One Down...

A day in the life of a US Army soldier in the Kunar River valley in Afghanistan.

BOOM

 

Wake up. Sit up. Sleeping bag has slipped off me and down to the floor. Plastic cover on mattress crinkles.

“In or out?” I croak. Throat sore, runny nose about 35 degrees in here.

ALARM

                “In.” Three of us say in unison. Sound of the other two covering back up. Sound of me grabbing gear, stumbling around to find my head lamp. Can’t find it. Dress in the dark. Outside within five minutes. That’s pretty slow, been sick for a week. Out of the metal door, do not let it bang shut. It irritates the ones still trying to sleep. Irony noted.

BOOM

                Running up the gravel hill to the observation tower, colder outside, instantly out of breath. Stars are blinding overhead. Cosmic wheel, every space above contains light. Ground is dark, trip and fall. I hit the s**t I jacked up on patrol yesterday.

BOOM

                I came to Afghanistan late. No one knows me here. I waited for my son to be born before I came to kill. I am a fire support specialist, a Forward Observer, an FO in the US F*****g Army. I call for and adjust indirect fire. I drop bombs. I am an offensive weapon.

BOOM

                I think the rounds must be hitting off the Combat Outpost. Screaming from the east. Refugee camp. They live off the COP. They work here and raid our trash. Up the flimsy metal steps to the observation tower. LT Neese is already there. He did not bother with gear.

                “You got a radio?” he asks.

                “Yeah” I answer, wondering what he was going to do up here without a radio.

                Radio on, testing…

                “Tiger Fires, this is Tiger 9-2 radio check over.”

                “9-2, Fires Lima Charlie over.”

                Roger Fires, 9-5 and myself up on Tower and LRAZ over.” LT Neese powers up the LRAZ and scans with thermals.

                Screaming in the distance, dogs barking, people yelling in Pashtu.

                “Metal Base, 9-2 over.”

                “9-2 Metal Base.”

                “Roger Metal Base, you guys got something on counter battery radar?”

                “Roger, stand by to copy grid over.”

                “Send it” LT Neese is asking where, I tell him to shut up a second.

                “X-ray Delta Seven-Niner-Two-Fower, Tree-Two-One-Fower” Phonetic alphabet makes us sound like drunken children on toy radios.

                “Roger, X-ray Delta…”

BOOM

                “X-ray Delta Seven-Niner-two-Fower, Tree-two-One-Fower.”

                “Good copy, Metal Base Out.”

                “Same spot LT.” I say

                “F**k em up.”

                Roger, F****n em up Sir.”

                Quick calculation, I kill with math.

                “Tiger Fires, this is Tiger 9-2 Fire for Effect over.”

                “Fire for Effect out.”

                X-ray Delta Seven-Niner-two-Fower, Tree-two-One-Fower, altitude One-Tree-Hundred, direction, One-Niner-Hundred over.

X-ray Delta Seven-Niner-two-Fower, Tree-two-One-Fower, altitude One-Tree-Hundred, direction, One-Niner-Hundred out.”

“Enemy Mortar team, in defilade…”

BOOM

                “Enemy Mortar team, in defilade, VT in effect over.”

                “VT in effect out.”

Ten minutes go by, no boom from anyone.

                “Status on fire mission Fires” I say yawning.

BOOM!  Our 120MM Mortars go off. They are 20 meters away from us. LT curses a blue streak.

                “Where was our warning for that s**t?” LT Neese says. He is shaking in the cold. He has on gym shorts and a t-shirt he did not bother with a uniform. It is getting lighter outside. “You bring Binos Man?”

                “Yes.” I say wondering what he was going to do up here with no binoculars. I look out towards the target area, the Serkay Valley. Our rounds land on target. I do not see anyone there. Jeffries, another FO arrives at the nest looking sleepy. LT takes the radio and starts dropping mortar rounds all over the valley. I have no idea what he is shooting at.

