My alarm goes off at 0315. Today I am "launching" for the Motorized Operations Course, or MOC ("mock"), which means that I am headed out to the field for the day to chase around Marines as they go through various drills that they may need to use in country--reacting to situations such as an object on the side of the road that they think might be an IED, or enemy forces firing at them, or an exploded IED. In all of these situations, we coyotes observe the Exercise Force, or EXFOR ("ex-fore"), as they go through their drills, then provide them with feedback on ways they can improve once they have completed the exercise. Today will be a fun day, because I learn at the brief that for the second half of the day I will be "front seat". I will have an experienced Marine guiding me, but I will be responsible for informing the lead coyote of everything that my vehicle is doing, and making the final evaluation of that vehicle.
We are the lead vehicle, so as expected, someone in our vehicle spots the "possible IED (PIED)" that was set out early that morning. It is a plastic jug and propane tank that are designed to resemble the IEDs currently being placed in country. From my HMMWV, I try to watch the vehicle of Marines that I am observing. Are they using their binoculars to get a better view of the object? The lead coyote, who's stationed on a hill where he can see the entire range but doesn't have a close-up view of any single part of it, comes up on my radio and asks the question. I have been trying to determine the answer, but the turret armor is in my way. I get out of my vehicle and walk around the side of the EXFOR vehicle. The windows in the turret are small, so it takes a minute, but I finally see the gunner, and he's using his binoculars to look at the possible IED.
I key my microphone. "That's an a-firm, he has his binoculars out," I say.
"Four-four." The lead coyote answers with his call sign, which means "I heard you", or "yes" depending on the context. My call sign is 41E, or four-one-echo.
We observe the vehicle for a while longer, and after a short period of time it drives off the road, a two-lane dirt path, and heads east out into the desert.
After I am fairly certain I know what they're doing, I key my mike and call up to the lead coyote. "Vic one is setting up a cordon to the east."
"Are they setting up a cordon or just pushing off to the east?" 44 asks. He pauses, then asks, "Do you see the difference?"
I am not sure I do, so I hold off on answering. Once 43, my backseat Marine, is free, I turn around. "What's the difference?" I ask.
"Right now it's still a little early to be sure they're actually setting up a cordon," he explains. "They could just be pushing east to get around the possible IED. Until you're sure they're actually setting up a cordon, you just want to say they're pushing east."
"Ah," I say. Within seconds, the vehicle moves farther east.
"Okay, now you could say they're setting up a cordon," 43 explains. We follow them farther east, and eventually they choose the final location where they will wait until the Explosive Ordinance Disposal (EOD) unit arrives to investigate the IED. We watch as two Marines get out of the vehicle and start checking the area around their vehicle for IED indicators. Their approach is mostly correct, except they are somewhat lacking on their spatial awareness. Every time they push out to cover new ground, they end up moving back in towards the vehicle, making their check less effective than it should be.
I am not sure what to do with this information--tell 44, file it away in my notes for the de-brief, or discuss the issue with the Marines that are currently making the checks? All, some, none? 43 walks towards one of the Marines to explain what he is doing, so I walk towards the second one. "Do you notice what you're doing?" I say in a friendly tone as I approach the Marine.
"What's that, ma'am?" he asks. I explain the pattern I've seen, and he is thankful. The next time they push out for new ground, they are more conscious of their distance and their technique is more effective. After a few more minutes, their checks are finished, and they climb back in the vehicle, where the armor protects them.
43 and I wait for the script to play out. We try to make the training as realistic as possible, so the lead coyote contacts them on their radio and pretends to be EOD. Once he has done that, he directs one of the other coyotes to approach the southern end of the corridor and give the appropriate signal. The other coyote does as directed, and the patrol returns the correct signal to link-up with the "EOD unit". The lead coyote directs a third coyote to drive towards the possible IED, and sends the call out on the radio, "Coyotes, go ahead and paint that EOD unit approaching the PIED."
I get out of my vehicle and provide the "paint". One of the key roles of the coyote is to describe to the EXFOR what is happening. On a real battlefield, the EXFOR would be able to watch as EOD drive their robot up to the IED and determined the appropriate action to take. On our simulated battlefield, it is the responsibility of the coyote the describe to the EXFOR what they would be seeing or hearing so that they can imagine the battlefield as it would be an act appropriately. I get out of my vehicle.
"Hey, gunner," I call out and flag the Marine in the turret. He looks at me. "Do you see that HMMWV heading towards the PIED?" I ask. "That's the robot from EOD going to look at the PIED." He turns around, sees the HMMWV, and gives me the thumbs up. I go back to my vehicle as he passes that information to the rest of the Marines in his vehicle.
We wait, and the lead coyote directs yet another coyote to walk up to the PIED and toss an artillery simulator, or "arty sim". The arty sims are real-life explosives that make a whistling noise followed by a bang. They were originally designed to simulate incoming artillery, but we use them for more than that. Right now, a coyote will toss an arty sim to simulate EOD disposing of the PIED. This way the EXFOR can have realistic training in that the Marines will see and hear the explosion, but at least for this scenario we will not need the time or expense to use significant amounts of explosives.
I get out of my truck and position myself so I can see into the turret. I hear the lead coyote calling out for other coyotes to "paint" to the patrol leader that there is 2 minutes to a controlled detonation, just as would happen in real life if EOD were getting rid of an IED that was found.
"We don't paint this to them, ma'am," 43 calls out to me. The countdown to controlled detonation should be passed to the EXFOR vehicle over their own radio, so I don't have to make the "paint" in this operation. My job is to tell them what they would be seeing in a real situation, not to act as an alternate avenue for information they should already be getting.
I walk back to our vehicle. "I know," I told him. "I was just going to see if the gunner got down in the turret." He nods. One of the best parts of my new job so far is that everyone looks out for me and gives me whatever advice they can.
Yesterday I was in a different shop and started getting questions about the ring I wear from a senior officer that I barely know. After a couple of my deflective answers, he explained that he knew that I was jumping off trucks and didn't want me to get hurt. Unfortunately, Marines that wear their wedding rings out in the field are vulnerable to an injury called "de-gloving", where their ring gets caught on something and removes the skin and muscle from their ring finger. I like my finger and would like to keep it, so any time I know I am going to be around vehicles I tuck my ring into my shoulder pocket. I told the officer as much and thanked him for his concern. Sometimes Marines will start telling me and my instinct is to bristle that they are telling me how to do my job. Fortunately, I am usually able, after a moment of thought, to recognize their advice for what it is, and now am quite thankful that there are so many caring Marines that are looking out for me.
Anyway, back to the possible IED. The coyote threw the arty sim, and the "IED" was "detonated". The first time I came out on the course, one of the coyotes got out their cell phone and played "Domo Arigato, Mr. Robato" over our coyote radio, providing everyone with some amusement for the day. It was Saturday...what can I say.
