shane pointed out that helping soldiers is a way for people at home to contribute directly to the war effort, or more properly, to those fighting it. To have their own part in trying to make the world better. I can’t say that I personally “deserve” all this kindness, but I gratefully accept it, and I am overjoyed to be able to share with my squad mates and other soldiers.

We had gunshots just off our perimeter for the second day in a row. I wish someone would teach these people that what goes up must come down. If you MUST celebrate with gunfire, shoot into a safe backstop.

Watching the larger children and the dogs is like watching two hostile tribes. One will move out in a foray against the other, with the occasional charge and counterattack. The children often utilize a deliberate attack, while the dogs rely on spontaneous charges. The dogs run faster, but the children have the long-range advantage with their rocks. I was proud of the dogs today when four of them made a perfect line- with enough dispersal to make them difficult targets- and charged, driving the children for the safety of the fence. In the dogs’ defense, they’re just dumb animals. The children “should” know better. Then again, perhaps I’m unfairly judging the children by the standards I’ve learned in another culture, but I hate seeing cruelty to dogs, and these dogs- even the tamer ones that live with people- are subject to cruelty every day.

Sgt B was suggesting today how great a “meat cannon” would be to pelt the children with raw meat. That’s going too far, of course, but such exaggeration is at least understandable in abstract, when one sees how nasty the children are to dogs and anyone who doesn’t do what they want, and who they can strike with impunity. That includes us, of course. We have orders not to throw anything to the children, which means that rocks thrown at our towers are common, if we don’t respond to shouted demands for “Chocolate!”

I am considering looking for biodegradable balloons and some type of odiferous liquid game lure, as a nonviolent area denial system. I would like to seed the area around the base of the tower (but over the wall) with the most vile-smelling substance I can find, in the hope that it will keep the little rock-throwing brats away. I won’t be upset if the smell attracts the dogs, too.

1 September 2006

Yesterday, there was a drive-by. One of our towers had a view of two apparent local nationals on a motorcycle pull a hit on another local national with an AK-47. This really is the ghetto!

I played dodge ball Wednesday. I can dodge better than just about anybody, but it seems I just can’t throw, especially the super-lightweight foam balls used.

McMillan hasn’t ended up working in the office after all. Instead, he’s been escorting the local national workers around the base. He spends all his time walking around in the heat, but he still has a good attitude. “I know it can’t be this easy”, he told me today. “I keep waiting for them to say, ‘okay, here’s what you’re REALLY going to be doing’.” Even though he’s been working 10-hr+ days.

So…last week I cut my hair. I didn’t have a mirror, so it ended up kinda ragged in the back. I finally went to have the local barber repair it. It’s even now- what there is of it.

Fall is coming. It’s beginning to be cool in the mornings and at night. Winter here is supposed to be pretty fierce.

I received a package with two coffee mugs early in the week. I promptly gave Sgt B a choice, and he let me have the FBI mug. I honestly would have been happy with either. It’s odd, really, but the sergeant and I are really happy to have our mugs. It’s not like we couldn’t get disposable cups, but we really appreciate having a mug of our own.

I am really fortunate. Hanging out in a foreign country away from family and friends may not be my idea of a good time, but compared to soldiers in past conflicts- or even some soldiers in other areas in this one- I have it so easy. I have easy communications access, even if my phone doesn’t always work very well; I can access the internet daily; I get hot food, I can go to the gym, and I have yet to be shot at. I can shower every day. Yeah, I’ve got it good.

26 August 2006

Well, Camp Phoenix is supposed to be heavily in the midst of 5 days of explosive attacks, along with other Allied areas. I’m just not seeing them, sorry, Taliban.

Sgt. D and I had just gotten into Tower 7 yesterday when Wham! Something slammed into the tower. I was on one knee before I thought about it. Just a rock, thankfully.

The Colonel is making noises about taking the tint off the windows in the towers. Supposedly, he wants to do this to be sure reflection isn’t interfering with out watch, but SSG B. says it’s really to be sure we’re keeping our Kevlar(helmet)s on. Besides the UV rays, my concern will be exposing ourselves to snipers. Unless in close, RPGs aren’t much of a threat, but a Dragunov rifle could ruin our day, if the shooter could see where in the tower we were.

I have never seen so many kites before coming here. Every day, we see these tail-less kites, made from plastic and a stick. There’s almost always at least one, and sometimes several, in sight. Today seemed to be the day for the local children to fly the kites over our shipping container- Conex- yard. Inevitably, two went down, and then, we had local national children clambering up the wall on the perimeter. Yeah, a six-year old child can climb his way into our camp. I suppose that’s why my fellow SECFOR heroes and I stand watch.