We hit no-one. Find out over the radio that two kids got hit by enemy mortar fire. One lost his legs. Got his sandals blown off. I hear the MEDEVAC birds coming in to take them to JAF. They will both get treatment. Treatment that does not include new legs. Ankle hurts when I climb down from the Observation Tower. Nose is numb. LT is bragging on the radio about how we blew up the whole valley. Gotta remember to get that radio back. I smile and nod at him on the way down, he really means well, but I can't stand him. You can just tell, nothing will ever happen to him, reminds me of a movie, but I am too tired to remember which one.

I get out of my gear and get a bucket of water to flush the toilet and do my morning business, reading a few pages of Sun Tsu's Art of War while I'm seated. A line sticks out. “If your enemy is of choleric temperament, seek to irritate him.” I think that mortar team out there understands this. I am irritated. They shoot us we shoot the whole valley. Sometimes we git sum, most times we don't. I don't shoot the whole valley when it is just me up there. Last few days I have had company.

Limp back to my room nodding at people I barely know. Drink orange juice from a box and grab my notebook, map, and pen, head to Patrol brief.

5:15 AM 0530, inside the Tactical Operations Command (TOC)

                Warm and cozy here. The officers and the First Sergeant live here, there is fresh coffee and the non-combat personnel on duty are all eating breakfast and chatting.

                “Good morning SGT Kent.” The soldier on radio guard smiles at me.

                “’Morning Baker, anything on the net for Shawnkrey Valley today?” I get coffee.

                “No SGT. You still look sick.” Baker says.

                “Yeah, I bet I do.”  I walk into briefing room. The brief is not until 0530, but the First Sergeant is standing there looking at his watch. I am barely inside his “15 minutes prior rule” he wants someone to be late. His face gets red when everyone makes it on time. He never leaves the COP. He gets his wish, PVT Sunday is out in the hall with him, we hear him panting, he is doing many push-ups. First Sergeant calls him names, pitched just loud enough that we all can hear. The brief starts without him. It's bad to be late because you might miss the brief, it is worse to get caught being late. Then you definitely will. Irony noted.

“Alright Fellas...” Platoon Leader Money, 1st LT starts his brief on the Shawnkrey Valley where we are going in an hour and a half. He is a throwback to the fifties. He never curses, graduated West Point with honors, and plans to get out of the Army as soon as possible. He does not like war, Afghanistan, or soldiers. We do not fit into his power point slides neatly enough.

Second Platoon is a solid group of guys that I barely know. They are 101^st soldiers. Screaming Eagles from Fort Campbell, Kentucky. My job keeps me from much bonding. I am ten years older than most of them. We did not train together before this deployment. When I came to the unit from Fort Bragg they were already here. I have made no friends. I am not chatty like when I was a private, not like when I'm with family. They would not recognize me at home. My kids would not recognize me here.

                “OK,” crisp LT voice, “the enemy uses this valley as a transit point for heavy weapons and ammo. They bring them in on donkeys through the passes and set up machine gun positions to guard their supply train. Intel suggests...”

Obligatory rude comments about Intel...

“..that they are bringing in a lot of recoil-less rifle rounds...”

Conspicuous silence, we are afraid of recoil-less rifles, it's like having tanks shoot at you.

“…and we know they have several DSHKAs.”

More silence, we are afraid of DSHKAs, .50 caliber Russian machine guns. They can shoot down helicopters and punch though armor. The LT drones on, we watch power point slides illuminating the obvious.  LT Money has spent hours on them.

Limp back to the hut I live in. The hut has one room. We have put up plywood walls, and poncho curtains for doors. There are no windows. I hear shouting inside. Two soldiers are arguing over an X-Box controller, their faces are red. The guys still in bed yell at them to shut up. I walk right past them.

Assault Ruck, VS-17 signaling panel 1, MBTR radio, batteries 3, Harris batteries 3,...

“Tiger Main, Tiger 9-2.”

“Tell 9-5 I need my radio.”

“Roger.”

 

“9-2 out.” I switch off my spare radio.

 

“I have the BLACK controller...”

 

“You are such a tool Manny. You took my s**t while I was on guard...”

