Introduction to the short story "In a Far Country" by Jack London

"When a man journeys into a far country, he must be prepared to forget many of the things he has learned, and to acquire such customs as are inherent with existence in the new land; he must abandon the old ideals and the old gods, and oftentimes he must reverse the very codes by which his conduct has hitherto been shaped. To those who have the protean faculty of adaptability, the novelty of such change may even be a source of pleasure; but to those who happen to be hardened to the ruts in which they were created, the pressure of the altered environment is unbearable, and they chafe in body and in spirit under the new restrictions which they do not understand. This chafing is bound to act and react, producing divers evils and leading to various misfortunes. It were better for the man who cannot fit himself to the new groove to return to his own country; if he delay too long, he will surely die."


My job: helping people (myself included) develop that "protean faculty of adaptability"

Temporary Break

I just got back from another mission and I am now at my FOB, hopefully for a few weeks at least. I have now visited every FOB and combat outpost in my area of responsibility.

 

I am going to take a temporary break from blogging, until I sort some things out in my head. I'm going to keep writing, just not publish for a while, maybe a week, maybe more, maybe less.

 

I am walking a thin line between sharing information and descriptions that need to be shared and also sharing too much of myself right as this all happens. It really comes down to the fact that I can't write about what I am experiencing without writing about grief and fear and I don't want my family and friends to go on the grief and fear ride with me.

 

Suddenly this past week it all seemed to get more serious-- maybe it was just a switch that was thrown, maybe it was a combination of seeing shot-up guys, this last mission, being pissed off at the Army. It's not like it wasn't serious before, but I passed through some portal this week.

 

As I told my NCO, I don't have acute stress disorder or anything. I just had a few nights where I would have quit if I could. I would have dropped all my shit in the dust and walked away, back to my family and I would have never looked back to this place.

 

But then I woke up in the morning and, since everything looks better in the morning, I realized that I need to keep going.

 

I don't want people to worry about me because my job is pretty damn safe compared to ther people's jobs, it's just that I am going through my own struggles with my job and its tasks and duties. I'm pretty durable and I just need some time-off from the blog. I'm going to write and see what happens-- post some stuff when I'm ready.

 

I'm closing down on the halfway mark-- about one month away-- I need to focus on getting to that mark and then re-orient myself to finishing the second half of this.

 

Thanks for all your support. People have been great and I appreciate hearing from you via email and on the blog. Thank you!

 

 

Getting Up Close

Sometimes it's easy to forget that I am in Afghanistan. I can lose myself in talk about my children, plans for the future, favorite pizza places… You do that to disassociate and feel a little normal.

Inevitably the reverie is broken up by the dull thud of an explosion, near or far, or cracking sounds of gunfire. Mostly those sounds are not immediately meaningful—it means that violence is taking place somewhere else: an Afghan checkpoint is being attacked, the Taliban are randomly and inaccurately lobbing ordnance at Afghan or US posts, someone is test-firing or engaging in target practice, so on and so forth.

I have developed the standard hyperawareness of those sounds. I hear something and suddenly focus all my attention on identifying the source. Was that a mortar? Was that the coffee maker? Was that the next door neighbor slamming his door? I get mildly anxious and I have this strong desire to classify the sound as benign or otherwise. I think that's pretty standard, and I see people jump all the time at loud sounds—from rookies like me to battle-hardened vets.

I got a lot of dirty looks the other day when I accidentally slammed the cooler door in the chow hall.

Football season has started now and that means Autumn and Ramadan. Cooler temperatures are starting to prevail. People are staring to wear jackets in the evening and early morning.

I'm back from a four day mission—a visit to a combat outpost in a small town that is known as a Taliban stronghold. I didn't post to the blog because there were only four public computers at the outpost and a constant queue—I used my 20-30 minutes on the computer to check my fantasy football lineup, read the NY Times and check my personal email. It was a busy trip and I'm tired, but not from being a combat stress doc.

