John D McHugh

15^th Nov
 

After I went to sleep last night 1SG made a different kind of war, this time a blue on blue, and he won. We would not be required to back-track the movement we made yesterday after all. Instead, we left Sharana, and started out for Orgun-E. The plan was for the guys to stop briefly there, collect a couple of new Humvees in exchange for some knackered ones, and then continue their journey back to their home FOB, Bermel. 1SG asked me if I wanted to go with them, and I said yes, immediately. I had connected with these guys, and I always think it is better to stay with a unit once a trust has been built, rather than flit off to a new one. This would mean that I’d get less time to cover my Medevac story, but you’ve got be flexible in this environment.
 

Everything I had heard about Bermel sounded good for a story, if not for my health. They get rocketed regularly, and have been in numerous fights, mostly with foreign fighters. The base is only 4 kilometres from the Pakistan border, and frequently they get hit from the other side of the official boundary. There are also a couple of outlying Combat Out-Posts (COPs) which are hit by rockets, mortars and recoilless rifle (called a rifle, but really a direct fire rocket launcher, very dangerous) almost every day.
 

I pointed out to 1SG that I was only supposed to be embedded with them for the mission that they had just left, Operation Attal, and that I would probably have to seek permission to stay with them. The Big Angry replied that I was invited by both him and the CO, and that was all the permission I needed. That was fine by me.
 

Travelling from Sharana to Orgun-E was the usual time consuming affair. Twice we stopped for vehicle repairs, and both times the location couldn’t have been worse. Even changing a flat tire takes time when dealing with a Humvee, and sitting stationary on a road makes an easy target for any opportunistic insurgents watching the main routes.  At one stage, while sitting in a particularly nasty spot, with high ground all around us, perfect to hit us from, 1SG called on the help of the JTAC (Joint Tactical Air Controller). The JTAC is an Air Force guy, and is trained to communicate directly with the numerous fighters and bombers that are constantly present in the skies over Afghanistan. His job is to coordinate their movements so that they can all be utilised by ground forces while at the same time making sure that they remain on different flight paths, and therefore safe from mid-air collisions, ground fire, etc.
 

1SG had asked for a show of force, which basically means fly really low, really fast, and frighten the “fucking be-Jesus out of them” as we say in Ireland. The insurgents are known to be wary of the air assets that the Coalition can call on, with good reason. Letting any would-be ambushers know that there is an A-10 with it’s deadly 30mm cannon on station, or maybe a fighter/bomber carrying a 500lb JDAM bomb (Joint Direct Action Munition, I think) overhead, tends to make them think twice about initiating an attack.
 

Unfortunately the pilot overhead was “a goddammed pussy,” according to someone who shall remain nameless, and flew overhead at such an altitude that he could have been mistaken for a commercial airliner. The soldiers on the ground constantly complain about their Air Force, saying that they are too risk averse. But praise is heaped on British, Dutch, and French aviators. I was told of a recent “show of force” where a Mirage came over the soldier’s heads at about 50ft above the ground. 1SG said he could have thrown a stone and hit the fuselage of the plane. The British Harriers are also popular for their ground-hugging “nap of the earth” antics. In one story related to me, a Harrier came screaming over a village and made all the children cry. The soldiers told me that they felt bad for the kids, but would rather have them scared and crying for a few minutes, than be caught in the crossfire of an insurgent’s attack and killed or maimed. It seems shocking, but these are the tough realities.
 

Rolling in through the gates of Orgun-E I felt as though I had been away a lot longer than 8 days. I really needed a shower, but we were only going to be here for an hour or two, and I needed to collect the bag I had left here, grab some food, and be ready to leave with March or Die. I had left a bag at Orgun-E because I wanted to travel light on the mission, and so now I had a second bag to pack into the truck. The boot (trunk) of the Humvee was already stuffed, but with a little rearranging I squeezed in my extra luggage. The trick with packing stuff into a Humvee is to work around the important stuff, like ammunition, rather than just dropping a case on top. In the middle of a fight a poorly placed bag could either (a), take time to move and get someone killed or (b) get thrown out of the way and onto the ground in the confusion, and possibly left behind. As so often, a little effort makes all the difference. I ended up having to jump on the boot to get it to close, but at least I felt sure it wouldn’t open again accidentally during the second leg of our trip.
 