 

Harris batteries 3, spare Harris radio 1, Pack of IR chem lights 1, IR strobe 1, MAG light with red, green, and white lens (heavy) 1, batteries for MAG light two sets, extra 5.56 magazines 30 rounds, 15. Pens maps, lip balm, 20 $, three pair of socks, spare boots, The Art of War, tourniquets 3.

Yelling, cursing...

 

6:10 AM 0610, too early for X-Box arguments.

 

I pull aside the curtain for my room, step out and say, “Guys please knock it off.” I am ignored.

 

I walk over and punch the guy holding the controller in the arm hard enough that he drops it. They are quiet now. I pick up the controller.

 

“Come by here when I get back, you can have it then.”

 

“Roger SGT!” In unison.

Back to packing, Zip assault Rucksack, (55 lbs). Put on plate carrier vest, IFAK med pouch, Camelback 3 liter. 9- 30 round magazines, Dagger GPS system, Viper optic Binos (9 pounds), AN PVS 14s Night Vision monocular goggles, three sets of batteries. Laser pointer. IZLID lazes targets for aircraft from far away.) Two frag grenades, one flash bang, Couple of IR Chem lights, Mini MAG light, two 7.62 AP rated side plates, larger ones for chest and back, 1 Lensatic compass, maps, map pens, notebook, dagger batteries, viper batteries, 1 M4 carbine light assault weapon with ACOG scope (Rose) D-ringed to my harness (85 pounds).

I pull on knee and elbow pads, gloves, put on ACH (Advanced Combat Helmet.) put on eye protection with day and night interchangeable lenses, day lenses are dirty.

Yawn, take one or two deep breaths and allot that time for a moment of self pity, wince at swollen ankle, can't stretch it. Moment ends. Step outside, first few steps feel my spine compress under the weight.

Walk to the staging area for the MATVs, no HMWVs anymore, they are not safe, the IEDs have gotten too big. I am coughing again, everyone is smoking or dipping. I smell the flavored dip sickly sweet, and feel the bite of acrid smoke. I do not use tobacco.

“Tiger Fires, Tiger 9-2 radio check”

 

“9-2 Fires, Lima Charlie over.”

 

“9-2 out.”

 

A Private brings me my other radio. Throw my ruck in the truck. The bumper number is “FU2” it's easy to remember. Gunner and driver say hello, they know my name. I don't know theirs. They observe that I still look sick. I agree. Take off my helmet, throw on my cammo Texas Longhorns baseball cap. Someone asks if I am from Texas, I say “No, but it's one of my favorite countries to visit.”

 

Trucks up. Everyone mounted SP COP Penich, time NOW.

 

7:30 AM 0730, on ASR Beaverton.

 

Back seat of MATV, more cramped than a Hummer, window is tiny and 5 point harness won't let me turn enough to see out. I travel blind. Temp has risen about 15 degrees.  I am not cold in all my gear. The gunner is singing Disney songs. He carries a tune pretty well. If anyone notices they don't show it. In my living room I would tell him he has a damn good voice. Here, he would think I was making fun of him. His talent is much rarer than the ability to kill. Irony noted.

We run east up the road about 3K past houses, goats, people. They look like drawings in a kid’s Bible. Not many smile. Smells much better than Iraq here. The trucks stop.

 

“Dismount, Dismount!” LT Money shouts. I hear explosions.

 

We jump out fumbling weapons and rucks. I forget my harness and dangle in the doorway for a moment. Men are yelling. I am looking through my scope along the ridge line. I call Tiger Fires and give them my coordinates, tell them to stand by.

There is a small fire on a hillside, like the shepherds light on a cold morning, or like the Taliban use to signal that we are passing through an area.

One of the MATVs is shooting at the fire with 40MM grenades. The whole hillside explodes. My boss calls me.

“Tiger 9-2, this is Tiger 9-5”

 

“9-5, 9-2”

 

“Roger, are you going to call a fire mission at this time, over”

 

“9-5, 9-2, I do not, say again, do not have PID at this time over.”

To fire our weapons we have to Positively Identify hostile intent and or weapons on the personnel we are engaging. I see a fire on a hillside.

“Roger 9-2, can you give us an idea of how many PAX are up there and uh.... (Muffled sound in the background) roger you are cleared to fire on that target over.”

