RIP CSM

“The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break it kills. It kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these you can be sure it will kill you too but there will be no special hurry.”
-Ernest Hemingway. A Farewell to Arms

Larry told me that I finally got a taste of The Big War. I have asked Larry questions about The Big War several times over the past few months. Larry refers to their last deployment to Afghanistan as The Big War. 

Getting shot at is a feeling that is difficult to explain, shooting back is a different feeling all together. I finally earned my Combat Infantry Badge (CIB). I was the last member of the platoon to earn this badge. On the second day of our mission we got word that one of our own was wounded. The person wounded was by far the best Solider in our unit. It came as a shock to me because just four hours prior to the incident I had a conversation with him. 26 years in the military is what this man gave to his country. Five years of that were in the Marine Corps and the next 20 were with an Army Ranger Regiment. There are numerous stories that have been posted on the internet about this man over the past week

 He deployed to combat locations worldwide several times over his career, participated in several of our country’s most sensitive missions. He also played an instrumental role in the rescue of Jessica Lynch. We did not know any of this information about the man until we read about it on the news.

 If I had only one word to use to describe this warrior that word would be humble. A few days after the incident we got word that our brother in arms passed away. I don’t care what you think of war, I do not care about the politics of war. This man was a true hero, a warrior that cared deeply for his men and the mission. 

Death comes to us all! Most of us will die as old men, maybe in a nursing home. We might be mourned by a few but shortly after our demise we will be forgotten.

Our brother did not die a meaningless death. He died from wounds he sustained on the battlefield. He died from wounds that he bore from our nation’s longest war. He will never be forgotten. 

The current state of our country depresses me. What was once considered good is now bad what was once considered bad is now good.  Our moral compass is broken. Today’s generation did not deserve this man. Our fallen hero was an old soul and his life was that of a life that could have been taken right out of a novel about our nation’s Greatest Generation. 


                g/b

MREs and New Recipes!

“Once I get through with you guys you will be the best mortar men in all of Afghanistan”! That is what I told the 5 Afghan soldiers that were standing next to me. One of the men responded with the word “Insha’ Allah” I asked our interpreter what that phrase signified and he replied “God Willing”. I thought to myself, what a delightful expression.

Part of our exit strategy from Afghanistan is to train the Afghan Army and for the past week or so that is exactly what we have been doing. I believe myself to be a fairly decent mortar man but considering that I don’t speak Dari or Pashto this job has turned out to be rather difficult. Sure, we have a couple of well-intentioned translators to assist us but their English skills are not worthy of mentioning in this blog.

The first morning of training did not go as smooth as we hoped for but overall everything was fine. That is until it was time for afternoon chow. Gunny put me in charge of feeding these guys so I grabbed a box of Meals Ready to Eat (MREs) for them. The only instructions I received for this task was to insure none of the MREs had pork in them. As I was handing out the MREs one of the Afghans said something in Dari that made them all laugh. I had no idea what was said but I did hear the name George Bush. I asked the translator what was said and at first he was hesitant about telling me. I ensured him that I would not get offended. I was just curious as to why they mentioned George Bush.

Apparently, what was said was something to the effect that these MREs have been here since George Bush was reelected and they did not want them. The statement was probably true but I really did not have anything else to offer them. I was in a real predicament. Gunny would crush me if I did not feed these guys. 

That is when I remembered that some lady named Baba Nora sent us a care package full of caramel corn that was made in some hillbilly town in Northern Illinois. Gunny’s wife sent him a French press with Russian tea. Combined the two made for a perfect little lunch. I saved the day!

The following day and every day after the Afghans brought their own lunch along with a little propane stove. Of course they invited me to eat with them and I really enjoyed watching them cook but most of all I liked the simplicity of their meals. The first day we had what they call an omelet but this was no ordinary omelet. 

(I sure hope I'm not being held out for target practice)

The second day we had beans but I must say they were the best tasting beans that I ever tasted. As I watched the little Afghan man prepare lunch I kept a mental note in order for me to replicate these meals in the future.