The second morning of my trip started off nice—coffee and conversation with the medic. We were talking primary care medicine and discussing how to motivate people to make lifestyle changes that are so important in the management of chronic disease when our talk was broken up by a distant explosion.

Fifteen minutes later Afghan police roll up to the medical facility in a Toyota Hi Lux. A badly bleeding Afghan soldier is sitting up in the back of the truck--- he had been blown up while attempting to disarm an explosive device at the base of a cellular phone tower. His face is a mask of dirt and blood. His eyes are piercing and intense but he seems to look right through as I carried him on a litter into the aid station, a trail of blood leading up the ramp and across the floor, splashing on combat boots and the plywood walls.

I'm not much of a blood and guts guy—not at all interested—but I saw a bit more than I wanted. The man had been pulverized by an exploding anti-tank mine. Despite the carnage wreaked upon his body he was remarkably calm. It was bloody, organized chaos, the US medical team doing great work to stabilize and package the guy for a medevac. I was drafted into the medical team just because I was there… and everyone pitches in.

After the medevac we were left with cleaning up the chaos—the detritus of a medical emergency, trash and blood everywhere, the heavy smell of body odor and blood in the small room.

Had a nice lunch and I was able to easily eat a hot dog with ketchup, and two peanut butter cookies. I went to the MWR for some emails… thought about maybe taking a nap or watching a DVD…

A boom and then another but these were closer than the morning explosion. Soldiers in the MWR room were playing "Medal of Honor" on the Xbox.

No one really moved until the machine-gun fire started, but then things moved rapidly.

I quickly decided to log out of my email account (!) while next to me a guy was madly trying to finish an email—typing while standing up and pushing his chair away. Small explosions and an increasingly loud staccato of gunfire ratcheted up my heart rate.

I trotted out, not liking the sounds I was hearing outside the walls of the outpost. Not a hard decision to put on my Kevlar and my body armor and, yes, at that moment I was happy I could sling the M16 rather than just having the M9.

What the hell was going on? Were we being attacked? Outside of my hut people were running around, donning armor.

I couldn't decide where to go—the bunker? command center?—so I went to the medical aid station and decided I would just follow their cue…

They were happy to see me at the aid station. "Hey Doc—get some gloves on we've got casualties coming in."

Before long, wounded Afghan soldiers started rolling in—gunshot wounds, shrapnel (the booms were RPGs in the village). I fell into a catch-all role of fetching things, assisting with movement of stretchers and patients, keeping armed Afghans out of the aid station. I saw what an AK 47 round does to a man's abdomen when it enters one side and goes out the other. One guy took a round to the stomach but it didn't come out—the PA explored the hole with a gloved finger but quickly retracted his digit when he touched intestines.

The scene was played out to a soundtrack of machine-gun fire. Again, bloody but organized chaos followed by a Blackhawk medevac.

I kept my body armor on for at least twenty minutes after the gunfire stopped… I figured my wife would have approved of that, and I didn't care what people thought.

For the second time in the day I cleaned blood off the floor, picked up empty morphine auto-injectors, wrappers from Israeli bandages, and bloody latex gloves. Tracked all around the floor were bloody imprints of lugged Vibram boot soles.

I won't get into the details, but suffice to say that we (US personnel on the outpost) had nothing to do with the firefight. The storyline was something out of a classic western—two gangs having a shootout in the town square while the innocents hide, trying to avoid stray bullets.

Forgive me this statement; I'm shooting from the hip but sometimes I can't help but think that it's their country; let's just give it all back to them, every dusty, fly-covered, Islamic inch of it.

Driving back to my FOB we pass through multiple villages. It's later afternoon and there are small children everywhere along the road. The littlest children are dressed in bright, sequined fabrics. Big brothers carry little sisters and watch as our armored vehicles rumble down the road. I watch a little girl, maybe 3 or 4 years old, wave at us, give us a thumbs up. She spins in a circle and dances by the side of the dirt road and then waves at the next US truck that passes. I see another dark haired boy come out of a hut, he's about the age of my son and he waves and gives us a thumbs up, a smile lighting his dirty face.