I have finally finished Kindsvatter, and am reading Jon T. Hoffman’s Chesty:  The Story of Lieutenant General Lewis B. Puller. I will then read either Carlo D’Este’s Patton: A Genius for War or S .L. A. Marshall’s Men Against Fire. Honestly, I’ll probably wait to read Marshall, since I so badly want to academically shred him for his bogus research and idiotic conclusions. Kindsvatter is highly suggested reading. Let me say this: if you want to read just one book to understand the combat soldier or marine experience, this is the book. I hope I produce great books one day, but I do not even aspire to produce a book that could give a better feel for the existence of the combat troop.

Sergeant B and I were in the tower again today. The Staff Sgt suffers from insecurity. This is probably one of the reasons he talks so much- he feels the need to explain himself. I am gently coaching him on becoming a better leader, which I find funny, touching, and sad, by turns. One of Sgt. B’s chief challenges is our resident dirtball, who I’m going to call Little Nicky. Nicky is about 5’10’, thin, and stoop-shouldered. He weighs about 138 pounds, and is pathetically weak. He is at least a borderline pathological liar. He has an apparent aversion to showers and clean clothes. Nicky was transferred from another platoon that didn’t want him, surprise.

Anyway, Sgt. B has allowed Little Nicky to be a major source of stress for him. I stressed the importance of using junior leaders to do the grunt work for the Sgt- there’s no need for him to personally ride an E4, when he’s got an E5 to do it, and pressure from other E4s to help Nicky conform. The problem, as Sgt. B expressed to me today, is that our mission may change. If the squad is reassigned, as rumor has it will happen in a few months, we could be doing something totally different, like daily patrols. Nicky currently is not an asset, but a liability, a weak, unstable, smelly-even-in-garrison liability. We have to change this.

My buddy McMillan showed up yesterday, grinning about his new enormous (9-lb!) baby boy. He tells me his job here is cushy- he gets to sit in the AC all day, and doesn’t even have to wear his body armor. He’ll work six 10-hour days, but he says it’s definitely worth it. It’s good to see the guy. I look forward to lifting with him. Since he’s about 70 lbs heavier than I, but out of shape, maybe we’ll be good workout partners.

My squad mate J is back, and evidently his daughter is fine. It’s nice we’ll be able to get days off again, but a whole family is a lot more important.

The E7s are making noise about putting me in front of a promotion board for E5. I have mixed feelings about this, but more pay would definitely be fine.

Several people have asked me recently what things I or other soldiers can use. This may seem like a weird list, but we have an eclectic mix of available items at Phoenix, and what we do have is sometimes outrageously priced.

1. Mach 3 razor blades
2. Pillow cases
3. Coffee mugs
4. Bowls
5. Small mirrors
6. Acne medication

Some major changes have happened for me in the last 72 hours. I’ve acquired internet access for my PC, and also now have an internet phone service, so I’m reveling in my new ability to call my friends and family. Calculating time difference is still a bear for me, though. I believe I’m 8.5 hours ahead of EST.

I’ve received a cornucopia of packages in the last three days. I now have coffee filters that actually are made for “baby” (4 cup) coffee makers, so I no longer have to tear a piece off the mondo coffee filters I begged from the DFAC to make my green tea, and I can make coffee without risking spilling grounds everywhere. I’ve filled up our hut common area shelf with nuts, Gatorade, and crackers, and distributed other goodies directly: honey-roasted nuts to Sergeant Davis, and Nutri-Grain bars to Specialist Howard and Sergeant Bennett. Tea and dried fruit stashed in my area. I have discovered that one tea bag in the coffee maker makes enough mint tea for both Sergeant Bennett and I. Truthfully, I could live on so much less than even the Army provides, but some of the little things, like a cup of tea at night before bed, are greatly appreciated.

Mail is always a high point. Besides the packages friends have sent me, I’ve ordered several CDs from Amazon. I’ve already received a Shawn Mullins, a Dishwalla, and a Sarah McLachlan. I’ve usually paid fairly little for these, and it’s just great having something waiting when mail time comes. Our little plywood “B hut” readily transmits sound, and almost everyone else always has their tv or music blaring, so the music is really self-defense: I’m jamming their aural signals with something less distracting. Maybe I’ll get some nice “sweet”/soft jazz next.