Once the IED has been taken care of, it is time for the patrol to push on. The next portion of the patrol, the live-fire portion, will be the most difficult for me. The vehicle I am assigned to has a restriction on their weapon. Usually, the weapons are allowed to fire on their own. However, the mount for this weapon is missing a pin. It is safe to allow the weapon to fire, but to ensure safety on the range, we have told the gunner that he is only allowed to fire when a coyote is present, and that means me. That means before the gunner can fire, I have to sprint from my vehicle to his, climb up on the vehicle to where he can see me, and clear him to fire. The vehicle is not allowed to move while I am on it, so when he yells at me to get down, I will jump off the EXFOR vehicle, sprint to my own vehicle, and jump in as quickly as possible so we can follow the EXFOR vehicle and be ready for the next time they are ready to shoot their weapon.
In the middle of this, I will be making calls up to the lead coyote, telling him what the gunner is doing--is he shooting, reloading his weapon, taking care of a minor weapon malfunction, or are they getting ready to move? There are specific calls I am supposed to make to the lead coyote for each of these situations, and as we get ready for the live-fire, I rehearse the calls in my head. Soon enough, the lead coyote calls on the radio and "paints" to us that the first vehicle in the patrol is receiving fire from one location, and the second vehicle is receiving fire from a second location. I bring up my radio to the gunner and pass the information along--information he would be able to see for himself on a real battlefield.
We watch as the vehicle speeds up sightly to get in a position to fire. One they have stopped, our driver slams on his brakes, and I am already opening the door as the vehicle is stopping. I sprint over to the EXFOR vehicle and climb up so I can talk to the gunner.
"Is it okay?" he asks me. I am not sure what to say. I am not allowed to tell him to fire, I am only allowed to give him permission to fire. I settle on, "you're clear," but then notice that his weapon is focused in on a location that is not even a target. I need to describe to him what he would be seeing on a real battlefield, so that he can practice firing back at simulated insurgents, not a random point in the ground that he has chosen.
"Whoa, wait a second. Do you see over there?" I point towards the "insurgents" we want the gunners to identify, and describe it. He sees it, and turns his gun so he is pointing at the supposed insurgent location. He starts firing, and I key my mike. "Vic 2 active, target 1." This allows the lead coyote to maintain awareness of what each vehicle is doing, so he can ensure the range remains safe.
After a few seconds, the gunner yells, "coyote, get down." That is my cue to sprint back to my vehicle and prepare to move. As I sprint, I key my mike. "Vic 2 cold, moving." We continue--the gunner firing, me sprinting back and forth, until the vehicle has passed the safe limit for firing. I call him on the radio he has and tell him he is no longer able to fire. We catch our breath as the patrol re-organizes and prepares to continue on their route.
It doesn't take long before--BOOM! Dirt is thrown into the air as a coyote simulates an IED strike on a vehicle in the patrol. This one uses real explosives, so we are all careful to stay away from the area. A coyote runs over to the vehicle that was "hit" with the IED and "paints" to that vehicle that their vehicle is stuck, their radios no longer work, and some of the Marines in the truck are injured.
For the next hour, we observe as the Marines rehearse their drill, taking care of the simulated casualties. We call these simulated casualties "cherry-pickers". We don't use the word "casualty" unless someone has actually gotten injured during training, so our coyote corpsman goes over to the vehicle, "paints" the Marines' injuries, and then watches as they treat the simulated wounds. I watch, too, as they set up a landing zone for a MEDEVAC (medical evacuation) helicopter to land, debating inside my head just like before. What should I tell the lead coyote, what should I put in my notes, and what should I talk to the Marines about? I am not sure, and this time my guide is on a different part of the field, and unavailable for consult. I do my best while keeping in mind that my objective is to provide the most effective training for the Marines.
The Marines work efficiently to get the cherry-pickers onto the MEDEVAC, and the lead coyote calls an end to the exercise. We pause for safety precautions, then release the EXFOR. (It is up to them, but they will likely de-brief themselves, head back to their barracks, and clean their weapons). The coyotes re-group for their own debriefing. The lead coyote asks me what I learned today, and I have learned so much that I am not sure where to start. I offer a couple points, and he moves on to the next new coyote. The lead coyote discusses the day's exercise with us, and what we can do better to make the training more realistic, then tells us all to be safe as we drive back to the main part of the base.
Once we are back, I pull the sheets I have been marking off my clipboard and give them to another coyote. All of the sheets from each coyote evaluating each vehicle will be compiled into a single evaluation, which will be sent to the EXFOR so they have a written record of how they did and areas they can improve. We have already debriefed them informally, but the evaluation is a more formal document. Fortunately, I am not expected to stay as the more experienced coyotes discuss the formal evaluation, so I compile a shopping list and I head home.
In all, it was about thirteen hours from the time we left for the range until the time we returned. From the time we left until the time we returned, I was wearing my bright orange flak jacket with bullet-proof plates with my camelbak, eye protection, radio, and clipboard. Except for the de-brief periods, I was wearing my kevlar helmet (that's a rant for another time...not the fact that we have to wear it, but the fact that the straps don't fit over a regulation bun very well). By the time the day ends, my t-shirt is soaked with sweat, and I am fairly worn out from the long hours in the sun. My face and neck are still recovering from last weekend, when I neglected to wear sunscreen and received a pretty good sunburn as a result.
Make no mistake--I love my job. This is how I spent last weekend, both Saturday and Sunday, so even though I wasn't originally scheduled to go out today, I asked to go so I could get the additional experience. In the three weeks I've been here, I've seen a radically different side to all of the training I've had in the Marine Corps so far. I understand the methods and the purpose better. I've been able to ask questions to refine my own understanding of Marine Corps doctrine and offer advice to Marines that may help save their lives. The long hours and the sun don't seem like much to pay for the benefits. Yes, I am now exhausted--time to load the dishwasher and go to bed, even though it's not even 9pm.
But overall? I'll take it.
10 March 2011
26 February 2011
Coyote
-n
1. A wolf-like animal that hunts around in the desert.
2. Slang for a person that smuggles Mexicans across the border into the US.
And then there's the standard USMC definition:
3. What we say instead of "tan" when we mean "that brown color that half of our stuff comes in" (the other half being olive green).
And then there's a definition that is specific to my new duty station:
4. A Marine that assists other units in completing their pre-deployment training. Typically wears a bright orange flak vest/camelbak instead of the traditional coyote brown flak vest/camelbak, and is frequently seen coming in the base gate at 0400.
I pulled up to the gate around 0420 this morning (in my own car in uniform, not drunk in the back of a cab, as is I'm sure the traditional method of going through any gate at any base at 0420 on a Saturday morning) and handed my military ID to the Marine standing watch. "Are you TTECG?" he asked (TTECG owns all the coyotes). "Yes, I am," I told him. He handed my ID back, saluted, and wished me a good day.
