Note to Self: No More Hitching Rides with the Engineers

I finally got to leave the FOB—my first view in two weeks of something other than the inside of this FOB. It was a short-notice request by medical personnel at our sister FOB due to two mysterious incidents that resulted in serious medical problems and medevac to Germany for two Soldiers. I wasn't sure why I was going but I went anyway.

 

By networking and talking to people I managed to hitch a ride on an early morning convoy—they had an extra seat in the trailing vehicle of a four truck operation.

 

I stuffed all 77 inches of myself into the backseat of the Humvee. This was made more difficult by body armor, Kevlar helmet, pack, and sidearm. Wedged in, combat door locks locked, we rolled out and I got my first view of "outside the wire".

 

I felt pretty secure, gazing out at the trash-littered moonscape through 2 inches of ballistic glass set in a 500 pound steel door. Giant feral dogs casually walking down the side of road, kids just standing around, watching. Six men with chest length beards sat stuffed into a Toyota Corolla, all on cell phones, staring.

 

A coalition convoy basically bulls its way through traffic, all cars pull off to the side of the road and the US vehicles swing wide to avoid them, across both sides of the road, alternating their speed; fast then slow, slow, fast, faster, slow, a tactic to throw off the timing of command-detonated IEDs that rely on precise timing to trigger the charge at the center of the vehicle.

 

We drove down about a half mile of unmaintained pavement and then rumbled down several miles of rutted, washed out dirt road, through a small village, past walled compounds before reaching the entry control point for the FOB. It was uneventful, still early in the morning, but I was happy to drive into the US compound.

 

I spent the day at the FOB, seeing a few patients who were referred by the medics and I did a one hour debrief with a small unit that was affected by one of the incidents. They were appreciative and I prepared for the second unit, feeling like I was doing a good job.

 

The commander of the second unit basically blew me off and said, "My guys don't really talk about their feelings." I said, "Do you know what a debrief is?" He said "no" and walked away.  I didn't take it personally, but I felt bad for his troops. This young, dim Captain had made up his mind. I didn't pursue the issue further.

 

I was expecting to stay the night but I was done by 3:30pm and I started to look around for a ride back to my FOB. Someone told me that the engineers go over at 4:30. The Mayor still didn't have a place for me to stay anyway…

 

I found the engineers office and I asked a guy at the desk if they were going back to the other FOB and if so, could I get a ride. He said "Sure." Right at 4:30, five guys strode out of the office in full battle rattle. There were two Soldiers and three civilians.

 

Well, it turned out that the "convoy" back consisted of a Ford Excursion and a Humvee. The Master Sergeant waved me over to the Humvee (whew) and I got into the  left rear seat (rear right is over the fuel tank, by the way). I quickly noted that there was no gunner, the gunners hatch sealed up. Maybe we will hook up with a few more vehicles before we leave the ECP? I thought as we pulled away. I was under the impression that the current standing order was that there was a four vehicle minimum in this area. "Ya, there is", the Master Sergeant said, "...but we're special."

 

As we rolled out of the ECP there were no other vehicles. I observed that there were two guys in the Excursion. One of them was armed with a 9mm pistol. There were four in our vehicle; one guy with an M-4 and me with my 9mm (I had left my M-16 locked up in my hut in the interest of traveling light). I noted our degree of armament not because I am a gun enthusiast, but because I suddenly found myself considering all sorts of possible extenuating circumstances, and in Afghanistan unfortunately, guns can be helpful when extricating oneself from extenuating circumstances.

 

(Again, I was struck by the strangeness of being concerned about something like not having enough automatic weapons-- am I dreaming this? What a striking shift in reality, that I think about stuff like that.)

 

Late in the afternoon there were more people out; swarms of children. Little boys and little sandy haired girls in colorful clothing rushing out of what looked like ancient Anasazi ruins—mud buildings in disrepair, surrounded by trash, broken TVs, piles of firewood (where they get that, I have no idea).

 

Our two vehicle convoy banged over the dirt roads. There was no conversation, no after-work banter. Was there anxiety in the truck or was it just me? I was sure anxious, especially after coming over in the morning with four gun-trucks and 20 heavily armed infantrymen.

 

There were more huge dogs (the biggest dogs I have ever seen) and men just standing around (never saw a woman). Some kids gave thumbs up and an equal number threw trash and rocks.

 

One child, about 10 years old, held to his shoulder a toy RPG launcher made out of white Styrofoam, and aimed it at our Humvee, popping it up and down with make-believe recoil as he fired make-believe explosive rounds at our two trucks.

 

It was a little disconcerting, for various reasons, not the least of which is because real RPGs get shot at our guys everyday. I know that kid doesn't watch too much violent TV, but he was born under Taliban rule and has grown up during the NATO occupation of Afghanistan. I wondered what his future holds, what the future of all those little kids holds.

 

I pointed the RPG kid out to the guys in my truck and they looked over. One dead-panned, "Ya, they love us."