 

What f*****g target? “Roger, 9-2 out.” I stall on my call for fire. The problem solves itself.

 

“Tiger fires, Tiger 9-2 over.”

 

“9-2 this is 9-5 send it”

 

“Roger 9-5, the optics on the lead truck has confirmed that the activity on the ridge-line consists of several goats and one cow, all of which have left the area, how copy over.” I would leave the area too if someone shot about 100 40mm grenades at me.

Long pause. I am feeling smug.

 

“Roger Good copy, 9-5 out”

 

It takes a long time to get mounted back up, I don't know why. We take down some names and numbers from the village, we will probably owe for a goat or two. I start to sympathize with the shooters. They have been here a lot longer than I. I try not to judge, I screwed up bad two days ago. Back inside, Trucks Up, ten deep breaths, eyes shut, float in the void. Briefly wish that I would get mail, need a new book to read. I have read the art of war six times.

 

9:45 AM 0945 Hungry!

 

We make our turn east into the Shawnkrey. Can't drive on the road here, IEDs make it too dangerous. Wadis are not much better A Wadi is a dry waterway varying in size from a ditch to the Grand Canyon. They are everywhere. We travel about a kilometer an hour trying not to flip the top heavy MATVs and MRAPs. Sometimes, people die when they flip. I zone out.

 

Sun Tzu said “All war is deception” We are deceiving no-one. Our vehicles can be heard for miles. Signal fires ring the valley, and cell phone calls race ahead of us. I ate rice and beef soup at about midnight right before bed ten hours ago. My belly talks to me in a low voice that will become more urgent soon.

The vehicles pick their way through the terrain. It looks like the surface of the moon. Every muscle in my body is tense we could flip or become stuck any second. I hang onto the handle on the back of the drivers chair, my hand hurts from this already. It's worse at night. LT Money is telling stories about West Point that no one is listening to. The gunner has stopped singing, and I wish he would start again.

My mind wanders.

I remember being by a creek in Springfield, Missouri, my friend Ryan is in a white cap and pulling crawdads out of the water. I call him my friend, but he likes it when people get hurt. I want him to like me, so I pretend it does not bother me. I am cautious around him. He trips. He throws rocks with his buddy Curt at smaller kids, at me if they have an audience. I think I am eleven, but I don't really remember. I day dream about a little girl named Misty. I think about girls a lot. Ryan does not like girls unless he can humiliate them or hurt them. He is tearing crawdads to pieces.

10:50 AM 1050

 

We are stuck. Two other vehicles have pulled up behind us and I help other soldiers I barely know hook up tow cables, and get out winch controls. Everyone does a really good job getting the MATV unstuck fast and we are back on mission. I am hanging on with the other hand. My mind wanders the other way.

When I am back in the states I have to really try to focus on school. Part of me just wants to float by at work and focus on grilling out with my wife and the kids. Going to the park, playing with my daughter, Angelina. Angelina, I have not thought about her since I looked at her pictures online the night before. She fills my mind’s eye. I think of new games to play with her. I want to build a fort with her. I have a plan. We will start by building a tower with blocks, then move the couches and get out all the blankets. We will make a tunnel all the way from the hallway to the living room windows. We will hide our tower there in our secret place and pretend to escape from Mommy. I will make snacks for us to be consumed under the blankets. I will help her bring some of her favorite things into our fort. Her little pink sandals by my Army boots.  We will ignore Mommy saying “That's enough toys in the living room”. Maybe I can come up with some cool music to play on the stereo while we do this. I pull a pen from my sleeve to write this down...

Buhduhduhduhduhduhduhduh.

 

“Contact front 2000 meters, DUSHKAs” The vehicles explode back at extreme long range, .50 cal and 40mm death, en mass.

 

“Tiger Fires, Tiger 9-2 over.” I dismount in the lee of the fire from the ridge to our front. Oddly enough, exactly where Intel said it would be.

“Tiger 9-2, Tiger fires over.”

“Stand by to copy SALTUR over.”