Today was day five with the unit and my first field exercise. I wasn't doing any teaching or assessing today; I'm still working to get a handle on what it is we do. (I asked one of the SSgts in the unit a question this afternoon, referring to him and the other coyotes as "you guys". He smiled. "It's 'we', now, ma'am.") But for a 13-hour workday on a Saturday, where I spent most of it standing around in the freezing cold wind, listening to classes and listening to Marines give other Marines advice on how to best employ their weapons and vehicles, it sure was a good day. When I drove down last Sunday, I was burned out and not really feeling ready to throw myself into a new job. After five days here, I'm excited about what I do again, excited to be working with my new co-workers, and happy to be a Marine again.
Will I have a lot of free time? No. Will it be crazy hot during the summer? Yes. But: will it be as bad as Afghanistan? No, they have A/C here. And: will I get to help train Marines and give them knowledge that will hopefully help save their lives? Yes. And: bonus. I get tomorrow off.
1. A wolf-like animal that hunts around in the desert.
2. Slang for a person that smuggles Mexicans across the border into the US.
And then there's the standard USMC definition:
3. What we say instead of "tan" when we mean "that brown color that half of our stuff comes in" (the other half being olive green).
And then there's a definition that is specific to my new duty station:
4. A Marine that assists other units in completing their pre-deployment training. Typically wears a bright orange flak vest/camelbak instead of the traditional coyote brown flak vest/camelbak, and is frequently seen coming in the base gate at 0400.
I pulled up to the gate around 0420 this morning (in my own car in uniform, not drunk in the back of a cab, as is I'm sure the traditional method of going through any gate at any base at 0420 on a Saturday morning) and handed my military ID to the Marine standing watch. "Are you TTECG?" he asked (TTECG owns all the coyotes). "Yes, I am," I told him. He handed my ID back, saluted, and wished me a good day.
Today was day five with the unit and my first field exercise. I wasn't doing any teaching or assessing today; I'm still working to get a handle on what it is we do. (I asked one of the SSgts in the unit a question this afternoon, referring to him and the other coyotes as "you guys". He smiled. "It's 'we', now, ma'am.") But for a 13-hour workday on a Saturday, where I spent most of it standing around in the freezing cold wind, listening to classes and listening to Marines give other Marines advice on how to best employ their weapons and vehicles, it sure was a good day. When I drove down last Sunday, I was burned out and not really feeling ready to throw myself into a new job. After five days here, I'm excited about what I do again, excited to be working with my new co-workers, and happy to be a Marine again.
Will I have a lot of free time? No. Will it be crazy hot during the summer? Yes. But: will it be as bad as Afghanistan? No, they have A/C here. And: will I get to help train Marines and give them knowledge that will hopefully help save their lives? Yes. And: bonus. I get tomorrow off.
03 February 2011
And the winner is...
For about two years leading up to my deployment (even before I joined the Marine Corps), I had no clue what I was going to do after I came back. My goal was get through OCS, get through TBS, get through engineer school, get through deployment. What came next? I'd worry about that later.
At the end of the deployment, I started looking for a new position in the Marine Corps. I knew I wanted to stay on active duty in some fashion or another, but I had to stay in the reserves due to contractual obligations. I found a position in Southern California helping train Marines right before they deploy. And now, after a good amount of headaches, stress, and paperwork, I am officially bound for Southern California.
Again! I hated it the first time, hopefully I'll like it better the second time. This time, I will be out in the desert, with fewer people around. I will definitely miss the rain, but the position is a good opportunity. I start down there in late February, which means I have two more weeks here in Eugene. I'm a bit overwhelmed; there's a lot to do before I leave!
I hope to have interesting things to post when I'm down there. If not...well, you might be hearing a lot about the bike rides and the hiking. Joshua Tree is, after all, right across the street.
At the end of the deployment, I started looking for a new position in the Marine Corps. I knew I wanted to stay on active duty in some fashion or another, but I had to stay in the reserves due to contractual obligations. I found a position in Southern California helping train Marines right before they deploy. And now, after a good amount of headaches, stress, and paperwork, I am officially bound for Southern California.
Again! I hated it the first time, hopefully I'll like it better the second time. This time, I will be out in the desert, with fewer people around. I will definitely miss the rain, but the position is a good opportunity. I start down there in late February, which means I have two more weeks here in Eugene. I'm a bit overwhelmed; there's a lot to do before I leave!
I hope to have interesting things to post when I'm down there. If not...well, you might be hearing a lot about the bike rides and the hiking. Joshua Tree is, after all, right across the street.
06 January 2011
65 and Sunny
I've been trying to figure out how to write this post for a while now...what I can write (due to security and operational concerns)...what I should write...what I can write without hurting people's feelings. I will do my best to make this post coherent, comprehensive, and at least somewhat tactful, but forgive me if I don't succeed.
I watched the National Geographic special with my family when I was there for Christmas. My dad was in India when it aired, so he taped it, and we all watched it together once we were back. Everything in the special was correct. Except... There was a part of the special where the reporter was visiting a unit that got hit. The narrative went something like this: "a week later, this same unit got hit again." The story spends all its time talking about the two times the unit was hit, but completely glosses over the week between where absolutely nothing happened. And this was one of the area's hot spots!
This is the fundamental flaw in the media's reporting of what happens in Afghanistan. For most Marines that deploy, there is much, much, much more sand, wind, heat, cold, boredom, walking around with 55lbs worth of gear on your back where you look at the same piece of ground that you've seen 50 times before than there is small arms fire or IEDs. Indeed, this is one of the largest challenges for Marine small-unit leaders: how to keep the Marines alert and non-complacent when nothing happens day after day after day, so they're not caught off guard on that one day when something does happen.
And then you have Marines such as myself, who go to Afghanistan and spend 95% or even 100% of their time sitting on a large base surrounded by thousands of other Marines, each of whom is equipped with a weapon and rounds. Can you imagine a safer place to be? Honestly, I am more likely to be killed or injured because I am hit by a car while riding my bike in Grants Pass than I am to be killed or injured while on such a base.
If you thought I was leaving off all the "dangerous parts" of my missions while I was blogging in country, that was largely not the case. I was on one mission where my convoy received enemy contact. We were all in armored vehicles at the time. No one was injured, except for some ringing ears. That went away after an hour, which means that no one was injured. I was on a separate convoy where we were in an area that had a high IED threat, and I was concerned we were going to hit an IED. We didn't.
Instead, we dug a couple vehicles out of some potholes in the desert. We came by around 1800 and the Marines told me they had been there since the morning. So they had been sitting there for at least eight hours, waiting for their unit to find someone with the assets to pull them out. They were several clicks away from the village, so they would see anyone coming a long ways out. Their unit knew where they were and could re-supply them with food and water indefinitely until the necessary assets were located. They could even be relieved by other Marines if it came down to it.
We had another mission that lasted about a week and a half where I thought there was a chance we might receive small arms fire, based on our analysis of the enemy situation before we left. We didn't. We had yet another mission of the same length where I didn't think we would be hit at all. We weren't. Can you detect a pattern here?
I know that my Battalion sent at least five Marines home while we were deployed, for various reasons. Only one of them was sent home because the Marine was injured from enemy contact. No one from our Battalion was killed while we were there, nor had anyone been killed in the Battalion that we relieved when we arrived in country.