It breaks my heart. I see my children's faces.

If we must stay here, to build schools and bridges, grow businesses, train police, kill Taliban and Al Qaeda. If we sacrifice under Afghan skies, let it be for these small children who dance in the streets in the eye of a hurricane of violence and poverty.

Enemy Dogs

Apparently the FOB dogs qualify as "America's Enemies". There are the two usual suspects, my officially named "FOB Dog" and another, smaller, scruffier, short-legged white dog. Yesterday a new dog made an appearance. He looked like a combination of a wolfhound and a greyhound. He was light brown, rail-thin, with prominent ribs. He had a slight limp-- something was wrong with one his back legs. I noticed him as I walked out for my afternoon PT. I came close to getting my camera but was too lazy to walk back.

He watched me closely and moved off to one side. At about the same time I arrived a senior NCO walked over and was scrutinizing the dog. The dog eyed both of us. The NCO fingered his 9mm and said "I gotta get close enough for a good shot."
I said, "You're going to shoot him?"

I had a sinking feeling in my gut and I had to walk away. I didn't want to see and hear the poor dog being shot. Another NCO with an M4 walked over and charged the weapon. The dog had apparently been shot at before because as soon as he heard the the bolt rack a round into the NCO's gun he started running.

The dog wasn't dumb. I guess you don't survive long as a dumb dog in Afghanistan but about 15 minutes later I saw a group of Soldiers walking towards the corner of the FOB where the dog had disappeared. Shortly after that I heard three shots. Apparently whoever did the deed wasn't a very good shot.

I don't know why that dog was executed but the others are tolerated. He was larger and more haggard looking, maybe that was it. I dont know why they don't just seal up the holes and keep the dogs from getting into the FOB. They do cause problems-- they knock over trash cans and spread garbage around.

Most people don't seem to care about shooting dogs so I don't know what makes me different. I have observed that Soldiers seem eager to shoot the dogs-- like they want to kill something and jump at the opportunity for sanctioned killing.

A Soldier's job is to be prepared to kill, so it isn't too bizarre to imagine that they are eager to kill. Maybe I idealize the concept of the warrior who loathes killing and only uses lethal force when truly necessary. I wonder if it is true that first person shooter games numb a person's sensitivity to violence-- a lot of these guys go on missions all day and then come back and play Xbox 360 all night. Ready to shoot all day and then virtual shooting all night. It must be exciting for them to shoot a dog. I'm serious.

It's like maybe they are titillated by the potential to unleash lethal force, which makes them eager to charge their weapon and get clearance to destroy. At some level I understand that but my understanding is still hampered by own goal of avoiding any situation that would involve me even thinking about firing my weapon. I'll do it if it comes up, but as a non-combatant I will make every effort to minimize my chances...

This all taps into one aspect of my job here-- that we take anger seriously, whether it is towards the self or others, because lethal force is always two quick movements away.

Odd Combination of Pride and Frustration

Kind of a second lowpoint in the deployment for me the past day, although I can't put a finger on why. I'm only at around two months here at the FOB but when I look back at the spring and summer I realize that all of May and parts of April, June and July were eaten up by training and preparation for deployment. It seems like it has been a long time since I last lived my normal life-- Deployment has been dominating my thoughts and daily life for most of this year and will continue to for the rest of the year. Mostly I'm fine, but I really have to avoid looking at pictures of my family...

I find it interesting that a not insignificant number of people here really like the deployment, or at least don't mind it. These young men and women like their jobs, aren't married, don't have kids, don't pay rent or pay for food and they make extra pay while they are here. Not a bad deal for a 20 year old. This is why a professional, volunteer Army works-- there are people who want these jobs and are willing to do what it takes to get through 12 and 15 month deployments (although there seems to be universal agreement that 15 month deployments are not good for anyone).