“Send it 9-2”

“Roger 3-5 man gun team, stationary in fighting position vicinity grid X-ray Delta 7346 3578 elevation 1600 that's an eyeball guess on that location, Break...” Sprinting with my pack over one shoulder to the base of the ridge line, where they cannot hit the dismounts. I crash into a broken down rock wall as rounds come in all around us.

“...must be at least two more fighting positions (pant pant) further east along the ridge, cannot ID them over.”

 

“Roger 9-2 copy all.”

 

Yelling, return fire, vehicles trying to maneuver but the ground is a crazy jumble of rocks and ledges this close to the base of the mountains. No one hit, one vehicle disabled by the heavy machine gun rounds even at this range.

 

“Fires 9-2 can I shoot?”

 

“Standby 9-2”

 

All the dismounts have made it to the base of the ridge, no wounded. If I cannot get permission to fire, we might assault up the hill. 65 degree incline broken rock, jagged mess.

 

“Are we shooting Sergeant? Someone yells at me. I am busy with my Viper getting a better range on the target area, I don't answer. The kid next to me smells horrible.

 

“When is the last time you had a shower soldier?” I ask him with a grin as I pull out my protractor and compass.

“That's bad luck dude!” He says, around his fat lip full of tobacco.

He spits, I do math, and wait for permission. No one is shooting. Over the next hour the vehicles recover the damaged truck and move out of site of the ridge-line. If another one gets disabled, we will need another platoon to come out, exposing a lot more men and equipment to ambush. I am guessing that the bad guys up on the hill right above us have jacked up their barrel with too many long bursts. I hope they do not have a spare.

 

“Tiger fires, Tiger 9-2, over.”

 

“9-2 Fires”

 

“Can I kill these guys or what, over?”

 

“Roger 9-2, can you see if there are any shepherds, women, children, or livestock at that location over?”

 

I want to know if anyone thought to ask that question when we shot at a camp fire earlier that day.

 

“Negative Fires, they are about a thousand meters up a mountain from me, Break…” I ask if anyone can see the target. No one can.

 

“...cannot see the target Fires, but we are directly under a heavy machine gun nest in imminent threat, how copy over?”

 

“Copy all.”

 

The shooting starts again. They shoot at us, we shoot back. I fire three magazines, about five shots of which I actually saw someone to shoot at. 1st Squad finds one nest and grenades it. We think maybe one other ran and left their gun. We won’t go see because they are still firing down on us from directly above. I am guessing five guys up there, two working the big gun, the rest with light machine guns and AKs. Their fire is getting better all the time and still no permission for artillery.

 

2:35 PM 1435

 

Been lying on the rocks for awhile now. It is warmer out but my legs are stiff and cold. The wind is drying me out. I drink water and put on lip balm. We shoot a little, they shoot a little. We are both conserving ammo.

“Tiger 9-2, Tiger Fires.”

 

“Fires 9-2”

“Roger 9-2 we can't get you permission to shoot unless you can see the target, Break...” Crap.

“...Battalion does not want to damage any more livestock today if we can help it, over.”

“Roger fires copy all, any aircraft on station to asses to the target area for us, over?

“Negative 9-2, no aircraft F15s are supporting a TIC up north and Kiowa are down for maintenance, after nightfall might get Apaches.”

“Roger, understood Fires, 9-2 out.”

I call LT Money over. His face is really dirty and he looks startlingly young and disheveled. I wonder briefly what I look like.

“OK LT, we have to get me where I can see for arty, or wait till nightfall...”

 

Budududududud...

“...for Apaches, it's your call.” I know what he is going to say. I would say the same thing.

“What do you need to get up there SGT?”

“A fire team, one machine gun maybe.” I say thinking he should be making these decisions.

“How far you going to go?”

“As soon as I can see, I'm going to call for mortars.”

“OK.” He thinks for a minute. He calls squad leaders. They ask me questions. They get me four guys, and one SAW machine gun. LT calls higher, they refine the plan. We look at maps. We wait for permission from the company commander.