I got two types of e-mails while I was in Afghanistan. One type said something to the effect that they were scared or worried about my safety, the other type was no different than the e-mails I received when I was stationed in Quantico and North Carolina. I can promise you one thing: no deployed Marine wants to read the first type of e-mail, regardless of how much danger they are (or aren't) in.
First of all, the person sending the e-mail isn't going to have an accurate picture how much danger the Marine is exposed to, and there is nothing the Marine can do to accurately present that picture to them. Second, if the Marine is not in much danger, you will only frustrate the Marine, that you don't understand what it's like. The Marine might even feel some guilt that there are Marines that are in danger while he or she is stationed in a safe location, and possibly some guilt because he is glad he is safe.
However, if the Marine is actually performing dangerous duties, then the Marine already has ways for dealing with his or her own fears. Trust me: even if the Marine acts as if nothing is out of the ordinary, the Marine still has fears and concerns. By telling a Marine that you are scared or worried, you are giving them your own emotional burden to deal with in addition to theirs.
Make no mistake--Marines experience every emotion that a civilian experiences. Our training doesn't take our emotions away, it teaches us to ignore them in order to get the job done. There were four of us in the truck who, on our last mission, were involved in the two roll-overs. We disliked the canal enough after the first time, but after the second time we hated it. Could you tell how much we disliked the canal by the way we acted? Not in the slightest. But we did.
This same approach--ignoring the emotion or simply acknowledging it and moving on--is what we want from our friends and family. Yes, we know you're scared. But trust me: the fear of the unknown, the imagined danger, is always worse than the actual situation that endangers the Marine.
There's another aspect, too. Each Marine has, for one reason or another, decided that the benefits we receive from being deployed, whether material or immaterial, are worth the risk of injury or death that we accept because of that deployment. We knew what we were signing up for when we signed up for it. When someone tells me they are scared, what I hear is: "that risk is unacceptable to me." Frankly, my decision to become a Marine and deploy overseas is just that--my decision, and no one else's.
So what do Marines want to hear? If we don't want to hear that our friends and loved ones are concerned for our safety, then what do we want to hear from them? When I returned from my convoy where my vehicle had hit an IED, I walked into my office to find a note from my Platoon Sergeant. He explained when he walked in the door a couple minutes later that he had left the note because he wasn't sure he would be there when I returned, but I saved it anyway. The note was very simple. It said: Glad you're back. Good Job.
That's all that's required. Welcome back. Good job. How are you doing?
Again, make no mistake: we need the support of our friends and family while we are overseas. Particularly during my first two months in Afghanistan, when I was still adjusting to my new job and the overseas environment, I would read and re-read every letter I received. And the parts I liked best were the parts where Mom told me about her math classes, or when when one friends asked me if I was doing NaNoWriMo this years, or when another friend talked about riding her bike at lunch.
So, 65 and sunny sounds like a great day for a ride. Once I get back, you can bet I'll go with you.
I watched the National Geographic special with my family when I was there for Christmas. My dad was in India when it aired, so he taped it, and we all watched it together once we were back. Everything in the special was correct. Except... There was a part of the special where the reporter was visiting a unit that got hit. The narrative went something like this: "a week later, this same unit got hit again." The story spends all its time talking about the two times the unit was hit, but completely glosses over the week between where absolutely nothing happened. And this was one of the area's hot spots!
This is the fundamental flaw in the media's reporting of what happens in Afghanistan. For most Marines that deploy, there is much, much, much more sand, wind, heat, cold, boredom, walking around with 55lbs worth of gear on your back where you look at the same piece of ground that you've seen 50 times before than there is small arms fire or IEDs. Indeed, this is one of the largest challenges for Marine small-unit leaders: how to keep the Marines alert and non-complacent when nothing happens day after day after day, so they're not caught off guard on that one day when something does happen.
And then you have Marines such as myself, who go to Afghanistan and spend 95% or even 100% of their time sitting on a large base surrounded by thousands of other Marines, each of whom is equipped with a weapon and rounds. Can you imagine a safer place to be? Honestly, I am more likely to be killed or injured because I am hit by a car while riding my bike in Grants Pass than I am to be killed or injured while on such a base.
If you thought I was leaving off all the "dangerous parts" of my missions while I was blogging in country, that was largely not the case. I was on one mission where my convoy received enemy contact. We were all in armored vehicles at the time. No one was injured, except for some ringing ears. That went away after an hour, which means that no one was injured. I was on a separate convoy where we were in an area that had a high IED threat, and I was concerned we were going to hit an IED. We didn't.
Instead, we dug a couple vehicles out of some potholes in the desert. We came by around 1800 and the Marines told me they had been there since the morning. So they had been sitting there for at least eight hours, waiting for their unit to find someone with the assets to pull them out. They were several clicks away from the village, so they would see anyone coming a long ways out. Their unit knew where they were and could re-supply them with food and water indefinitely until the necessary assets were located. They could even be relieved by other Marines if it came down to it.
We had another mission that lasted about a week and a half where I thought there was a chance we might receive small arms fire, based on our analysis of the enemy situation before we left. We didn't. We had yet another mission of the same length where I didn't think we would be hit at all. We weren't. Can you detect a pattern here?
I know that my Battalion sent at least five Marines home while we were deployed, for various reasons. Only one of them was sent home because the Marine was injured from enemy contact. No one from our Battalion was killed while we were there, nor had anyone been killed in the Battalion that we relieved when we arrived in country.
I got two types of e-mails while I was in Afghanistan. One type said something to the effect that they were scared or worried about my safety, the other type was no different than the e-mails I received when I was stationed in Quantico and North Carolina. I can promise you one thing: no deployed Marine wants to read the first type of e-mail, regardless of how much danger they are (or aren't) in.
First of all, the person sending the e-mail isn't going to have an accurate picture how much danger the Marine is exposed to, and there is nothing the Marine can do to accurately present that picture to them. Second, if the Marine is not in much danger, you will only frustrate the Marine, that you don't understand what it's like. The Marine might even feel some guilt that there are Marines that are in danger while he or she is stationed in a safe location, and possibly some guilt because he is glad he is safe.
However, if the Marine is actually performing dangerous duties, then the Marine already has ways for dealing with his or her own fears. Trust me: even if the Marine acts as if nothing is out of the ordinary, the Marine still has fears and concerns. By telling a Marine that you are scared or worried, you are giving them your own emotional burden to deal with in addition to theirs.
Make no mistake--Marines experience every emotion that a civilian experiences. Our training doesn't take our emotions away, it teaches us to ignore them in order to get the job done. There were four of us in the truck who, on our last mission, were involved in the two roll-overs. We disliked the canal enough after the first time, but after the second time we hated it. Could you tell how much we disliked the canal by the way we acted? Not in the slightest. But we did.