Afghan Omelet

-          Add cooking oil to a frying pan and bring to simmer (don’t be shy on the oil)

-          Chop up 8 to 10 fresh tomatoes, drop in pan, bring to boil (substance should be extremely watery at this time)

Crack 5 to 6 raw eggs into the concoction and stir like mad (add salt if desired)

Afghan Beans

-          Add cooking oil to a frying pan and bring to simmer (don’t be shy on the oil)

-          Add two cans of kidney beans (their beans were from Iran) mix in with the oil, bring to boil

-          Add half  a can of tomato sauce to mixture  and stir thoroughly (add salt if desired)

Keep in mind the Afghans do not use silverware. Most of the time the meal is served in one large dish that everyone shares. In our case we used Naan (Afghan bread) to scoop up the meal. I’ve traveled all over the world with Paula and I must say that Afghan bread is by far the best! It is amazing what you can learn about a culture just by having lunch with a few of the natives.

Week one of our training with the Afghans has ended and we are getting ready for week two. The Gunny talked to all of us last night and told us that we were half way through our tour. He said to me, “Just think Gear Bear, you will be back with Paula and the rest of your family in about four and a half months”! For some reason the song “Green, Green Grass of Home” came to mind. But the only response I could come up with was “Insha’Allah”

g/b

A Little CCR

In the words of John Fogerty:

It ain't me, it ain't me
I ain't no Senator's son
It ain't me, it ain't me
I ain't no fortunate one, no

There has been a great deal of change in the world since April 30th of 1975 and a large number of those changes have been a direct result of the United States Military’s technological superiority. It is amazing to think that our country has the capability of killing terrorists thousands of miles away with unmanned drones. Heck, we even have a robot roaming around mars! However, at the same time the military also likes to do things the old school way and for the past month of my life I have experienced this first hand.

The good news is my platoon got pulled off the ECP. We are now doing what we were trained to do, which is fire infantry mortars. The bad news is that in order to fire mortars we first had to establish a mortar firing point and this involved a whole lot of physical labor. For the past 45 days or so I have been filling sand bags in the blistering Afghan heat and to really make me feel like a baby boomer, while filling these sand bags the Army would continuously fly helicopters over our heads. You’d think after all these years’ sandbags and choppers would be something of the past!

Due to our operation tempo this week I don’t really have a lot of time to write. But, I can tell you that I got to fire my first rounds in combat this past month. After working the ECP for so long it felt really good to actually join the fight. I’ve attached several pictures to this posting to include our living area, bunker, fighting position, and mortar pit. Keep in mind we started from the ground up on this project so I really feel good about it. Most units fall in on a position already established we had to build ours from the ground up. 

g/b

As Time Passes

For the most part all the snow has melted, I can still see some mountain tops capped with it but other than that it is gone. The past few days have been sunny and the weather has definitely warmed up. I suppose if I wasn’t the domesticated bear that I am today and was born and raised right here in Afghanistan I’d probably be waking up from my hibernation about this time. It seems that spring has come early this year and no I’m not a fan of Al Gore.

In most parts of the world an early spring would most likely be excellent news but in war tattered Afghanistan spring translates directly to an increased amount of death. You see the first inkling of winter is when most of the Taliban fighters, especially the foreign fighters, take some time off. Most of them go back to their villages or homelands to be with their families, kind of like our R&R or mid tour leave. Winter is the ideal time to do this because the harsh weather makes mountain passes impossible to cross. So, the fighters return with the departure of winter to wreak havoc on the spring or as we call it in the Army the fighting season.

Time is a funny thing. I wear a watch here but I’m not sure why. Monday is no different than Friday. Saturday and Tuesday are exactly the same. I basically have nothing to look forward to except for maybe my departure from this place in 7 or so months. My grandma use to tell me that boredom was all in my head, and at the time I guess I kind of understood what she meant. However, my grandma never did a tour of duty in a war zone either. Boredom is real and can drive a man crazy!

Anyway, I’m located in a bowl surrounded by mountains. There are several small villages around me as well. Looking out in any direction can really make you feel insignificant. The land here makes keeping track of time seem kind of silly. The mountains, sky, sun, snow, birds, rocks, animals, and even the Afghan people do not seem to be concerned with time. I think to myself that if I could go back a 1,000 years everything my eyes are currently looking at would look exactly the same, including the people. Their houses are made of dried mud and their roads of dirt. Electricity and plumbing are nonexistent. Old men can be seen barefoot, humping large bushels of hay on their backs. I’ve seen women fully covered riding donkeys carrying over-sized packages, or children as young as two years old walking shoeless and alone in a puddle of ice cold water. 