If we stay low and go quick it should not be much more dangerous than being right here, especially if the rest of the platoon lights them up while we climb a little. I see one of the four guys going hating me. He wants me to just go on the radio and lie. He knows I have done it before. Then he would not have to move up the hill. All I have to say is “No Civilians zero-percent chance collateral damage over.” and I can blow them all up. But I made a bad mistake a few days ago. I need time before I am willing to risk that again. I probably will risk it again. I am not mad that he hates me.

 

3:15 PM 0315 go time.

The infantry guys spread out in a wedge, I am in the middle. They are protecting me. We have worked our way to the west a little so that they will not see us start out. They are shooting better. Guys are flat to the ground. Still no-one hit. I feel terrible, eyes puffy and streaming, nose running ankle swollen, my boot feels like it keeps getting tighter, stiff from being cramped in the truck, ears ringing from the gunfire, the grass is burning from tracers higher up, we have been breathing smoke for hours, but it will be worse as we climb. I do not intend to climb far. I drop my ruck. Too damn heavy.

 

“You ready SGT Kent?” Asks SGT North, he is in charge on the way up. I barely know him. I don't think he likes me.

 

“Roger.” We move up the hill slowly, “Rose” is hanging from the d-ring on my harness.                  My weapon is my Viper Binos. I creep up the hill on my belly, looking every few feet. After a few hundred meters I hear SGT North whisper in his radio; “In Place” 2nd platoon Charlie Company, the “B******s” open up with everything they have, machine guns, LAWs, 240 grenade launchers. They can't see what they are shooting at, but I bet they have the enemy's attention.

 

We jump up to a crouch, my legs and ankle scream at me. We rush up the hill. Ha! We, stumble slide fall, curse, scrape, and make asses of ourselves. It would be funny seeing men made so graceless by all the gear we carried, if we were not in such peril.

 

50 meters, can't see. Gasping for breath. 100 can't see. The soldier that hates me is growling; “Come on a*****e...” under his breath. 150 meters can't see.

 

Budududududud.

 

They have seen us. We lay flat. Lead rips the air over us. I still can't see. I know where they are. I can kill them all. We give up on spreading out, and crowd behind a boulder. A scream, Sgt North who I barely know is hit, a grazing shot in his love handle. Getting grazed by a .50 cal round probably feels like getting hit by a sledge hammer. He is rolling around. I smell the other men crammed up next to me. Rocks skip and jump like grease in a skillet. I do math.

 

“Tiger Fires, Tiger 9-2, over.”

 

“9-2, Fires, over.”

 

“Roger, eyes on target, Break...” I lie. It's just bad guys up there...this time, I know it.

 

“No Civilians in the target area.  Zero-percent chance collateral damage, I have PID on 3-5 PAX with heavy weapons, stand-by for fire mission over.”

 

“Send it, 9-2.”

 

“Tiger fires, 9-2 Fire for effect over.”

 

“Fire for Effect out.”

 

I spill out the magic words into the radio that will bring death to my enemies. I feel a crazy rush that almost lifts off the top of my head and makes my guts tingle. My eyes burn. I think my right foot is falling asleep under the guy next to me.

 

The rounds blow the top of the ridge into chaos. The time for hesitating, for second guessing, is long gone if it really ever existed at all. I leave no chance of survival for those above me. I call a series of blind corrections that will kill every living thing on that ridge. I “Git Sum.”

 

“Left 50, drop 100 repeat”

 

“Add 100 repeat”

 

“Right 50 repeat” I keep going for 20 minutes of weird time, that could be hours or seconds. It feels good after waiting under their guns all day, giving it back to them.

 

'Right 50 drop 100 repeat.” I hear the guy that hates me yelling, “Git Sum, Git Sum!” when the rounds come in.

 

Silence above us. The echoes of the last explosions bounce through Shawnkrey Valley.

 

“ Tiger Fires, End of Mission, target suppressed. Stand by for BDA, and tell Metal Base nice shooting.”

 

“Roger 9-2, I copy end of mission.”

 

“9-2 out”

 

5:45 PM 1745 nightfall.