This is an important point, because people continue to join the Army and re-enlist knowing that these one year deployments are now standard fare. Frankly I'm impressed that people do it, but also thankful that there are people who want to serve in this manner. It isn't for everyone and some people know this ahead of time and thus avoid joining any branch of the military, other people find out that it isn't for them half way through their first deployment...

Nevertheless I am constantly surprised when I hear the statistic that only 1% of the US population serves in the military. I'm not sure how accurate that is, but it causes a combination of pride and frustration; I'm proud that I am one of those few and frustrated that more people do not volunteer.

That sums up my experience of military service though: an odd combination of pride and frustration. Half the time I rue the day I raised my right hand and the other half I feel confident that I will be proud of my service for the rest of my life.

Great Climbing?

It's a shame that there are people who like to dismember Westerners here, because this place has some spectacular geography-- of course there is the Hindu Kush but there is great rock everywhere here. It would make for a great climbing destination.

Naps

Our security detail waiting for us to be done with the visit. This is a true demonstration of the flexibility of a Soldier: if you get downtime you take advantage, even if it means sleeping in the dirt under your truck. The shade is nice and cool.

Tera Pass

The road over the Tera pass connects Paktia and Logar provinces. It was recently paved during the reconstruction effort here in Afghanistan. It's pretty nice pavement and seemingly unscarred by IEDs, unlike the new highway between Kandahar and Kabul that is apparently just a mess, constantly bombed by the Taliban and company. The top of the pass is around 9000 ft. The traffic going over was pretty light. You'll notice that terrain looks bone dry. Despite this there are multiple springs dotting in this area-- fresh water just popping out of dry rocks.

Road Trip Photos

Outside of Gardez City. The roads here are terrible, in general, but local drivers are very respectful of the convoys.



Driving through Gardez City reminded me of my few visits to Mexican border towns. Lots of garbage, open air shops, clusters of people sitting around, rundown buildings and beater vehicles.

More Photos on the Way

The upload time is too long this afternoon-- I'll need to try later. One thing I really miss is fast internet. I'm starting to think that a 45 second page load is pretty damn fast.

Another Mission

My second mission this week came and went uneventfully. It was short notice and the commander specifically requested my presence on the trip—a quick visit to a nearby FOB, up towards Logar Province. It is a small outpost out in the desert at the bottom of Tera Pass (which we drove over).

I rode in the relatively bombproof confines of an RG31 MRAP, second truck in a four vehicle convoy. It is an uncomfortable ride, even on pavement, so I can’t imagine a few hours on nasty dirt roads. That said, I will always celebrate the MRAP over the Humvee.

In contrast with my ride with the engineers we were heavily armed this time. These guys roll on trips loaded for bear: every vehicle has a 50 cal or a Mark 19 grenade launcher and these are backed up by squad automatic weapons and personal weapons. On this subject, I've taken to bringing my M16 on trips with me, using the following logic: if I am in the unlikely situation of actually needing a weapon, I will want the rifle over the pistol in pretty much every scenario.

When we got there we met the FOB commander and the platoon leader and were briefed on the state of things, and then went out and mixed with his platoon. I did my combat stress officer duty and talked with the guys, checked in with the platoon sergeant, talked with the medics, talked with the FOB commander. Everything seemed to be going well other than boredom, and problems getting flights in and out.

On the way back I had a perspective shifting conversation with an interpreter who was riding in with me. I asked him about himself and he shared that he had a wife and two small sons in another city. He talked about growing up during the Soviet-Afghan war and how he wants his sons to grow up in peace. “I don’t care about my life, I do everything for my sons.”

Maybe I’ll post more on that later, but it put a human face on the war for me. Sometimes I feel myself slipping into an uncaring place, just wanting to get the hell out of here and leave this place behind. Listening to people’s stories gives color and meaning to the mission again. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not getting all idealistic, but talking with him made me care.

Leaving Jaji

The Left Captain at the LZ-- hoping the Chinook crew chief lets him on!