I believe one of the great enemies of the modern- and perhaps, any generation- US soldier must be boredom. Between my newly acquired communications ability, my studies, and the emails I’ve received from a women’s home and personal improvement group, besides my work and daily gym regimen, I don’t think I risk boredom.

Kindsvatter’s book is excellent. It really is much less a history book than an examination of what it means to be a soldier in combat, and Dr. Greg Urwin, who suggested I read it, wisely chose a book that could be both useful academically, and help me think about what I’m doing here. I have more history books inbound. I’m especially looking forward to ripping into Marshall. His concocted “facts” were misused to validate changing training programs, and have therefore affected thousands, at least, presumably in negative ways.

I am going to be involved with a program conducted by the Army Heritage Museum to document the lives of soldiers in this conflict. I have somewhat mixed feelings about this. On the one hand, I know there are plenty of better- more skilled, more experienced, even more motivated- soldiers out there. At the same time, as a historian, I can recognize that it’s useful to try to get a fairly wide sampling of data sources, and I an undeniably here.

The Sergeant of the Guard at Guard Mount today had some sobering facts. The first was an IED yesterday, on a route fairly close (ten miles?) to Phoenix. The second was that operations elsewhere will likely soon be pushing insurgents into our area. Sergeant Bennet and I climbed up the stairs to our tower, shut the heavy door, and began pulling out the paperwork for our shift, when we heard a “Pang!” as something bounced off our metal tower. Our heads swiveled, but since only kids were in the vicinity, it must have been a rock. That’ll wake you up!

Date: 13 August
Guard Mount
SOG: “Last night, there was an incident here.”
Uh-oh.
“Someone walking by the smoke shack- jammed with Air Force personnel- chucked in a smoke grenade.”
Everyone laughs.
“The night before, it was a water balloon.”
“Escalation of force,” I offer.
“They should leave,” someone else says.

Personally, I’m okay with the Air Force folks being here. That is directly due to about half of them being non-male. No, I have no romantic designs on them- even if it were actually possible to do something about that here- but it’s nice to have variety around, and women are undeniably different than men. Automatically, there is almost 100% more divergence of thought possible, and that is interesting. The irritation voiced by some really has to do with AF people competing for resources- limited space on the MWR computers and phones, and crowded DFAC lines.

12 August 2006

Well, it seems my paid vacation has come to an end, and the real work begins again. I ordered the first of my military history books for my graduate studies soon after reaching Fort Benning. It was sent via UPS, and was eventually returned because UPS said they couldn’t find me. I really wasn’t able to re-order while at Camp Shelby. Now, I have finally received Kindsvatter’s American Soldiers: Ground Combat in the World Wars, Korea, and Vietnam tonight.

I am a voracious reader when I have the time, and suppose I’ll finally have to stop reading the Pattersons (both James and Richard North) for a while. It’ll feel good to get back into study: while I’ve enjoyed my leisure reading, and despite my daily military obligations, I suppose I’ve also felt a little guilty, that I wasn’t doing more productive endeavor (certainly the legacy of a Baptist childhood).

We had a bit more excitement than usual today. At Guard Mount, the SOG (Sergeant of the Guard) told us one of our towers caught a round or two last night. The SOG said we weren’t sure if the base was the target, or if two Afghans were firing at each other. Right about 1400 today, we got an “all net” message, to look for RPGs. Fortunately (?), we saw none.

The mother of a dear friend dreamt that something happened to me. Well, I plan on coming back very much alive, but that’s tomorrow. All we ever really have is today, and today, I feel fine. Time to go study.

10 August 2006

Well, life here at Camp Phoenix is settling into a routine. I usually roll out of bed somewhere between 0510 and 0530. I either make it to the DFAC, or eat something quick- fruit or cereal- in my B hut, then shave, shower, and make a phone call, and then make it to Guard Mount before 0630.

Guard Mount usually only takes a minute or two. After checking to be sure all stations are present, the sergeant of the guard usually says, “Gentlemen, nothing new has happened in the last twenty-four hours. That doesn’t mean nothing will happen today. Stay alert, and let’s get this day over with.” Today, we received extra instruction, a reminder to have gloves and eye pro with us, and wear them if any brass visits. (This was an incorrect instruction: the Sergeant Major has advised that gloves must be worn by those on convoys and by the members of vehicle search. There is no point to those sitting in the towers wearing gloves, and I didn’t start today, though they remained, as always, in my pack fastened to my body armor.)

