A family renunion
9 Nov.
Waking up buried down in a sleeping bag is disconcerting to say the least. And sticking your head out in to negative figures Celsius is no fun either. I have found that the best thing to do in this situation is to get up immediately, as lying around just focuses my attention on how cold and uncomfortable I really am. To save space I carry a cut down sleeping mat, just long enough to support my spine, or hips if I lie on my side. This means that my legs have no insulation from the cold ground, and so over the course of the night it is my legs feet and toes that suffer the most.
One of the things I enjoy about these situations is the satisfaction of falling back into little rituals, and rediscovering the reason that they work. Tipping out my boots, I discovered a lodger that wasn’t invited. Then, unwrapping my fleece which had been pressed into service as a pillow, and digging out my wolly hat and gloves which I had placed inside my sleeping bag to keep warm, I pulled on all my protection against the cold. I also pulled my armour over my head, and buckled it up.
From our vantage point I could see down into the valley that Chabaran sits in. The valley was filled with mist, and the sun was rising behind it, creating a beautiful silhouetted scene. Already the engineer’s earth movers were at work.
Reverting to other lessons learned, I started to pack my gear. The rule out here is that you must always be ready to move, and so all sleeping kit should be packed away before breakfast is even considered. I was fairly sure we would be staying in the same location for several days, but it is important to look professional in front of the soldiers. If they have to tell me obvious things then they will quickly start to see me as a liability, and my access will be affected. So, everything was crammed into my rucksack, except my coffee mug. This is another “must have” item. Some guys just cut an empty water bottle in half instead, but this results in burned fingers and very quickly, cold coffee. A good insulated camping mug, with a lid, is well worth carrying.
Others were rising, and in no time at all three stoves were producing blue flames, and kettles of various sizes sat on them. Cutting open an MRE I fished out the single serving coffee sachet, and then grabbed a hot chocolate packet from the Humvee. A mocha for breakfast seemed perfect in the cold conditions.
Word came in that “Havoc” Company had suffered a break-down, and would require a “wrecker,” one of the massive armoured recovery vehicles, to tow it back to base. Charlie Company was tasked with escorting the wrecker. Again, this was going to be an unpleasant drive, as all the intel said that there were PPIEDs (Pressure Plate Improvised Explosive Devices - detonated by driving over them, like a land-mine) waiting on the secondary routes around Chabaran. However, a mission is a mission, and once Charlie Company was given theirs there was no hesitation about moving out. I climbed into my seat in the Humvee behind 1SG C, checked my cameras were set up for shooting in daylight (I had set them up for shooting in almost darkness the previous night in anticipation of an attack) and settled in for another day of driving.
Leaving the village we immediately started to climb again, and soon we were at 8,500 ft above sea level. Movement was slow, with great care being taken over the road, all the time watching for wires, disturbed earth, etc, anything at all that might suggest a threat. After a couple of hours we reached Havoc, on a wide plain. The scene was like something out of a Western, and in my imagination the soldiers became cowboys, the Humvess were horses, and the elusive but dangerous Taliban became the feared red Indians.
Amidst all the rivalry of the meeting of two sister Companies, there was also a family reunion. A soldier from Charlie Company grabbed a younger looking man (or boy, really) in a hug. It turns out it is his younger brother. They are operating in the same province, but don’t get to see each other very often. It was heart-warming to watch, but I also thought it must be difficult for them to be in the same war. Every time news comes in of an attack, or casualties, they must think of their sibling, and worry.
Then a shout came, “McHugh, get over here.” I find it strange to be called by my surname, but that’s the way it is, with everyone wearing a nametag bearing their family name. I joined the group that had called me, and the guys said, in excited and amused voices, that I had to meet a “terp” (interpreter) that works with Havoc. I was introduced to “Scooter” and I almost fell over when he started talking. The guy has a crisp British accent, slightly upper-crust, and it is perfect. He told me that he had worked with some British officers last year, and the accent he had picked up had stayed. It wa so funny, because most of the terps have full blown US accents, and greet you with “What’s up” or “Hey man” but this chap was terribly, terribly British.
The busted Humvee was hooked up to the wrecker, and we made our way back over the pass and into the crowded locale of Chabaran. Along the way I shot some self-portraits. To amuse myself. My beard is coming along nicely, and my ballistic-proof glasses are huge, and so make me look ridiculous.
Arriving back on our little hilltop position, the guys settled in for the rest of the day. Soon a game of cards began, with an MRE box passing for a table. The game was a mystery to me, but it passed the time for the soldiers, and made good pictures.
As darkness started to fall people began to remove their armour. The feeling was that the area was saturated with friendly forces, and so was safe. I chose to keep mine on until it became fully dark however. The soldiers made fun of me a bit, but some of them said if they were shot there is no way in hell they would come back out here at all, and so if I want to wear my armour in my sleeping bag they would understand.
After dark the Charlie Company mortar team walked the short distance to the ANA encampment, to do some training. Well, really, it was to watch the ANA fire their mortars, and then correct any errors in procedure. There weren’t any. The ANA are well able to use their weapons, and understood some of the complex firing techniques suggested by the US soldiers, ie shooting illuminated rounds to see and then shooting high explosive, using the eerie light of the illume round to correct their coordinates. A marked difference in their enthusiasm for fighting was apparent though. Every time the Afghans fired their mortars they all cheered, including the other ANA soldiers who had gathered to watch, and it reminded me of the ooohs and aaahs of a fireworks display back in the UK on Bonfire Night.
Back at our patrol base the temperature was already plummeting. I had earlier mentioned to someone how cold my feet had been, and they had given me a chemical hand-warmer. A small sachet, maybe 2×3 inches. When shaken vigorously it would begin to emanate heat, and would continue to do so for 8-10 hours. The instructions said not to use inside sleeping bags, but I was assured that I could throw it into the bottom of my bag and forget about it. It wouldn’t burn me, just keep the chill at bay. I also had dug into my rucksack, and extracted my second sleeping bag, hopefully giving me more chance of a reasonably bearable night. Getting ready to sleep, I took off my watch, set it to thermometer mode, and left it sitting on my boots outside my sleeping bag. If I was going to suffer the cold, I at least wanted to know how cold it was, so I could measure my suffering scientifically.