Deliverance

The bird that came to fly me back to my FOB-- it was delivering a few guys and a generator from BAF. It was almost full but they let me on!



The cushion of air that these things create with their dual rotors is impressive. It pushes you around and throws up heat, rocks and sand.

Rules and Easy Step By Step Instructions

I thought this was amusing-- very specific guidelines on how to use the latrine. These are posted inside each toilet stall. This was taken seriously too-- no one wants to mess with the first sergeant there. He means business.

More Jaji photos

This is new construction below the outpost-- a new district center that will house the regional government. Next to it is a police station and another compound with an international group who clears landmines. You can see the typical Afghan combat set-up on the road: a Toyota pickup with a heavy machine gun mounted in the bed.




This is sunset looking into Pakistan. The mountains in the distance were snow covered into mid-June.

This is a view down into Jaji. Very green, very pretty. Colleen pointed out that it looks like good wine-country. Through the razor wire I could see and hear little kids playing down near the houses.

Jaji Photos

The old ruins-- who knows how old. Currently occupied by Afghan military or police.

Leftovers from the Soviet-Afghan war on the hill inside the outpost.

Need to Post Pictures--

I'll need to post some pictures-- this place is quite scenic. The outpost is situated on a small ridge that juts into a deep valley. The bottom of the valley is verdant, with neat orchards and terraced agricultural plots, mixed in all that are stone and mud houses and compounds. Above the valley are steep and sparsely wooded mountains. The mountains rise to the east, probably to around 10000 ft, right on the Pakistan border.

Below this outpost is the square outline of some ancient fort, with the remnants of towers at each corner. The walls are melted and crumbling. It is situated on a small plateau that overlooks the bottom of the valley. Currently, the Afghan National Army occupies the remains of the fort with a small tent city.

I think, but I'm not sure, that this valley probably drains down into Pakistan and the outpost is here to serve as a deterrent to Taliban movement from Pakistan. It is rough duty for these guys (and a few women) and they earn every last cent of the their hardship pay.

These outposts are really marvels of modern technology-- almost completely self reliant and with tight security. The US Army is pretty impressive. I wouldn't want to be a bad guy up against this outfit.

Mission 1

On a sudden mission, so my posting may be sparse until I get back to my "home". I'm at a small outpost about 10 miles from Pakistan (no worries, a quiet location in 2008). I'll take some photos. It is VERY small. I was asked to visit this location to see a few soldiers who have been blown up by IEDs over the past two months. Going to assess their current status and make a treatment reccommendation which may include leaving here. At such a small location I need to be sure, because every person counts.

I was given temporary quarters (no electricity) but it will do for now. I'll put in a movement request and see if I can get out of here in less than a week!

Random Sights...

I don't know the story behind this but it's kind of funny. There is a barbed-wire fence that is enclosing, well, nothing. So I guess that's the joke.






This is the Afghan bakery on the FOB-- if you enlarge the photo you can read the advertising painted on the outside of the building. Mostly he supplies naan to the Afghan mercenaries who live on the FOB. They heat the ovens with a wood fire and whenever I run by this place in the mornings I choke on the thick wood smoke. I think sometimes he burns plastic too-- probably just burns all of his garbage in there, or at least it smells like it.

Tech Problems Resolved

Technical problems have been largely resolved it seems. The Morale, Welfare, and Recreation building has a shaky electronic infrastructure. It houses seven VoIP phones and the only un-firewalled internet access (about 10 computers).

The internet and phones lines go down frequently but were recently out of action for about a week. I guess they have two guys in Afghanistan who travel around and fix this stuff, so we had to wait for one of those guys to get here.

The lack of phones really pissed off a lot of Soldiers.