I’m in the tower from about 0640 to 1440, with some time for lunch, if we have the manpower. (Currently, we’re missing a soldier, who is visiting his ill daughter. Another soldier has an upper respiratory infection, and so, gets out of duty.)

After leaving the tower, I usually get online for a few minutes, and then, hit the gym about 1530. I spend about 45 minutes on the treadmill, except on days when I lift. Most Tuesdays and Thursdays, I attend a yoga class at 1800. On Wednesdays and Saturdays, I watch a movie, which is projected onto the firehouse wall. I have time to get online again, and usually also spend a few minutes cleaning my personal area, and preparing my clothes and gear for the next day. After another shower, I then usually read and take a few notes about the day. If I’m very tired, I may go to sleep as early as 2100, but I’m usually always asleep by 2230. That’s my day.

I’ve been fortunate to receive three packages in as many days. The first was sent primarily to get some zip ties to me. I wanted them to secure wires in my hut, but I have also used three of them to fasten a magazine carrier to my weapon, so I can easily take my self-defense magazine with me. Another package was sent by the kind folks at Militec, who sent gun oil for each member of my squad, plus a larger container to keep in our hut. Free. I finally received a package and letter from Jordy, with Asian food and incense. And hot sauce. (I love hot sauce, but between what I brought with me, and what’s now been sent, I think I’m covered. I also haven’t been using as much lately, perhaps because I mix jalapenos with my lunch and dinner daily.) You know, few things say “somebody cares” as much as a package of goodies. I’m quite thankful for them.

I’m attempting to get my academic ducks in a row. It appears that I may be released from service in time to attend the 07 fall semester. I am now trying to find a way to request my transcripts without the use of mail or fax. I’m hoping the president of my college can help with that.

For those who wondered, the Korean Christians here for the peace march were placed under house arrest for their own protection, and then sent home.

6 August 2006; 1030 local

I finally have a day off. I’m planning on spending as little of it as possible in the B hut, since Gomez (who had the day off yesterday) was pulled onto a detail. I don’t want that to happen to me. I may also not get any time off for a while because Jay, one of my squad mates, is supposed to leave tomorrow. His daughter is in ICU, and has a collapsed lung. If you pray, pray for her.

So far today, I’ve gone to a yoga class, eaten breakfast, showered, and swept and mopped the central area of our hut and my personal area. After I leave the computer room, I’ll pick up a few more things from the PX (another pair of shorts, and a coffee pot, if they’re not too expensive), and then head back to the room to change into pt gear, and then hit the gym. I haven’t done any weight lifting since I’ve been here, because my back hasn’t been happy from the lifting I did while loading the bus leaving Shelby. I’m looking forward to moving some weight.

Kabul has evidently been invaded by somewhere between hundreds and a few thousand South Korea Christians. They are here to participate in a peace march, with the evident need to tell these Muslims about Jesus. We fear for their safety, especially since about 20% of them are supposed to be children.

My 1st SG and another Sgt had a brilliant idea; they are throwing up platforms between our guard towers, to be manned with M-240 gunners in the likely (not!) event we’re being over-run. Personally, I would have just put two armor plates on the landing right outside our guard towers, which would give gunners considerably more elevation to hit the swarming hordes.

Speaking of towers: our towers are constructed of three shipping containers, stacked atop each other. The top section has sliding windows covered with wire to stop rocks. Thankfully, we have an air conditioner. It would be pretty miserable otherwise.

When I joined my squad, I was designated the “floater”. I was going to rotate from tower to tower, so each of the other six people could get a day off. I guess I made the mistake of being too likeable to my sergeant, so he made his former tower partner the floater, and I’m now permanently paired in one tower. I could do worse, though: my sergeant’s chief problem is that he likes to talk.

My tower faces an Afghan village, and there are numerous shadowy nooks, out to five or six hundred meters that would be ideal sniper nests. My M4 carbine is equipped with a very effective red dot sight, but that sight is unmagnified. I am going to be getting a sight with variable magnification, and dual illumination. In a nutshell, this means my new sight should be as fast as my current optic, but also give me the option to dial up my magnification, so I will be better able to see into those many shaded areas, in the event we begin taking fire from them.

This was going to be a personal purchase, and I expected to pay in the neighborhood of $600 for my scope and a good quick-release mount- but my supplier tells me a friend who wants anonymity is footing the bill.

I’m rarely speechless, but I am thankful. Thanks, whoever you are.