This same approach--ignoring the emotion or simply acknowledging it and moving on--is what we want from our friends and family. Yes, we know you're scared. But trust me: the fear of the unknown, the imagined danger, is always worse than the actual situation that endangers the Marine.
There's another aspect, too. Each Marine has, for one reason or another, decided that the benefits we receive from being deployed, whether material or immaterial, are worth the risk of injury or death that we accept because of that deployment. We knew what we were signing up for when we signed up for it. When someone tells me they are scared, what I hear is: "that risk is unacceptable to me." Frankly, my decision to become a Marine and deploy overseas is just that--my decision, and no one else's.
So what do Marines want to hear? If we don't want to hear that our friends and loved ones are concerned for our safety, then what do we want to hear from them? When I returned from my convoy where my vehicle had hit an IED, I walked into my office to find a note from my Platoon Sergeant. He explained when he walked in the door a couple minutes later that he had left the note because he wasn't sure he would be there when I returned, but I saved it anyway. The note was very simple. It said: Glad you're back. Good Job.
That's all that's required. Welcome back. Good job. How are you doing?
Again, make no mistake: we need the support of our friends and family while we are overseas. Particularly during my first two months in Afghanistan, when I was still adjusting to my new job and the overseas environment, I would read and re-read every letter I received. And the parts I liked best were the parts where Mom told me about her math classes, or when when one friends asked me if I was doing NaNoWriMo this years, or when another friend talked about riding her bike at lunch.
So, 65 and sunny sounds like a great day for a ride. Once I get back, you can bet I'll go with you.
13 December 2010
Last Mission (ctd.)
Where we were? Right, cakes. So, my favorite cake is Black Magic chocolate cake, which you make with coffee, and it turns out all moist and yummy, and you put cream cheese frosting on it...wait, you didn't actually care about the cake? Right. Sorry.
The next morning, of course, we had to cross the same culvert again. Only this time, it was slightly smaller, and our driver was afraid of it. We put a Marine on the other side of the culvert to guide her across--a Sergeant with plenty of experience both driving and guiding heavy vehicles. There's a fairly steep, yet short, hill leading up to the culvert. Sitting in the back of the MRAP, I heard her rev the gas, but then as we approached the top of the hill, the gas didn't let up. I heard our VC, one of my Sergeants, yell, "left, left, left!" and then we were in the ditch again, this time on the opposite side of the ditch. A plastic wrapper that bundled up gatorade bottles floated across the vehicle towards my face and I caught it; I was just glad it wasn't something heavier.
Again, none of us were hurt. We climbed out of the vehicle, and fortunately this time we had brought the recovery vehicle with us, so we were back in business fairly quickly. Unfortunately, the road surface over the culvert was now too narrow for the minerollers, so it would require improvement before we continued regular traffic. We replaced the driver of my vehicle and continued on to the patrol base. The day's task was to start setting up the HESCO perimeter, but we sent a team out to repair the culvert. Every single time we passed over that culvert for the rest of the mission, everyone in my truck held their breath, but the repairs held, and there were no more trips into the ditch for the rest of the mission (for anyone).
That day was productive, as was the next. We got the perimeter set up, and a good chunk of it filled, and started running rock from the river down to the patrol base. The order had originally called for us to put down a foot of gravel and compact it so the Afghans could build barracks on it, but we didn't have the proper gravel available, so we hadn't brought the necessary heavy equipment to compact it. Our plan was to put down river rock and smooth it over the patrol base, so at least the Afghan trucks (little Toyota pick-ups) wouldn't get stuck in the moon dust inside the base.
The first day, the SeeBees were running their own heavy equipment up at the river, so we used them to fill the dump trucks transporting the gravel to the PB, and both of our TRAMs were available to work inside the base. We got quite a bit done that day, which prove very useful.
The first thing I heard about the problems the next day was on our way down to the patrol base the next morning when we got a call on the radio that one of our two TRAMs was overheating. The operator had turned the fan off to ford the river--standard procedure--but then when he had tried to turn it back on again it hadn't come back on. It was determined that the TRAM could make it the rest of the way into the patrol base, where we set the mechanics to trying to figure out what the problem was. After about an hour, they had isolated the problem to a leak in one of three hoses, all of which ran from the hydraulic oil reservoir into the transmission. Unfortunately, they couldn't tell which of the three it was without taking the entire armored cab off--something we didn't have the resources to do ourselves.
We sent our second TRAM out to the river to load the dump trucks with rock. Unfortunately, the SeaBees had started pulling rock from a different location that day, so with one TRAM broken, we were somewhat limited in what we could accomplish that day. That afternoon, we drove the broken TRAM back up to the FOB, where we talked to the mechanics stationed with the Battalion. They were quite helpful, and told us they would try to repair it that afternoon so we could use it the next morning. Unfortunately, when I went back in the evening, they told me that the TRAM's transmission was destroyed, and that we would need to take it back to Leatherneck for some heavy-duty maintenance before it would be usable.
Awesome. So, that TRAM was out for the rest of the mission. The maintenance shop did ask us if there was a day that they could lend us a TRAM. There was one day--we had the additional task of bringing some gear back to Camp Leatherneck, and the gear was at a separate patrol base about 35km away. We would need to send the TRAM we had with them so it could load the trucks. Fortunately, we didn't have to take the trucks there ourselves--we had found another CLP to escort the trucks to the base and back--but we would need a TRAM to continue work at the patrol base that day. The maintenance shop said it wouldn't be a problem to lend us a TRAM on Friday.
Wednesday afternoon. Everything was going fine. Most of the HESCO was up; we were just waiting to finish spreading the rock inside the patrol base before we put the last bit of HESCO up across the entrance. Early in the afternoon, one of my Corporals found me. He had been outside the patrol base, providing security for the trucks running gravel, and he showed me a BFT message from my Platoon Sergeant, who was also outside the wire. The message said that two of the dump trucks had been in a collision, and to send a corpsman back with my Corporal and call our company office to let them know what had happened.
The Marines were all okay, but one of the dump trucks was seriously damaged, and the other would need some repairs before we would be able to use it again. The cause of the accident was operator error, which made me selfishly glad that the Marines involved were attachments from another company (i.e. not any Marines I was directly responsible for).
I spent the next day doing paperwork related to the collision, as one of my Sergeants supervised the completion of the patrol base, and another Sergeant supervised the repairs. That's been one of the best things about this deployment--the number of outstanding Sergeants and Corporals I have. My job would have been 100 times harder if they hadn't done such a good job. Unfortunately, that evening when I talked to my company commander, he told me that the battalion commander was considering bringing us back from the mission early.
I begged him (in a dignified manner, of course) to convince the CO to let us stay out and finish the mission. One of the easiest ways to completely destroy a Marine's morale is to tell them they can't finish the mission. After all the work that my Marines had done, after all the difficulties they (and I) had worked so hard to overcome to finish the mission, not letting us finish would make it that much worse. He said to continue as we had planned for the next day, but be prepared to pull up stakes and leave on Saturday, instead of Monday as we'd originally planned.
