Thanksgiving
22 Nov
Strength and Skill is the Battalion’s motto, and a phrase you often hear here. It is used to open the online daily briefinging that the commanders use, and in many other ways, although one of the more unusual was when one of the guys was busting the balls of someone else, and accused him of “not showing enough Strength and Skill.”
Hoo-ah and Roger that are also used constantly. Hoo-ah is a phrase I am familiar with from movies, but I didn’t realise just how much it is used. Yes, good, let’s go, are we agreed, are just some of the words and phrases replaced by Hoo-ah, followed closely by the radio terminology Roger that! For those of you that encounter me soon after my return, expect to her these often. Hoo-ah???
I had breakfast with Assault and Obstacle Platoon this morning, in the salubrious surrounding that is their tent. The canvas tent had leaked during the torrential rain last night (again), and all their kit was hanging from the supports, in an attempt to dry it out. Sitting around a wood burning stove that has a tendency to build up pressure and blow out occasional flames, breakfast was a relaxed affair broken up by the requirement to jump backwards when the fire burst out of the stove unexpectedly and briefly. They have a coffee machine, and are happy to share, even with a reporter, for which I am most grateful. It is still bloody cold here and a hot coffee with breakfast helps to get the system going. They are mostly young guys, who miss and talk about their wives, girlfriends and families constantly, and they are just counting off the last 3 months of their tour. Two guys in the tent having breakfast with me have been IEDed and survived, and all they want now is to get home. They have been in several TICs, and are now building a Firebase in the middle of a hostile anti-coalition militia (ACM) area.
One of the tasks that seem (unfairly) to fall to A and O Platoon is burning the drums of shit that are the makeshift toilets. (Those with a delicate stomach may wish to skip to the next paragraph) This has got to be the worst job in the world. The shitters here are made up of closed in cubicles constructed out of wire and felt, with a half oil barrel to crap in. There is a wooden frame to sit on, but they ran out of wood during construction, with the result that you end up balancing on a piece of 2 x 4 timber. The frame is slightly too high so in order to aim correctly you have your legs dangling in mid air, making you feel like a child, while praying that you don’t loose your balance and fall backwards into the barrel. Getting rid of this waste is done in the time honoured military fashion; fdragging out the barrels, pouring in fuel, and setting it alight. Then you have to stir it with the longest piece of wood or metal you can find, while trying not to breathe in the disgusting fumes of petrol/shit.
Then the rest of the guys are onvce again on sandbag filling duties. This is a laborious task that all soldiers hate, and yet they know that it is al important for their safety. Digging, holding, filling, and trying the bags are rotated to ease the strain, and hauling is carried out once enough sandbags are ready. Building a sandbag wall is a far more complex project than I had imagined, and if not done right a Sergeant will think nothing of knocking it over and ordering it done again.
Later in the day A and O Platoon were going out on a combat patrol, and asked if I wanted to join them. This is an extremely dangerous area, with IEDs the biggest threat, so they asked me a couple of times if I understood just how dangerous it was. I joined the convoy briefing, which ended with the threat level analysis, “which as usual is very fucking high.” Everyone was keyed up and the tension was palpable. I travelled with the Lieutenant in command, and I noticed that the vehicle had a stuffed dog in between driver and commander. The dog had a “10th Mountain Division” shoulder patch, and the driver constantly rubbed his tail, for good luck. The driver also had a photo of his wife and newborn baby stuck to the windshield, which he touched constantly.
We got to our destination unscathed, and we had a quick stop while some tasks were performed. I shot a picture of one of the soldiers loosening his helmet strap, and he rushed over to me. Apparently that photo would constitute him being “out of correct uniform” and he could get in trouble, he told me. I thought he was kidding, after all, we’re in the middle of a fucking warzone and people have better things to worry about, but no, he was deadly serious. The guys were telling me about all the rules regarding what outer wear can be worn in certain conditions, the correct way to wear a woolly hat, and that they have to shave every day. I almost felt guilty abut looking so scruffy. The funny thing is, they are filthy, and some of their uniforms are falling apart. They say it is just due to the extreme condition they are working in. I have also noticed purple t-shirts, which I thought were some radical anti-uniform backlash, but it turns out that their strong bleach is turning army-issue brown combat t-shirts into psychedelic purple.
We made it back in time for soup and hot coffee, and the guys invited me to join them in the morning for their Thanksgiving celebrations. They were quite mysterious about it, but I said I’d be there.
Late in the night, when I was tucked up snug as a bug in a rug, asleep inside my two sleeping bags, I was woken by two HUGE explosions. This time I didn’t even bother unzipping my bags. If it was important, someone would come get me.
23 Nov
The following is a short piece I wrote for AFP, but I don’t think they used it.
“We got sausage and we got cheese. Happy Thanksgiving!” These were the words of Lieutenant Sweatt to the men of Assault and Obstacle Platoon, Alpha Company, 3rd Brigade Special Troops Battalion, 10th Mountain Division. The men, who had been filling and hauling sandbags for most of the morning, had crowded around the wood burning pot-bellied stove in their canvas tent. With a dirt floor, and only sleeping cots for seats, the setting was not exactly full of festive cheer, but the soldiers were in high spirits nonetheless.
Baby Genoa Salami, Italian sausage, pepperoni, sweet sausage, provolone cheese, Jarlsberg, cheese nips, and pretzels were produced from various bags, and shared out quickly. The fare had been hoarded from various care packages, with a large amount coming from the Lieutenant’s Grandmother in New Jersey.
A cardboard ration box was cut into a long tray, and combat knives were used to slice up the sausage and cheese. Wasting no time, the very same knives were used to spear the food and then delivered to waiting mouths. Some heated the meat on the side of the stove that was filling the tent with smoke, and one soldier even placed his blade into the flames to prepare his meal, while others wolfed their share down straight from the improvised table.
With Country and Western music playing from an iPod and speakers in the background, the soldiers told stories of previous Thanksgivings, and speculated on what their families and friends would be doing this year.
“All we need now is some beer and the football on the TV,” one sapper said, and there was a chorus of approval.
Before long, the meal and breaktime were over, and it was back to their sandbagging duties. The platoon is part of the contingent tasked with constructing Firebase Wilderness, a new US Firebase in Paktia province. Less than a week old, the base has been a flurry of excavation and building, and has risen from the mountain side rapidly.
Some hours later the troops of the camp were called together for a non-denominational Thanksgiving service, led by Chaplin Lospanes, a Catholic priest attached to the Battalion. Lieutenant Colonel Richard Kaiser then spoke to the assembled men and women, and asked them to reflect on all they had to be thankful for. He compared the work they were doing at Firebase Wilderness to the overall job in Afghanistan, and said that each task they completed contributed to the overall improvement of the country. He told them to be proud of their achievements thus far, and to strive for more.
Then it was down to the Thanksgiving dinner provided by the Army, with Turkey, Cranberry sauce, and stuffing all served up hot from the containers that they had been transported in from Forward Operating Base Gardez earlier in the day. As is traditional, the Senior Officers and Non-Commissioned Officers served the troops before getting their own share, and there was plenty to go around. With cardboard trays and plastic cutlery, sitting in the dirt or on sandbags, the food was eagerly eaten up. But for the men of Assault and Obstacle Platoon, it ran a poor second to their earlier sausage and cheese Thanksgiving feast in a cold tent, high in the mountains of Afghanistan.