March or Die
7th Nov
I am due to go out tomorrow on a mission with Charlie Company, 1st Battalion (Airborne) 503rd Infantry, 173rd Brigade. They are based in Italy, and are attached to the 82nd Airborne Division. Charlie Company is also known as “March or Die” or MOD, a nickname they picked up in World War 2. When I was introduced to the Company Commander and First Sergeant I expressed my concern over their name, and said I would be far more comfortable with “Ride in a Humvee or Die” as I did quite enough marching earlier in the year. They assured me that I would not be marching too far. They seem like really good guys. Pure infantry, no bullshit, straight talkers, and tough. We are to leave tomorrow morning and will be out for a few days. I still know almost nothing about the mission, but I don’t need to, so that is not a problem. I will find out when I get there.
8th Nov
“Today is an important anniversary in Charlie Company’s history” 1SG C told me. “In Vietnam in 1965, during Operation Hump, Charlie Company was almost wiped out during an ambush.” Not an entirely auspicious start to the mission, and so I put it to the back of my mind.
We were to leave at 6:30 am local. I had risen early to pack my sleeping bag and kit, and be ready to go. As soon as I arrived at the March or Die Humvees I realised that everyone had food, and discovered that the chow hall had opened early to allow us to get some breakfast before we departed. I dropped my kit, and rushed off to eat.
Getting a convoy ready to leave is always tricky, especially if it is big. This was a battalion mission, meaning a lot of assets. The convoy was huge, and there were other convoys heading from other bases in the province too, all heading for the district of Charbaron. The Taliban had recently burned down the district centre and ANP (Afghan National Police) post, and so the coalition was going to rebuild it. It was in fact an Afghan mission, with US support, as everything is these days. The idea is that the more experience the Afghans get in planning these missions, the sooner the Americans can go home. Nice idea, but a long way off I reckon.
1SG C told me I was riding with him, which was cool as I had already met his driver Doc helping out in the Aid Station at Orgun-E. Doc is actually a Medic, but like all Medics in the US Army, is simply called Doc. He is the Company Medic, and so has Platoon Medics underneath him.
We rolled out of Orgun-E on time and soon the convoy joined up with ANA troops. The convoy was huge, and lumbering, and slow. And the dust trail that was being created would surely announce our movement to anyone watching from the mountains.
Travelling in a Humvee is extremely boring, and even more so when the other occupants have radio headsets to communicate on and I don’t. The guys were listening to both Company and Battalion ratio nets, one in each ear, and could talk to each other as well. 1st C made a great effort to update me on what was happening, but inevitably I started to fall asleep. This is quite an achievement as I was wearing my body armour and helmet. On this trip I am also trying out a new system for carrying equipment. In the past I have worn a belt with various pouches attached, carrying spare camera batteries, lenses, a first aid kit, notebooks, etc. This has cause lots of problems as getting in and out of Humvees is difficult at the best of times, but more so when wearing pouches. And if the pouches move around to the back it is virtually impossible to sit comfortably. I have thought about this over the last few months, and particularly about how the soldiers dress. They wear chest-rigs, which allow them to carry a lot of gear but still move well. Whether you sit or stand the pouches are easly accessible, and so I wanted something similar. A good friend lent me a photo-vest, based on this idea, and which has been around for some time. I have always resisted them because they look like suicide vests, but it turns out that while not suitable for London streets, the photo-vest is ideal for wearing over body armour. Thanks Edmond!
Arriving at a village part of the convoy veered off and formed a security perimeter near a mosque. I jumped out once we were in position, and followed 1SG C into the middle of the gathered crowd. It transpired that there were several “Jingle trucks” in the convoy, carrying Civil Affairs (CA) and Humanitarian Assistance (HA) supplies. Frequent readers will have heard me talk about this before, but for those who are new I will explain. CA and HA missions, which translate as handing out clothes, blankets, shoes, school supplies, food, etc, are carried out by the military with the intention of building good relations with the local Afghan people. In this case they were providing a Mosque kit, which included carpet, speakers for the call to prayer, paint, etc. The CA officer sat down with the village elders and spoke with them, explaining that the Americans want to help Afghanistan, and in fact are there at the behest of the Afghan Government. The CA officer is a sincere man, and I believe that he believes he is truly making a difference. Unfortunately the meeting turned slightly sour when the elders said that the had had patrols through their village before, and that they had heard all these promises many times, but that they had never been followed up on. Things seemed to improve when they heard about the Mosque kit that they were to receive, and the crowd moved to the “Jingle truck.” However, things became complicated again when more elders arrived. Gradually, amidst much shouting, bickering, finger wagging, and translating, the problem revealed itself. What appeared to the untrained eye as one village was apparently 3 villages built in close proximity. This is something I have come across before, in Nuristan, and it is very confusing. The village elders were arguing about which Mosque should receive the kit, and then started asking for 3 kits. The CA officer did his best to placate the maddened crowd, and a deal was struck, although I am still not sure of the details. One soldier whispered that as soon as we were gone the Afghans would kill each other over the lousy worthless piece of carpet.
Once the supplies had been unloaded, and wind-up radios were distributed, we were off again. After a couple of hours we started to climb into the mountains, and soon my watch’s altimeter was reading 8,500ft.