The plan was to make the rest of the move to Bermel today, which was why we weren’t staying long. Everyone wanted to get to the FOB before dark. We all knew that the IED that killed Capt. Boris and Sgt. Hike wasn’t the only one found that day, and there was intelligence that said there were more out there. Driving the road in to Bermel was going to be a stressful undertaking. At least in the light there was a better chance of spotting some tell-tale sign of a bomb. I was thinking about this a lot, but once again there wasn’t a lot I could do about it, apart from not go. And if I start trying to avoid possible danger, and second guess every trip, I won’t be able to work.
 

Pushing all these concerns to the back of my mind, as best I could anyway, I concentrated on my preparations for the second leg of our journey. I pulled my body-armour over my head, and buckled it up tight. Then I shoved both my arms through the cross straps of my chest-vest, and snapped the clasp behind me. I check my first-aid aid kit, on my left-hand side as per standard, and my tourniquet attached to the upper right front of my armour. Beside the tourniquet is a felt-tip marker. Standard procedure requires that when a tourniquet is applied a large “T” is written on the wounded person’s forehead, along with the time it was put on. Also attached to the front of my vest is a small knife, which is easy to reach should I need to cut, say, a seat-belt in a burning Humvee, for example. I thought about all the events I have planned for, all the little tricks I have learned from the all the soldiers I have been around, and I wondered if any of it would ever be used. In this environment it’s like an extreme version of the Boy Scout’s motto, “Be Prepared,” is in play. “Be Prepared for extreme and unpleasant shit!” Not so catchy, but captures the tone just right, I believe.
 

Now I put on my gloves, and tucked my sleeves into them. Not a flattering look, but the idea is to reduce, as much as possible, exposed skin. In an explosion the flash burn will destroy naked skin. The gloves are flame retardant, and all my clothes are cotton, slower to burn, and safer than polyester or any other manmade fibres, which melt in a fire and stick to your skin. I changed the lens in my ballistic sunglasses from dark to clear, as we would probably be driving through the dusk if not the dark before the day was over. The glasses are designed to protect the eyes from flying shrapnel or debris. Blindness is a major outcome from explosions. Again I though of all the precautions I take every day, and wondered if any of it was likely to really make a difference,  or was it all a placebo, a way of reassuring myself that everything was going to be OK, because I was well prepared. I still don’t know the answer to that.
 

Just as I put the finishing touches to my combat ensemble, 1SG came striding up. “OK guys, get together. Here’s the deal. We are heading into a TIC (Troops in Contact) in Sarobi, just outside Orgun-E. Some ASG (Afghan Security Guards – a type of militia) are in a fight, and we are going to QRF (Quick Reaction Force) them.”
 

He said more, but to be honest, the roaring of blood in my ears and the beating of my heart in my chest drowned out all the rest. Fuck, here we go again. I was in a spin as the various emotions and reactions flowed through me. I was scared, as this was a carbon copy of the events that led up to the ambush in which I was shot earlier in the year. I was excited, because I was going to find out if I was still up to the job, which was part of the reason I had come back in country so quickly after my wounding. I felt guilty too, because I had told my girlfriend, family and friends that this should be a quiet trip, with minimal danger, and now I was about to ride into a battle of my own volition. Ah, but that’s just the point. Is it really my own choice? I don’t think so. I believe that the situation was out of my control. Yes, I could put my hand up and say “Sorry 1SG, but I’m going to sit this one out. I’ll stay here safe and sound while you guys go out and face the fight.” But I can’t do that. It would be cowardly, and I would be ashamed. Don’t get me wrong, I was definitely afraid, afraid of getting hurt again, afraid of once more waking up in hospital in lots of pain, and also afraid of losing my composure in the middle of the fight, of being overcome with terror and then freaking out or doing something that got myself or someone else killed. But if I faced it down I could overcome the fear. If I stayed back, just this once, then I knew I would never go out again.
 