Military Psychologists and Interrogation

Sometime in the fall of 2007 I received an email from some big shot in Washington DC or at Langley inviting me to volunteer for the behavioral science consultation teams, or BSCTs. The BSCTs are the teams of psychologists and technicians that provide some sort of unspecified (secret) consultation to interrogation teams at detention facilities. I have to admit that I briefly considered getting on the list, not because I want to be involved in interrogation, but because I thought Guantanamo might be a safe deployment, and it has a beach. I deleted the email.

What's interesting about the USAF powers-that-be asking for volunteers is that it signifies the controversial nature of these jobs. Psychologists have made the argument that by participating in interrogation teams, one may be inherently violating the ethical codes that govern the profession and the state licensing statutes. One of the central principles of all ethical codes is non maleficence, or doing no harm, and nterrogation hinges on a threat of harm-- I think that's what distinguishes it from "questioning".

A few years back the American Psychiatric Association resolved that their members will not participate in these teams, so military psychiatrists do not deploy in support of these teams:
“Physicians must neither conduct nor directly participate in an interrogation, because a role as physician-interrogator undermines the physician’s role as healer…,” and “Physicians must not monitor interrogations with the intention of intervening in the process, because this constitutes direct participation in interrogation.”

But my professional organization, the American Psychological Association, has debated this for the last three years.

The psychological association's most recent ethics amendments strongly condemn coercive techniques adopted in the Bush administration's antiterrorism campaign. But its current guidelines covering practice conclude that "it is consistent with the A.P.A. ethics code for psychologists to serve in consultative roles to interrogation and information-gathering processes for national-security-related purposes," as long as they do not participate in any of 19 coercive procedures, including waterboarding, the use of hoods and any physical assault.


Interrogation is, by nature, a psychological process and it makes sense that psychologists would fit naturally into these roles. From news accounts I have read, the military has reverse engineered the knowledge we have regarding interrogation resistance. We have solid ideas about how to resist interrogation, so we use this as a starting to point for developing techniques to break down resistance. It is generally accepted that straight-up violence can produce false positives— some people will say anything to stop the pain—this is a tried and true technique (I think it was pioneered by the Catholic Church back in Medieval Europe). But there are other ways to wear people down, exploit weaknesses, get them to divulge information that is not the direct result of coercion, thus limiting the likelihood that it is a "please make it stop" confession.

The problem comes when you take into account that psychologists in the military are licensed as health care providers and held to standards that are similar to those of physicians. If we participate in some process that actually harms or has the potential to harm an individual, then we violate our professional codes.

I know many psychologists who have left the APA due to it's open stance on interrogation. I know how I feel—I vote by not choosing to work in this capacity (which is an easy thing for most non-military psychologists). I feel that licensed behavioral health professionals should not work on interrogation teams. If the DoD wants psychological expertise, then they should train doctoral level consultants who are not licensed as health professionals. If psychologists want to work in this field, they should let their licenses lapse.

The topic of interrogation always makes me think of the character Gitmo from the Daily Show. If you haven't seen the show (who hasn't seen the Daily Show?) or if you haven't seen Gitmo, you should look for it on You Tube...

Gitmo, the Elmo puppet from Guantánamo Bay, became a vehicle for expressing the writers' "most agitated feelings about torture in a way that is — not to be too cute — that is not torture to listen to, and that is not purely strident,"

The Pretty Sewage Trailer

This is the sewage trailer-- pumps the sewage from the latrines and takes it off the FOB to get dumped in a field. My B-Hut is the one to the right, so that's why I always bitch about the smell of sewage. Note the hand painted mural of the F-16. Every vehicle here is hand painted or decorated in some way...

This is the back of the trailer-- an idyllic painting of a mosque, greenery, pavement, and snow covered mountains. I have to note that nothing is green here and there is no pavement to speak of, so this painting on the sewage trailer is an expression of fond hopes perhaps?

The Pessimist Inside

Dear Afghanistan—the sweet melody of gunfire and concussions from exploding ordnance. I am finding that I have an increasingly cynical view of the state of things in Afghanistan. I forgive myself for that. My job here is to do my job, and no where does it say that I’m required to think optimistically about our mission here.