The next morning we got the call--finish everything up and leave the next day. We threw up the last wall of HESCO and returned to the FOB to prepare the trucks for the 140km drive the next day. As you remember, we made it halfway the first day, spent the next day repairing trucks, and then made it back to Camp Leatherneck very, very late Monday evening. Or early Tuesday morning, if you prefer.
And then--here's the kicker. Most of the Marines had already been cut, but I was the last one to leave because I was finishing up some paperwork from the collision. When I finally was ready to head back to my tent on Tuesday morning just before 4am, I managed to get a Marine to drive me out there in a gator (golf cart), since it was over a mile, and I had a lot of gear with me. We were driving along, driving along, the tent was in sight...and then the gator died. Out of gas. One of the bus drivers saw us and stopped. They didn't have gas, but they offered to help. I sent the Marine back to our battalion lot and settled in for a nice 30-45 minute wait (in the cold!) while he tracked down gas and walked back out to the gator. Surprisingly, he was back in 20 minutes. The bus driver had waited for him and brought him back.
Trucks breaking down, trucks rolling into ditches, trucks colliding, all the other stuff I haven't told you about (because it would just take way too long)--all that is well and good, but the gator running out of gas? That was the icing on the cake.
The next morning, of course, we had to cross the same culvert again. Only this time, it was slightly smaller, and our driver was afraid of it. We put a Marine on the other side of the culvert to guide her across--a Sergeant with plenty of experience both driving and guiding heavy vehicles. There's a fairly steep, yet short, hill leading up to the culvert. Sitting in the back of the MRAP, I heard her rev the gas, but then as we approached the top of the hill, the gas didn't let up. I heard our VC, one of my Sergeants, yell, "left, left, left!" and then we were in the ditch again, this time on the opposite side of the ditch. A plastic wrapper that bundled up gatorade bottles floated across the vehicle towards my face and I caught it; I was just glad it wasn't something heavier.
Again, none of us were hurt. We climbed out of the vehicle, and fortunately this time we had brought the recovery vehicle with us, so we were back in business fairly quickly. Unfortunately, the road surface over the culvert was now too narrow for the minerollers, so it would require improvement before we continued regular traffic. We replaced the driver of my vehicle and continued on to the patrol base. The day's task was to start setting up the HESCO perimeter, but we sent a team out to repair the culvert. Every single time we passed over that culvert for the rest of the mission, everyone in my truck held their breath, but the repairs held, and there were no more trips into the ditch for the rest of the mission (for anyone).
That day was productive, as was the next. We got the perimeter set up, and a good chunk of it filled, and started running rock from the river down to the patrol base. The order had originally called for us to put down a foot of gravel and compact it so the Afghans could build barracks on it, but we didn't have the proper gravel available, so we hadn't brought the necessary heavy equipment to compact it. Our plan was to put down river rock and smooth it over the patrol base, so at least the Afghan trucks (little Toyota pick-ups) wouldn't get stuck in the moon dust inside the base.
The first day, the SeeBees were running their own heavy equipment up at the river, so we used them to fill the dump trucks transporting the gravel to the PB, and both of our TRAMs were available to work inside the base. We got quite a bit done that day, which prove very useful.
The first thing I heard about the problems the next day was on our way down to the patrol base the next morning when we got a call on the radio that one of our two TRAMs was overheating. The operator had turned the fan off to ford the river--standard procedure--but then when he had tried to turn it back on again it hadn't come back on. It was determined that the TRAM could make it the rest of the way into the patrol base, where we set the mechanics to trying to figure out what the problem was. After about an hour, they had isolated the problem to a leak in one of three hoses, all of which ran from the hydraulic oil reservoir into the transmission. Unfortunately, they couldn't tell which of the three it was without taking the entire armored cab off--something we didn't have the resources to do ourselves.
We sent our second TRAM out to the river to load the dump trucks with rock. Unfortunately, the SeaBees had started pulling rock from a different location that day, so with one TRAM broken, we were somewhat limited in what we could accomplish that day. That afternoon, we drove the broken TRAM back up to the FOB, where we talked to the mechanics stationed with the Battalion. They were quite helpful, and told us they would try to repair it that afternoon so we could use it the next morning. Unfortunately, when I went back in the evening, they told me that the TRAM's transmission was destroyed, and that we would need to take it back to Leatherneck for some heavy-duty maintenance before it would be usable.
Awesome. So, that TRAM was out for the rest of the mission. The maintenance shop did ask us if there was a day that they could lend us a TRAM. There was one day--we had the additional task of bringing some gear back to Camp Leatherneck, and the gear was at a separate patrol base about 35km away. We would need to send the TRAM we had with them so it could load the trucks. Fortunately, we didn't have to take the trucks there ourselves--we had found another CLP to escort the trucks to the base and back--but we would need a TRAM to continue work at the patrol base that day. The maintenance shop said it wouldn't be a problem to lend us a TRAM on Friday.
Wednesday afternoon. Everything was going fine. Most of the HESCO was up; we were just waiting to finish spreading the rock inside the patrol base before we put the last bit of HESCO up across the entrance. Early in the afternoon, one of my Corporals found me. He had been outside the patrol base, providing security for the trucks running gravel, and he showed me a BFT message from my Platoon Sergeant, who was also outside the wire. The message said that two of the dump trucks had been in a collision, and to send a corpsman back with my Corporal and call our company office to let them know what had happened.
The Marines were all okay, but one of the dump trucks was seriously damaged, and the other would need some repairs before we would be able to use it again. The cause of the accident was operator error, which made me selfishly glad that the Marines involved were attachments from another company (i.e. not any Marines I was directly responsible for).
I spent the next day doing paperwork related to the collision, as one of my Sergeants supervised the completion of the patrol base, and another Sergeant supervised the repairs. That's been one of the best things about this deployment--the number of outstanding Sergeants and Corporals I have. My job would have been 100 times harder if they hadn't done such a good job. Unfortunately, that evening when I talked to my company commander, he told me that the battalion commander was considering bringing us back from the mission early.
I begged him (in a dignified manner, of course) to convince the CO to let us stay out and finish the mission. One of the easiest ways to completely destroy a Marine's morale is to tell them they can't finish the mission. After all the work that my Marines had done, after all the difficulties they (and I) had worked so hard to overcome to finish the mission, not letting us finish would make it that much worse. He said to continue as we had planned for the next day, but be prepared to pull up stakes and leave on Saturday, instead of Monday as we'd originally planned.
The next morning we got the call--finish everything up and leave the next day. We threw up the last wall of HESCO and returned to the FOB to prepare the trucks for the 140km drive the next day. As you remember, we made it halfway the first day, spent the next day repairing trucks, and then made it back to Camp Leatherneck very, very late Monday evening. Or early Tuesday morning, if you prefer.