So, I climbed into the Humvee, and while sitting waiting for the go, I proved once more the truth in the old adage; “There are no Atheists in foxholes.” Or in Humvees, about to race into the fight. As we left the secure womb of the FOB reports were coming in of burning Jingle trucks at the site of the still raging battle. I was checking my cameras, making sure that everything was correctly set and ready to go. I didn’t want to be fumbling with them in the middle of a firefight. I changed and corrected my settings again and again, conscious that I was trying to take my mind off the upcoming chaos by putting my gear in order. As we moved down the road I began to calm down. The initial adrenaline had been used up, and now I was looking at the situation in a colder way. I was weighing up possible scenarios, deciding what I would do if we were hit by an IED, RPG, or small arms fire. When would I exit the vehicle, if at all. I scanned the dusty road outside my little window, searching out potential cover. And then, unbelievably, I realised I was feeling sleepy. With the excitement and adrenaline receding, my body was attempting to shut down. 10 minutes before I had been on the highest state of alert the human body has, and now I was struggling to keep my eyes open. In the end I decided that if we were hit I would wake up, and in the meantime I might as well just get some rest. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
 

My eyes snapped open to the sound of a BANG! Looking around, I realised that the Humvee was still in one piece, as was I. So, wasn’t an IED then. No shooting, so shouting, no nothing at all. Guess it was just a stone hitting the armour on the vehicle. I had been asleep for maybe 15 minutes, and it had done me good. I was more alert now, but calm at the same time. I asked what the latest news was. 1SG said that the fighting was reportedly over, and that there should be some pick-up Rangers coming towards us on the road, carrying the wounded. It was still important to stay prepared, because although the firefight between the ASG and the ACMs (Anti Coalition Militia) was over, it meant that there were ACMs in the area. And the sight of an American convoy might tempt them out for a second fight. Or, they might have hit the ASG in order to draw out a US QRF, possibly luring our convoy into a prepared ambush, or maybe an IED. That’s the problem. Even when you’re told the fight is over, you never believe it. And if you do, than you’re already in trouble.
 

Finally we turned off the main “road” we were on, taking a smaller track that wound up into the mountains. This was the Bermel road, and 1SG assured me that we were now “ heading into Indian territory.” These mountains sit between the AOs (Areas of Operations) of Orgun-E and Bermel, right on the outer edge of each. As a result, they are rarely ventured into, and so provide a safe haven for the insurgents. As we drove along, at a snails pace, 1SG pointed out several historic ambush and IED sites. Now, you may think that “lightening never strikes twice,” and in fact it does seem highly illogical for the insurgents to attack from the same location repeatedly. But they do. And as far as I can work out, it is due in part to the fact that quite often the entire ambushing party is wiped out by the Americans. Therefore there is no-one left to go back and report to the following teams what location was used. When a new team comes in, and finds what appears to be an advantageous position to attack from, they are completely unaware that it has been used before. Of course sometimes, even if they know it has been used before, the advantages of the ambush site for them may outweigh the possibility that the US forces will be on a higher state of readiness. 
 

As I stared out at the terrain I couldn’t help but feel that we were being watched. This was perfect ambush territory, with plenty of vegetation and boulders to hide in, and a road so rough and pitted that an IED would easily be concealed. And then, as if on cue, a vehicle broke down. We had high ground on one side, and a dip and then a rise on the other. An RPG could be fired very effectively from the other side of the dip, still giving the attacker the advantage of concealment and escape. Everyone was told to be on their guard as the Humvee was hooked up to another, to be towed. A couple of the guys got out of their vehicles, and then 1SG opened his door. He wanted to point something out to me, and so, against all the instincts that were telling me to stay in the armoured vehicle, I got out. I kept the door open, and kind of stood between it and the vehicle, sheltering myself as much as possible. If bullets or rockets started flying I could be back in the truck in a couple of seconds. I didn’t stay out for long. It was just too risky a spot, and while I said earlier that I can’t do this job without some risk, there are times when I gain nothing from the risk, and this was one of those times.
 