28 July 2006

I am in Kabul, at Camp Phoenix. Phoenix reminds me of a bad summer camp, with dusty surfaces and cheap camp housing barracks, located next to an industrial docks complex, with all the machines, shipping containers, and technical workers of the docks spilling into the summer camp.
It's hot. Two days ago, it was 98 degrees F at almost 7 PM/1900 local. It must be cooling down some now, though, because it's "only" going to get up to a high of 95 F for the next two days. The temperature is pleasant at night, and in the morning before 0630 or so, when it begins to heat up.

Afghanistan is like the worst ghetto you can imagine, peopled with individuals who speak another language and whose dress is foreign, who may be heavily armed, all sprinkled with dust. Dust swirls and pelts you, especially at night, and we have been ordered to not wear anything across our faces in camp, so the airborne dust and debris gets blasted into your nose and everywhere else. It's so bad, some nights, that the dust can be seen swirling around the lights at the edge of camp, as thick as a heavy rain.

The food isn't horrible here, and it's actually pretty good, sometimes. There's a serving line with the food, then another line inside the dining room, with a hot bar and salad bar. There are four kinds of sugary Kool-aid style drinks, milk, several juices and several other kinds of soda, as well as coffee, but no Gatorade! There's almost always German "near beer" (nonalcoholic), but no damn Gatorade. I don't get it.

The sergeant who was in charge of moving my group out of Camp Shelby took our medical records, so no-one has theirs with them. We've had one day of briefings, and have been waiting half a week for the second day- we were told yesterday we'll finally get that brief Sunday.

I have been assigned to the 180th Infantry while I'm here. I'll be a part of the Camp Phoenix security force. I was fairly upset when I heard that, thinking that I would be searching vehicles, while wearing body armor in the heat, but the squad I've been joined with is on permanent tower guard. I thought this was fairly safe, until I toured the second and third towers last night with Sgt. Bennet. These towers are close, far too close for comfort- or decent reaction time- to cover. The last tower is within easy hand grenade reach of a wall. Even with the relative inaccuracy of an RPG, if someone pops around that wall with one, we're toast. It would be almost impossible to miss.

...so, I've changed my initial estimate of how safe I may be. That's okay, though. It won't be, by far, the least comfortable place I could be here, and the danger's never really scared me. We all die; I'd just prefer to be reasonably comfortable while I'm here.

Despite my belief in the superiority of the martial arts I've studied vs. most other (especially "hard") styles, I took a karate class Wednesday night. I enjoyed myself, and the teacher says that martial arts must be "in my blood". Ah, so des.

-- Regards,

John

23 July 2006

I'm finally on the ground, here in Bagram, Afghanistan. My group, comprised of soldiers in and attached to the 41st Infantry, left Camp Shelby about 2020 on 19 July. We were delayed because there was some doubt that we could get all of our gear on the bus, but we finally made it, and rolled out for Baltimore, MD. Twenty hours and thirty-two minutes later, slowed by the sluggish bus and a driver that stopped to ask for direction three times, we arrived at the Baltimore airport.

It seems a trend for things to be screwed up. I'm not sure if this is related to being tasked to a National Guard element, or just because it's the military. We were briefed at Camp Shelby that our group would have about 24 hours in Baltimore before we left. (I found this confusing, since the E7 giving the briefing also said we would be landing at Manas AFB on the morning of the 21st.) Once we arrived at the airport, we had just about time to unload our gear and get through the gate before we were scheduled to fly.

Once in front of the gate, we were told that there had been a delay. It seems someone forgot to fuel the airplane. Then, there was another delay, because not enough fuel was brought initially. On the L1011, I was fortunate enough to find myself between two small people, an Air Force Major on one side, and an airman on the other. The larger of the two was probably 130 lbs. I counted my blessings.

From Baltimore, we flew first to Ramstein, in Germany, then to Turkey. From Turkey, we flew to Manas. Kyrgyzstan was a part of first Russia, and then the Soviet Union, until 1991. It was quite a site to see US cargo planes lined up on the runway, in front of the huge Cyrillic sign reading Manas International Airport, and to know that we had a presence on the soil of a former, recent enemy.

We stayed a little over 24 hours in Manas, and I got my first, disorienting taste of an enormous time difference with the States. In fact, I was unsure for most of yesterday, as to which day of the week it was!

Today, I rode my first military cargo airplane, a C17. I've ridden in helicopters before, but this was my first cargo fixed wing. It wasn't horrible, and I have to think about the times it took to transport troops to the fronts in WWI and II and even Korea. In contrast, our movement is so easy.

