My New Small, Small Town...

I made it to the FOB after another long day of travel. The only way to travel around here is by helicopter, so I rode a Chinook out of BAF, touching down at the LZs in a network of firebases and combat outposts spread throughout the mountains. I felt pretty safe because the Chinook bristles with guns: two door gunners and a tail gunner. I would not want to risk shooting at one of these from the ground if I were Taliban—you would be sure to get a face full of 7.62mm from at least one door gunner and the tail gunner as they flew by. Sorry, but yes I had that thought. The helocopter flies through high passes only a few hundred feet above the forest, I suppose due to elevation. It is a little unnerving.

In flight on Chinook:


The trip was long and cramped but I can now say that I’ve been in Kabul and have been right on the Pakistan border (it looks just like Afghanistan, which looks just like southern Nevada, so really, if you’ve been to southern Nevada, you’ve pretty much seen what central Afghanistan and western Pakistan look like.

Upon arrival, one other passenger (a USAF personellist) and I madly dragged three or four hundred pounds of gear off the bird while the Chinook idled on the ground. The rotor wash and the heat of the exhaust is impressive, blasting you with superheated gas every time you get into the rear of the aircraft. We got a few hundred feet from the two Chinooks and they left—on the ground for no more than three or four minutes. The helo LZ is just a big open area covered with fist sized stones and weeds.

The air terminal is a small wooden building on the edge of the field, and I stood in line to sign in my arrival behind a few Afghan men who had just come in on a Jingle Air helo—they fly cargo and locals in big Russian helicopters (unarmed) from place to place, and make easy targets for Taliban or Al Qaeda with RPGs, as they fly low and slow through the mountain passes.

The base is very small in terms of both size and population and is structured around two small forts, complete with towers, six foot thick walls, and small outbuildings that hug the inner walls. It’s very rough and tumble, nothing fancy. One of the forts was built and used by the British in the 1800’s and was subsequently used by US Army Special Forces during Operation Anaconda. For a good read on the recent military history of the area, pick up “Not a Good Day to Die” by Sean Naylor. It gives a good overview of our initial involvement in this province and details the drama of Anaconda, which played out in the mountains that I look out on to the south.

The mission here is diverse in that the Provincial Reconstruction Team (PRT) is based here for this province. They build schools, improve roads, mentor locals in agriculture, construction, medicine. They funnel money into local infrastructure. It is run by the military but only because the security situation is too poor for civilian organizations to come here alone. Civilian aid workers would be kidnapped, beheaded, or just shot and blown up. The military provides these services under the relative safety of military accoutrements such as body armor, armored vehicles, and heavy weapons. I feel for these guys because they go out to help the locals but constantly worry about IEDs, ambushes, or getting assassinated during meetings.

The place has the feel of a small town, with a nice mixture of civilians, Army, and Air Force. I think it would be rough with just Army, as they are generally an uncivilized lot, but that’s as it should be. There are a lot of Afghans who work on the base, mostly as laborers, but there are also interpreters, ANA soldiers, and a few small shops run out of cargo containers, selling local rugs and jewelry and a lot of other crap that is probably from sweat shops in Pakistan. While walking around the base perimeter yesterday I was invited for tea in one of their hooch’s, but I declined (at least I think that’s what he wanted). I need some time to get comfortable here before I break bread with the locals. I’m still at the point that I have a vague but controllable anxiety when I am near the Entry Control Point (ECP). Just need some time…

New OIC of Combat Stress Clinic:

The views are pretty good, with mountains on all sides, and I can see the ruins of an old fortress on a hill top, supposedly built or conquered by Alexander the Great when he attempted to conquer this area.

Combat Stress Clinic:

I’ve met a nice mixture of people so far and it has everything I need—so I think I’ll be okay. I think I can make this feel like home for six months.