And then--here's the kicker. Most of the Marines had already been cut, but I was the last one to leave because I was finishing up some paperwork from the collision. When I finally was ready to head back to my tent on Tuesday morning just before 4am, I managed to get a Marine to drive me out there in a gator (golf cart), since it was over a mile, and I had a lot of gear with me. We were driving along, driving along, the tent was in sight...and then the gator died. Out of gas. One of the bus drivers saw us and stopped. They didn't have gas, but they offered to help. I sent the Marine back to our battalion lot and settled in for a nice 30-45 minute wait (in the cold!) while he tracked down gas and walked back out to the gator. Surprisingly, he was back in 20 minutes. The bus driver had waited for him and brought him back.
Trucks breaking down, trucks rolling into ditches, trucks colliding, all the other stuff I haven't told you about (because it would just take way too long)--all that is well and good, but the gator running out of gas? That was the icing on the cake.
09 December 2010
Last Mission
We should have taken our first clue from our first day, rather our first night, of our last mission in Afghanistan. Our first day went pretty well. Our task for the first day was to drive south about 140km to the FOB where we would be working out of for the next week and a half. I'd heard horror stories about the drive before, but our drive went fairly well. We found the hard-packed dirt and made it most of the way down in ten hours. Believe it or not, this is pretty good time for Afghanistan.
And then, about 10 clicks out, we hit some snags. The sun went down. Our lead vehicle had trouble finding the hard-packed dirt. Our trailers hauling heavy equipment started getting stuck. At one point the vehicle commander for the vehicle I was riding in told me we had been averaging 26 minutes per mile for the past five miles. And then we made it to the FOB--we could see the lights just over the hill. What we couldn't do was find the ECP, or entry control point, that would let us inside friendly lines. So we searched for it, and finally the last vehicle in our convoy radioed that he had found it.
Unfortunately, at that point, our three trailers hauling our TRAMs and the small bulldozer we had brought with us were a ways past the ECP, down the hill and by the Helmand River, which we would be crossing every day for the next week. We started turning vehicles around, and our first vehicle made it inside the FOB around 1900. Then the fun started. The road close to the river got pretty narrow, so one of the trailers ended up in a small tributary when it tried to turn around. One of the trailers succumbed to the elements and died entirely. Fortunately, we had brought the heavy-duty recovery truck with us, so we sent it out to drag the vehicles out of the river and back up the hill. By the time our last vehicle rolled in the ECP, it was a minute past midnight.
Annoying, but no big deal. We wouldn't need the trailers until we headed back to Leatherneck, so our mechanic had a while to fix the trucks. We started the next day by taking a look at the BOM (Bill of Materials), or the lumber and HESCO that we would be using for our mission. It wasn't in the greatest of shape. It had been delivered from Khandahar, to the east, by a civilian contractor, and they hadn't used common sense in its delivery.
The materials had been loaded up in Khandahar in dump trucks, so when they arrived at the FOB, they had simply lifted the beds of the trucks and dumped the materials on the deck. The lumber and HESCO had been mangled. The nails ended up in a head on the deck and had to be sorted out. Some of the items had been substitutes for what was requested. For example, my Sergeant liked to use orange spray paint to mark the lines of the patrol bases we built. Orange paint had been delivered in cans instead--completely useless to us. Razor wire was substituted for concertina wire.
Our mission was to build a PB (patrol base) for the Afghan Border Police, to give them their own base to work out of instead of them working out of the adjacent Marine Corps outpost they were currently using. We would build a HESCO perimeter, guard towers, a "hygiene" (head) area, and the original order called for a wire perimeter. We inventoried our materials on hand; they would be enough for what we needed. The razor wire wasn't an adequate substitute for the concertina wire we had requested, but the engineering officer stationed at the FOB said he had some c-wire we could borrow. We headed out to the existing patrol base to take a look at the site.
(We slept at the FOB and commuted to the PB every morning. We ended up fording the Helmand River every morning and evening, and there were a couple of canals we crossed along the way, but it worked out pretty well. There was a real chow hall at the FOB, and showers, and an office to work from. There was supposed to be a tent to sleep in, but because the Battalion was being replaced, there was an extra Battalion currently at the base, and all of the transient billeting was occupied. Still, it was better than staying at the PB.)
So we arrived at the PB after lunch. The site survey had been done by someone else. We had been assured that there was enough dirt on site to fill the HESCO, but we had failed to properly assess the amount of work required to level the site. We got on site only to find out the small bulldozer we had brought would be completely inadequate to complete the job in a reasonable time frame. We were in luck, though. When we got back to the FOB that night, I talked to the SeaBees stationed at the FOB, and they said we could borrow their bulldozer the next day. Score.
So we headed out the next day with an extra bulldozer and managed to get the site leveled. It wasn't perfect, but part of the order called for putting down gravel inside the PB--we would level the deck when we spread the gravel. We started heading back to the FOB. The Sergeant that had been my VC (vehicle commander) was in a different vehicle, so I was in the VC seat (front passenger seat). One of the culverts crossing one of the canals was fairly narrow, and the driver of my vehicle hit it wrong as we went over it. Too far to the right, and then slowed down when the rear right side of the vehicle sank. I told her to crank the wheel and hit the gas, but it did no good. The vehicle started to tip over to the right.
I yelled back at my gunner to get inside the vehicle--the gunner's turret is the most dangerous place to be in a vehicle, especially in a roll-over. Fortunately, he had already crouched down inside the vehicle and braced himself. We rolled slowly. Once it felt like we were more or less stable, I told the radio operator to radio back to the vehicle behind us and make sure we were stable. I didn't want anybody getting hurt as they climbed out. It was too late. My platoon sergeant, the VC for the vehicle behind us, was already on top of the vehicle, now the driver's side, trying to get the door open. It took two of them to open the door, but then he was yelling down into the vehicle to make sure everybody was okay. I assured him we were okay, and other Marines helped the four of us climb out of the vehicle.
We hadn't brought our heavy-duty recovery truck with us that day, so we called back to the FOB and waited until it came. It took the operator a couple of tries to pull our vehicle out of the ditch it had slid into, but finally it was out. We examined the culvert. It had been built by filling HESCO placed on top of concrete. When our vehicle drove too close to the edge, the HESCO had burst, starting the roll-over. The firm ground left was smaller than it had been, but it was still just barely wide enough for our heavy trucks. The truck itself was in fairly good shape. The stairs were bent, a couple panels were bent, and dirt had been packed into the crevices on the right side of the truck, but it still ran, and the armor hadn't been damaged.
We drove back to the FOB. I hopped out near the entrance so I could head to the office the SeaBees worked out of and thank them for the use of their bulldozer. As soon as I did so, I found myself staring into the barrel of my rifle. A buckle on my sling had worked itself loose and fallen off, so my rifle was now connected to my sling at only one point, instead of the typical two. I took the sling off and carried my rifle by hand--a broken sling was just icing on the cake.
What I didn't know at the time was that we hadn't even put the cake in the oven yet. (To be continued...)