From what I've seen of Afghanistan today, it reminds me of a dusty, crappy Arizona. It's quite hot, but there's no humidity. There are mountains in the distance from Bagram, but they are obscured partially by all the dirt (and, several of the NCOs and officers kept saying, shit) in the air, which dries out your nasal passages, and sometimes makes it hard to breathe. I have determined that I definitely need to get one of the wrap-around scarves that I had previously suspicioned might be just an affectation.

Tomorrow, depending on various factors, I may be convoyed out to Camp Phoenix, or we could move by aircraft. Or we could not move. We never know.

Here are some resources for a little more information.
Kyrgyzstan
Task Force Phoenix
Operation Enduring Freedom pics

06 July 2006

Well. I'm back in Mississippi , after a much-too-short visit with my family and Jordy. It almost feels like I've lived on a Greyhound bus for the last few days, but I remember doing other things, too, so that can't be true.

I did another tour through the gas chamber last Wednesday. Too fun. I still had a bit of congestion left from the cold I got two weeks ago, and I was looking forward to the experience. (In Basic, when going through the gas chamber, all those who inhaled some gas seemed to disgorge all mucus from their bodies in about a minute and a half. I managed to lift my mask, and give my name, rank, Social Security #, and hometown all without breathing- which I regretted after I exited the chamber and was still quite congested. Yes, I had a bad cold back then in late 2001, too.)

The chamber experience this time was much less arduous. In Basic, everyone was wearing their helmets, which they were ordered to remove, and place atop their rifles, which were propped, barrel facing up, between their legs. We then lifted our mask, and recited the mantra I described a minute ago. This time, we had no weapons, and we weren't wearing our helmets. We DID, however, perform a few jumping jacks and stretching exercises just to test the seals in our mask, before and after lifting our masks for five seconds, then purging and resealing. Then we were ready to leave, but before we opened the door and exited, the Sergeant in charge asked for a volunteer.
"Who wants to be a hero?"
Everyone looked at each other through our masks in the small cinder-block room.
"Who wants to volunteer to take off their mask?"
I rapidly stepped forward.
"Okay, just remove your mask, and then, when you're ready, exit through that door."

I slipped my mask off and breathed for a minute, carefully keeping my eyes squeezed almost totally shut. The gas was obviously a lot less potent than they gave it to us in Basic, but it was burning my skin. I finally motioned for the door to be opened, and then leaned down and took a deep breath from almost directly over the burner.

There were five or six people with cameras, waiting for the condemned to come outside retching and crying, when I walked out of the chamber. I had a few tears running from my eyes, and my face was red. My nasal passages burned for a few minutes, and my skin burned a couple minutes longer than that, but my congestion was barely affected. Damn.

It seems someone's finally attempting to bring some order to the gaggle of soldiers here at the replacement company. Today, all 41st Infantry and attached troops were separated, and each soldier's name was called, to ask if he (or she- there are two of them) was ready to ship out. When my name was called, I advised that I still need to go through Convoy Training (now scheduled for 9-12 July). **I was then told that I would ship out on the 19th.** As I understand it, I'll head first to Kuwait, and then, to Afghanistan . I could almost say, anything's better than Mississippi, except that I'm so close to my family.

For any of you that are praying types, I'm fine. I do and will have things to do, to occupy my time and mind. If you need to pray, keep in mind those closest to me. They may not be sweating in the desert, or overseas, but I'm sure that walking through hard places is easier than knowing that people you care about could be in danger, and having no power to change that.

28 June 2006

Hi, everyone. Sorry I haven't been able to provide more updates lately. I'm doing more training preparatory to deploying to Afghanistan, and the tempo is considerably faster-paced than it was at Fort Benning. As with most training provided by the Army in my experience, there's actually a little useful content in there- but I suspect the majority of the training is provided to give the recipient something to occupy himself, so he won't feel helpless when the wheels come off the bus.

Okay, that was a little cynical. I'm certain some of what we're being taught is actually useful- the Army is going to a system of emergency tactical care that pretty much goes straight to the tourniquet for heavy extremity bleeding, for instance- but we haven't been taught that method here at Camp Shelby, so far. Maybe I just haven't had that training block.

At this point, I'm expecting to ship out to Kuwait in about two weeks, but don't have a hard date yet. In the meantime, for at least the next two weeks, I can be reached at

Specialist Shirley, John R
Replacement Company
2490 25th St
Camp Shelby MS 39407