These people are hard; I don’t think the average American could last one week in an Afghan’s shoes or lack thereof. From sun up till sun down these people seem to be occupied with some type of work.

I often watch the locals eat and this is one part of their culture that I think highly of. Sure, the food is simple but eating it makes me wonder if this is what my grandparents felt like when they were growing up. Breakfast for the local workers consists of a round and sometimes rectangular piece of bread called Naan. The locals bring several pieces of this bread to work in the morning wrapped up in an old piece of cloth. Sometimes, they will add honey or jam to the bread but most of the time they just eat it plain. Every now and then if they are lucky their boss will bring in a bag of hard boiled eggs. Watching them eat hard boiled eggs and fresh bread and then wash it all down with a cup of hot tea makes me envy them in a way. They definitely eat to live here and not the other way around. While eating they converse and laugh, it is almost like being together and talking is the priority and eating comes second. Their food does not come in cans or boxes; it’s not loaded with preservatives either. For snacks I’ve see them pull small reused bags from their pockets filled raisins or some type of seeds and their always eager to share.

The guys I work with think that these people live miserable lives and often make jokes about how backwards they are. A lot of the guys will call them primitive. I don’t feel the same as most Soldiers feel when it comes to the people here. Maybe, it has something to do with me being a bear but I’m not 100% sure these people are miserable. One thing I find extremely interesting about them is the fact that most of them have no idea how old they are, they do not have birthdays here. When I first heard this I chuckled but after thinking about it I realized that not knowing how old you are really means nothing when you look at the big picture. It goes back to the whole not keeping track of time thing and actually makes perfect sense to me.  The people in the village next to me are interested in tending to their land and feeding their families. The issues that these people are concerned with involve life and death and therefore are meaningful. Children fly kites and throw rocks and spend most of their time outdoors. I’m not saying that I would want to trade places with these people but when I think about the state of my country and my people I’m in no position to say the world, I know, is better. 

g/b

Latrine Duty!

The past week has not been a good one for me; I kind of got into a bit of trouble. I was pulling tower guard with Harry Potter, upon our relief we stopped by the porta potty. While Harry used the facilities I held the door open for him so we could have a conversation. Once Harry finished relieving himself he pulled a black Sharpie out of his pocket and wrote the following statement on the door. “Stupidity has officially become the norm”

The day prior, new operational procedures came down from higher and Potter was not thrilled about them. To tell you the truth I’m not happy about the new procedures either. So, in an act of defiance Potter decided that he would stick it to the man by defacing government property. I personally did not think his actions were such a big deal, due to the fact that every porta potty that I’ve ever used is full of graffiti. However, on this subject the Gunny and I did not see eye to eye. 

You see the Gunny has the prostate of an eighty year old man. He goes at least once or twice an hour.

Now, the particular porta potty that old Harry wrote in was already covered with graffiti. I guess the old man had already read everything in that porta potty, which is how he knew that Harry’s writing, was fresh.

It did not take long for Gunny’s henchman Big Red to figure out that Potter and I were the culprits. Apparently; Potter was the only guy in the platoon to be carrying a black Sharpie in his pocket that day.

Once, the inquisition was complete we were told to report to Gunny to receive our punishments. On the way to the Gunny I asked Potter why he did not ditch the Sharpie, he told me to shut my mouth and mind my business.

Our punishment was both tedious and humiliating; it was broken down into two parts. The first part was what I was expecting, but with a twist. The twist involved the paint. The only paint located at the ECP was spray paint and we both knew we were not going to get off that easy. So, the Gunny took the cap off the can and proceeded to fill it with spray paint. We were given the paint filled cap and the smallest brush you could imagine and were told to paint over the graffiti on not just the porta potty in question but on all five of the porta potties located in our area of operation. The only catch was that we were not to paint over Harry Potter’s words. Why? I can’t say for sure. We had to return to the boss at least 11 times for pant refills, the job took us six hours to complete.  

The second part of the punishment was worse than the first. We had to stand in front of the bathroom area in tent city (where we live) for 3 hours, 3 nights in a row, wearing full kit. We were instructed to say the following words to every individual that wished to use the restrooms. “My name is SPC Potter/ PVT Gear Bear. Stupidity has officially become the norm; please do not write on the latrine walls.”

Gunny has told me several times since the incident that if it ever happens again I will be one sorry bear. Technically speaking I did not write anything I just held the door!


g/b