As I said, 1SG C was making a big effort to keep me informed of what was going on, and at one point he turned to me and said we had just passed the site of a “catastrophic IED” strike. Charlie Company’s sister Havoc Company had struck an IED there on 23rd July, and 4 of the Humvee’s occupants were killed. A fifth was severely burned, and died two months later from his injuries. I wished he hadn’t told me whle we were still driving. A few minutes later he informed me that information had just been relayed to him by radio that ACMs (Anti Coalition Militia – the catch all acronym for the various groups fighting the coalition and the government’s soldiers) were fleeing the Chabaran district. So, we would not find any fight there. But wait, they were leaving behind several IEDs for the American vehicles. Considering what I had just learned about the last IED, I was disconcerted to say the least, but what could I do.
And there’s the rub. Getting intelligence that an IED may have been planted on a road does not halt a mission, and so some poor soldiers have to drive down it anyway. And I wonder what toll it takes on them? How do you cope with that danger and strees after seeing friends killed by the same weapon? How does someone overcome the fear of imminent death and carry on with a mission, when they have info that tells them they are going to be attacked? I have asked this question to many, many soldiers, and the answer doesn’t vary much. They shrug their shoulders, or sigh, and tell me that it’s their job. Just like that! I have to admit, it terrifies me. I hate IEDs, and hate driving when I think they may be around. I hate the fact that I could be killed so indiscriminately. And every time the base of the Humvee hit a rock, and every time we dipped into a wadi with a soft earth floor, I winced. And I only do this sporadically. How do the soldiers continue to bear this tension day after day?
Shortly after that news we halted. I’m not sure why, but it was a problem further up the column. While halted, 1SG decided that the convoy needed overwatch, and so he picked a few guys, including himself and the CO (Commanding Officer) Capt Mac. I said I’d go too. Really, I do never learn my lesson. So, we started up the rocks, and a few hundred feet later I was gasping for air, my lungs on fire, and sweat pouring out of my shocked body. That rarefied air gets me every time. The soldiers stood around talking for a while, all the time scanning the further ridgelines for danger. Then 1SG thought he saw something. It might be a stone, it might be nothing at all, but he thought he saw a fortified fighting position. It was a long way away, and I volunteered to stay with the guys assigned to remain at our position. They would provide overwatch and protection while the others climbed down and then up to the new location. The two guys who stayed then went into serious mode, and in no time at all they were lying down in the prone position, rifles trained on the possible fighting position. Suddenly I got a shiver down my spine, and I felt extremely exposed standing there. If there was a sniper up there, it would not be a difficult shot to hit one of us. Remembering the pain of my last encounter with a sniper, I quickly moved down behind a rock, making sure I could still observe the others climb, but reducing my vulnerability. Or so I hoped. Soon enough they reached the point of interest, and it turned out to be nothing. As they made their way back to us I felt very silly. But I stayed down low just the same.
The convoy got back on the road, but not long after we stopped again. Another vulnerable site had been spotted on the road, and so some soldiers would once again need to climb up to the high ground to ensure the safety of the rest of the convoy. I opted to stay by the vehicles this time. So did 1SG C, so I could get updates from him as to their progress. While they were gone, news came in over the radio that there was a gunfight going on close to Orgun-E, the base I had left the day before. Apparently a convoy of Jingle trucks that were carrying goods for the Americans had been attacked, and the drivers had pulled out guns and fought back. The report said that one vehicle was disabled, and the fight was still ongoing.
With another patrol returning empty handed, the convoy moved off. Eventually we arrive at Charbaran District centre, pulling in at the same time as the engineers. I was massively impressed with the speed with which they went to work. While the infantry I was with were concerned with forming a security perimeter, the engineers drove earth-moving machines off trailers and immediately started bulldozing. The burned out district centre looked very forlorn in the centre of all that activity.
Darkness falls quickly in the mountains, and the night was on everyone’s mind. Charlie Company pushed out Platoon sized elements to form part of the security perimeter, while Headquarters, including the Captain and 1SG, moved to a piece of high ground near the school. The ANA had already set up camp by the building, and taken some of the rooms inside. The US soldiers set up beside but separate from the ANA. As soon as we were settled I fished my bag out of the Humvee’s trunk and started making my bed on the ground. The hill was sandy, with lots of rocks mixed in, so preparing a smooth horizontal area took some time. One of the soldiers commented on my haste to sleep, and I relied that I just wanted to get my bed down while I could still see. “Well, this ain’t your first camping trip” said another. He was right. I have made the mistake before of setting up my bed in the dark, and it invariably leads to disaster. Sleeping on rocks, thorns, etc, or worse, on a slant, resulting in all the blood going to your head and waking up with a pounding headache, are all slip-ups I’ve made before, but not again.
Next on the agenda was an MRE. I’ve talked about this before, and once again I had to marvel at the ingenuity of the meals in a bag. Worryingly, I knew what was in a lot of the meals, a sure sign that I have eaten too many. People have different favourites, and as the bags are numbered it becomes a mission to get the one you want, often involving some fast trading.
With a full belly and a long day behind me, I was more than ready for my sleeping bag. Lying there in the dark, with sleeping and snoring soldiers all around me, I looked at the night sky. It is so beautiful here, with no light pollution to spoil it. Once again I struggled to believe my luck, that I get to have these amazing experiences. Even though there was every chance of an attack, either direct small arms fire or indirect mortars or rockets, I was happy. It is hard to explain, but the simplicity of life in this environment, where you are happy if you make it to the end of the day alive, fed, and warm, is something I revel in. There are no speed limits here, no credit checks, no postcodes. It is like being in the Wild West, a bold frontier were life gets pared down to what is really important, and everything that isn’t just fades into the background.