We moved on again, and eventually came to a very steep slope. So steep in fact that the Humvees had to take a run at it, gathering speed in order to crest the top. It was amazing watching one Humvee tow another up the sharp incline, and I couldn’t help thinking it was symbolic of the uphill battle the US soldiers are facing in this country. Corny, but true.
 

Once over the final ridge, Bermel valley spread out before us in the golden light of the setting sun. With a river running through the valley, and scattered settlements, it looked an idyllic scene, belied only by the knowledge of the recent death of Capt. Boris and Sgt. Hike.
 

From here on in the drive took on a new tension, which would have seemed inconceivable a few miles earlier, but was now a fact. All intelligence said that there were up to possibly 15 other IEDs emplaced in the Bermel Valley, just waiting. The rest of the drive was a serious of sharp intakes of breath, severe palpitations, and levels of stress so high that my head pounded. And I wasn’t the only one. Finally though, we approached FOB Bermel, and once through the outer gates people began to relax. We had made it. This time. But we all knew that it wouldn’t be long before we had to go out again, and the IEDs and their makers were somewhere out there, waiting for their chance to kill again.
 

16th Nov
Now that I am back at a base, even though it is a small FOB, things are going to be quieter. The soldiers need a few days to rest and recover, and the vehicles need to be taken into the shop for maintenance. They are falling apart after so long in the field. The soldiers too need maintenance. I walked into the shower/laundry room to find them cutting each others hair. Ell actually not so much cutting, as shaving their hair. It was buzz cuts all around, and I had to turn down their kind offer of “cleaning me up.” It just wouldn’t look right with my rapidly expanding beard!
 

Other than that there wasn’t much to report. Charlie Company was home, and enjoying the comforts of home. And believe me, they have worked hard to provide the little touches that make somewhere a home. 1SG’s room is a perfect example. Like everyone else, he had a room about 10ft by 10ft. displaying basic but competent carpentry skills, and an understanding of design and space management, he had turned it into the epitome of “combat zone chic.” He had had a raised platform built, putting his sleeping arrangements above head height and thus utilising all the space usually lost to a bed. He had an “around the corner” desk built, on which laptops, music speakers, DVDs and books could be stored. He also had a coffee maker, the only known protection against that much feared denizen of Bermel “The Early Morning Big Angry.” Under the bed sat a leather armchair (God only knows where it came from) and a small TV and games platform. All in all, it is a testament to the human drive to build a home, whatever the location.
 

 

 

17th Nov
With time on my hands, like everyone else here, I decided to hit the gym. Finding a cycling machine I planned to put myself through a tough workout, and ensure that my visits to the DFAC at Bermel don’t start showing on me. I brought my ipod with me to the concrete room, but was told that indirect fire attacks can occur at any time, so I should only listen in one ear. The other one should be an guard for the distinctive “whoosh” of a rocket, or the alarm that gives a very short alert of incoming missiles. My armour and helmet had been stored in the TOC (Tactical Operations Centre), where I was to report to should we fire. The TOC is the heart of operations at any base, and was where all information would flow too during an attack, and more importantly, where a counter attack would be organised. It was here that I would learn most about what was happening. In the meantime, I worked out, listened to “The Raconteurs” in one ear, and strained the other. A very strange feeling indeed.
 