 

It takes a while to get everyone together. We need BDA, Battle Damage Assessment, to see what we killed and report it accurately. Last BDA for me was a couple of days ago. I accurately reported what I found, a large mess. We estimated casualties by sandals, four adult left foot sandals, one set brand new child size pink sandals. RPG tube cracked. ICOM radio still working, spouting Pashtu. At least four bad guys and one... This BDA will be better. Have to climb the mountain first.

On the way up guy who hates me has combat fever, he is so tuned up from adrenaline he cannot stop talking. He is describing our push up the mountain like it was hamburger hill. He seems to have forgotten us huddled together like frightened children behind a rock. I don't steal his thunder. He was brave to go up that hill.

Ankle hurts, I push hard on the way up, stomach snarls at me, smoke takes what little breath the thin air allows me. We all look like we have been rolled in dust. Sweat lines down each face make it look like the whole platoon has been crying. Up the mountain to count sandals. I begin to wonder if I have a bad fever.

Even tired, my little talent shows going up the mountain. The “B******s” of 2nd platoon know this about me and I am vain about it. I can out climb them all even with heavy loads. My thick legs and low center of gravity help me eat up the hillside. I hear them complain, and smile. It's one of the few things I have over the young men here. For a half an hour I forget where we are. I am day dreaming about climbing a trail in California with my father on a mountain bike, legs burning but loving it, pushing it for the pure joy of it.

 

“SGT Kent, hold up.” LT Money yells, gasping for breath. I am twenty meters ahead of the squad, 20 more to the top. Infantry goes first. I wait and drink water, the happy thoughts drain away. Please no pink sandals today.

 

8:05 PM 2005 dark.

 

I sit on the edge of the hill. Night Vision is green. Everything on the hill is green. Blood, rock, ashes and twisted metal a soldier I barely know offers me a smoke that I decline. He tells me I f#$%ed em up real good. I say thanks. Destroying the DUSHKA in this fighting position was a good day’s work. I am ready to get back to the COP. The Apaches never show, glad we did not wait. It is a long slow journey back down the mountain.

I am losing my concentration. I am concerned about fever. I fall. They wait for me. Some make fun of me. I laugh along with them with my mouth. Last hundred meters I need help, ankle is busted up good for the night. Guy who hates me helps me down. I think I asked him a question that did not make sense. He looks at me concerned.

Back in the truck, sensitive items check. Yup, both still there, old joke. Doc come to my truck and looks at me. I hear him tell the LT that I might have pneumonia. Trucks Up. I feel feverish. We are trolling, even slower now that we are towing a vehicle. Hours of stop and start, all with night vision, we use no white light. I pull out my neck gator, and wipe cold sweat from my face. The truck heater catches up with the temp, and the relief is sudden and welcome. I remember to be hungry. We munch on cold MREs in the back of the truck. I drift in and out of sleep.

 

11:15 PM 2315 RP Cop Penich, time NOW.

 

“Tiger Fires, Tiger 9-2”

“9-2 Fires.”

“Roger, RP COP Penich time now.”

“Roger”“9-2 out”

I endure a little speech from Lt Neese the fires officer. He tells me my corrections did not make much sense. He is assuming I could see the target. Jeffries stands next to him and rolls his eyes. He knows exactly what I was doing.

 

Quick clean of weapon. Quick clean of self. Stop by the TOC for next day’s patrol time, brief at 0500, roll out at 0630. Go to aid station, no fever, at least not anymore. Back to my room, there is a note taped to the wall, “came and got the controller” signed SGT Bradley.

On the wall there is a calendar. There are diagonal marks across the days we have survived. I do not count the days that have past. I want to leave them behind. I count the days to go. I have been told this is bad luck but I do not care. The days of my life that matter are ahead. Every day I tell myself “one more down.”

 

“Hey, Manny.” I say.

“SGT?”

“When is your guard?”

“0400.”

“Wake me up when you leave.”

“OK”

“Night.”

 

1:05 AM 0105 Hours

 

Climb into bed, pull sleeping bag off floor. Mattress cover crinkles. Look at family pics on computer for a few minutes. Should be able to use phone tomorrow after patrol. My wife will ask me how it’s going. I will say fine. Time to sleep.

 

One down....One hundred sixteen to go.