And then, about 10 clicks out, we hit some snags. The sun went down. Our lead vehicle had trouble finding the hard-packed dirt. Our trailers hauling heavy equipment started getting stuck. At one point the vehicle commander for the vehicle I was riding in told me we had been averaging 26 minutes per mile for the past five miles. And then we made it to the FOB--we could see the lights just over the hill. What we couldn't do was find the ECP, or entry control point, that would let us inside friendly lines. So we searched for it, and finally the last vehicle in our convoy radioed that he had found it.
Unfortunately, at that point, our three trailers hauling our TRAMs and the small bulldozer we had brought with us were a ways past the ECP, down the hill and by the Helmand River, which we would be crossing every day for the next week. We started turning vehicles around, and our first vehicle made it inside the FOB around 1900. Then the fun started. The road close to the river got pretty narrow, so one of the trailers ended up in a small tributary when it tried to turn around. One of the trailers succumbed to the elements and died entirely. Fortunately, we had brought the heavy-duty recovery truck with us, so we sent it out to drag the vehicles out of the river and back up the hill. By the time our last vehicle rolled in the ECP, it was a minute past midnight.
Annoying, but no big deal. We wouldn't need the trailers until we headed back to Leatherneck, so our mechanic had a while to fix the trucks. We started the next day by taking a look at the BOM (Bill of Materials), or the lumber and HESCO that we would be using for our mission. It wasn't in the greatest of shape. It had been delivered from Khandahar, to the east, by a civilian contractor, and they hadn't used common sense in its delivery.
The materials had been loaded up in Khandahar in dump trucks, so when they arrived at the FOB, they had simply lifted the beds of the trucks and dumped the materials on the deck. The lumber and HESCO had been mangled. The nails ended up in a head on the deck and had to be sorted out. Some of the items had been substitutes for what was requested. For example, my Sergeant liked to use orange spray paint to mark the lines of the patrol bases we built. Orange paint had been delivered in cans instead--completely useless to us. Razor wire was substituted for concertina wire.
Our mission was to build a PB (patrol base) for the Afghan Border Police, to give them their own base to work out of instead of them working out of the adjacent Marine Corps outpost they were currently using. We would build a HESCO perimeter, guard towers, a "hygiene" (head) area, and the original order called for a wire perimeter. We inventoried our materials on hand; they would be enough for what we needed. The razor wire wasn't an adequate substitute for the concertina wire we had requested, but the engineering officer stationed at the FOB said he had some c-wire we could borrow. We headed out to the existing patrol base to take a look at the site.
(We slept at the FOB and commuted to the PB every morning. We ended up fording the Helmand River every morning and evening, and there were a couple of canals we crossed along the way, but it worked out pretty well. There was a real chow hall at the FOB, and showers, and an office to work from. There was supposed to be a tent to sleep in, but because the Battalion was being replaced, there was an extra Battalion currently at the base, and all of the transient billeting was occupied. Still, it was better than staying at the PB.)
So we arrived at the PB after lunch. The site survey had been done by someone else. We had been assured that there was enough dirt on site to fill the HESCO, but we had failed to properly assess the amount of work required to level the site. We got on site only to find out the small bulldozer we had brought would be completely inadequate to complete the job in a reasonable time frame. We were in luck, though. When we got back to the FOB that night, I talked to the SeaBees stationed at the FOB, and they said we could borrow their bulldozer the next day. Score.
So we headed out the next day with an extra bulldozer and managed to get the site leveled. It wasn't perfect, but part of the order called for putting down gravel inside the PB--we would level the deck when we spread the gravel. We started heading back to the FOB. The Sergeant that had been my VC (vehicle commander) was in a different vehicle, so I was in the VC seat (front passenger seat). One of the culverts crossing one of the canals was fairly narrow, and the driver of my vehicle hit it wrong as we went over it. Too far to the right, and then slowed down when the rear right side of the vehicle sank. I told her to crank the wheel and hit the gas, but it did no good. The vehicle started to tip over to the right.
I yelled back at my gunner to get inside the vehicle--the gunner's turret is the most dangerous place to be in a vehicle, especially in a roll-over. Fortunately, he had already crouched down inside the vehicle and braced himself. We rolled slowly. Once it felt like we were more or less stable, I told the radio operator to radio back to the vehicle behind us and make sure we were stable. I didn't want anybody getting hurt as they climbed out. It was too late. My platoon sergeant, the VC for the vehicle behind us, was already on top of the vehicle, now the driver's side, trying to get the door open. It took two of them to open the door, but then he was yelling down into the vehicle to make sure everybody was okay. I assured him we were okay, and other Marines helped the four of us climb out of the vehicle.
We hadn't brought our heavy-duty recovery truck with us that day, so we called back to the FOB and waited until it came. It took the operator a couple of tries to pull our vehicle out of the ditch it had slid into, but finally it was out. We examined the culvert. It had been built by filling HESCO placed on top of concrete. When our vehicle drove too close to the edge, the HESCO had burst, starting the roll-over. The firm ground left was smaller than it had been, but it was still just barely wide enough for our heavy trucks. The truck itself was in fairly good shape. The stairs were bent, a couple panels were bent, and dirt had been packed into the crevices on the right side of the truck, but it still ran, and the armor hadn't been damaged.
We drove back to the FOB. I hopped out near the entrance so I could head to the office the SeaBees worked out of and thank them for the use of their bulldozer. As soon as I did so, I found myself staring into the barrel of my rifle. A buckle on my sling had worked itself loose and fallen off, so my rifle was now connected to my sling at only one point, instead of the typical two. I took the sling off and carried my rifle by hand--a broken sling was just icing on the cake.
What I didn't know at the time was that we hadn't even put the cake in the oven yet. (To be continued...)
02 December 2010
Camp Leatherneck special
Most of you probably already saw this on facebook, but for those who didn't, the National Geographic channel will be running a special on Camp Leatherneck on Sunday evening.
Information on Camp Leatherneck Special
I saw about ten minutes of the special a couple days ago, and from what I saw, it's pretty accurate and definitely worth watching if you want a glimpse of what my life has been like for the past seven months. I didn't do much foot patrolling--most of our patrols were mounted--but as far as the environment goes, it's spot on.
I'm in Kyrgyztan right now; we leave for the states tomorrow evening, landing in California on Saturday. We land in Eugene on Wednesday afternoon, and then get a four-day weekend directly afterwards (back in Eugene on Monday morning). I'll be hitting up both Grants Pass and Portland but haven't decided on which city to go to first. Any suggestions?
Information on Camp Leatherneck Special
I saw about ten minutes of the special a couple days ago, and from what I saw, it's pretty accurate and definitely worth watching if you want a glimpse of what my life has been like for the past seven months. I didn't do much foot patrolling--most of our patrols were mounted--but as far as the environment goes, it's spot on.
I'm in Kyrgyztan right now; we leave for the states tomorrow evening, landing in California on Saturday. We land in Eugene on Wednesday afternoon, and then get a four-day weekend directly afterwards (back in Eugene on Monday morning). I'll be hitting up both Grants Pass and Portland but haven't decided on which city to go to first. Any suggestions?
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