Later in the day, there was a refresher CLS (Combat Life Saver) course, mandatory for all Charlie Company soldiers. CLS is the medical training that the US troops receive which enables them to deal with most battlefield and combat related injuries. It is pretty in-depth stuff. I completed a shortened version at Salerno last year, but sat in again on this course. I was filming and photographing as Doc gave his presentation, but I was actively concentrating on the class as well. I was pleased to find that I knew the answers to most of the questions he asked, but I did learn an few new things. The course covers administering IVs, addressing and depressurising sucking chest wounds, applying tourniquets and handling other heavy bleeding, etc. And there was to be lots of hands on learning. The first aid kit that every soldier carries was on display. Doc tore open every bandage, dressing and implement in it, explaining when and when not it was to be used, and covering any tricky exceptions. A nose tube was produced, which is emplaced in an unconscious patient to ensure his airways stay open. As the name suggests, it is pushed up the nostril, and then down into the throat. Everyone cheered when it was displayed, and I soon found out why. Like the other stuff, Doc was going to give a display of the tube in action. That meant that he needed a victim, sorry, I mean volunteer. Some poor guy was pushed forward, and it began. The soldier chosen to perform the procedure was nervous, and dropped the tube even before he started to insert it. When it was finally in, after much struggling on the patients part, and much cheering on everyone else’s, the poor bloke on the table had to bear it for at least 60 seconds while Doc made a few more points. My eyes were watering by the time it was removed, but not as much as the “volunteer’s.” After the class the soldiers split into squads and went outside, to work through various scenarios. They were tested on their knowledge and proficiency in using the various items in their First Aid kit. The whole idea is to ensure that if they ever are put in the situation, they are confident in their knowledge and ability.
 

They then moved to IVs. “Sticking” each other with needles was a great source of amusement, and I enjoyed the atmosphere as much as the rest. Some guys were very proficient, but some, well, it looked like the vampiric tendencies, they bled their patients so much. But again, better to learn in a safe environment like this, and then be confident while doing the procedure on the battlefield for real.
 

19^th Nov
Another quiet day. I’m getting bored, and even the harsh gym workouts will only keep me amused for so long.
After dark information came in that the insurgents were planning an attack on one of the Combat Outposts (COPs) near Bermel. This information comes through various sources that I am not allowed to discuss, but it is usually pretty accurate. Suddenly the TOC was a hive of activity. Maps were consulted, various other sources of information to help the commander to make his decisions, and then, “Fire Mission!”
 

A fire mission is an order to the big guns, the 155mm howitzers, to shoot. The current phrase to describe what happens is “Imminent Threat Fires,” but was originally called “Harassment and Interdiction.” In between it has variously been called “Recon by Fire,” Hostile Intent Fires”, and many more. They all mean the same thing though; shooting pre-emptively in a self-defence manner. What many people may not understand, but I have witnessed before, is the amount of time and effort that goes into planning the fire mission. Despite the accusations of “Cowboy behaviour” that are often levelled at the Americans, especially at their use of artillery and air power, the process to plan and then get approval from “higher” (senior commanders) was an arduous one.
 

However, one mans trouble is another man’s luck. I took the time to borrow a set of night vision goggles (NVGs), and get out to the howitzer pit. Over the last few nights I had been experimenting with using the NVGs in conjunction with my cameras to produce some kind of usable night image. It is well nigh impossible to do it with my still cameras, but much easier with my video camera. Now I would get to test it out. The only problem was the fact that I could quite possibly drop the camera, NVGs, and everything else once the guns fired. The shock wave from a 105mm is big, but I had never seen a 155 shoot before. Their effects were evident all over the base though, in the form of large cracks running through concrete walls. The shock waves when the fired shook the entire FOB apparently.  
 

I got into position, braced myself, and started filming. It is hard to describe a huge gun firing, but just before they did, one of the gunners shouted to me, “Open your mouth.” This is to dissipate the shock wave and help avoid having your eardrums blown out. I wondered if he was just trying to scare me, you know, make fun of the dumb journalist, but then they fired. My guts rattled inside me, my head rocked, but I’m glad to say, I didn’t drop the camera.