It seems so alien here to me that we must also seem like aliens to the Afghans. We are barricaded up in our forts and when we do leave the wire we are covered in armor and armed to the teeth.

This is a country of nomads, mud hut villages, war bands and chieftains. Violence is an everyday event here. Women are chattel and lives in general are disposable. This seems like the way life is here, and it hasn’t changed in this country for thousands of years. I am skeptical that we can alter the course of this country when our culture and way of life is so different. We may as well be from a different planet.

I have to admit that this attitude leaves me with a lower level of motivation—makes me think that I just want to get home and forget about Afghanistan.

I’ve spoken with combat arms guys who like their jobs—they like killing bad guys and the overall purpose or end point of the mission is irrelevant. Their job is to kill the enemy so it doesn’t matter why, and it doesn’t matter whether or not it ends.

That is an adaptive stance for a Soldier, because how could you keep on risking your life for something that seemed pointless. For them, it’s not about the destination, it’s about the journey. They chose the path of the Soldier and this is the way it is.

I think that’s my struggle. Part of me thinks it’s pointless and I don’t want to risk my life for something that is hopeless or misguided. I find myself dismissing the Afghans as a people who chop off heads in the name of Allah, so why should we care, why should we sacrifice our children for these primitive people who will just keep on killing each other and killing western soldiers for as long as we stay here.

I just have to openly admit to this dichotomy in my thinking. One side of me is very much a positive US Air Force officer who is here doing a good job, being the brave, uncomplaining Airmen who is playing my role in support of Operation Enduring Freedom. The other side of me is a man who feels caught up in a pointless war in a medieval hell-hole, and I just want to get it over with and forget about the whole thing.

I flip back and forth. I know the second viewpoint is not very conducive to good morale so I keep that thinking corralled as much as possible. I have to express it and those of you know me well will recognize that, but it is also very important for me to live that other role as a military officer.

But, I see now how combat veterans come back with deep resentment and bigoted attitudes towards the people of these countries we fight in. I’ve made comments about these attitudes on this very website so I guess I’m eating crow a little bit, because I am admitting to some of those same attitudes…

Maybe more on that later.

New Post Soon!

Technical problems have slowed down my posting. I'll be back with new material within 24 hours!

On Being a Consumer in Afghanistan

One thing I must say about Afghanistan-- and maybe this is true of all third world countries-- the amount of time and effort put into a small service-for-pay by an Afghan is a far greater value than back at home. For instance, the haircut.

Since being in the military I have at least quadrupled the number of yearly haircuts I get. This is the cost of keeping your hair short; you have to cut it frequently or else it looks really bad. Mostly I cut my hair myself (with a little help from my spouse or, one time, my five year old) but at least once a month I go to the barber.

The barber is generally hit or miss. Sometimes you get someone who takes their time and really does a good job, trimming the edges, making sure there aren't stray hairs, cleaning up your head and neck afterwards, but mostly you get a once-over with the clippers and a fast trim around your neck and ears, and it takes less than five minutes, and it costs eight or nine bucks, plus tip.

So, the haircut in Afghanistan takes place in a tent, floor covered in Afghan rugs, smell of incense, very much like you would imagine an Arab tent in the Sahara, except there is a small TV playing Pakistani news or Bollywood movies from India. The barber charges $5 per haircut and he is intricate and precise, even with the simple head shave. He goes over things twice, three times, and uses small scissors to make sure that every hair is cut and shaped uniformly. He uses a brush to thoroughly clean off the neck and head and shoulders and uses some sort of scented powder as an "after-shave" for your head. In short, he works his tail off for $5. It is by far the best barber-haircut I have ever gotten.

I have had the same experience with the tailor and the bread-maker; they work very hard to provide a simple service and they charge very little. Of course the price is much cheaper than at home, but the remarkable thing is that the service is far superior than what we get in the US. It's really nice to be a customer here.

On Monday I'll risk the local bazaar and see what they have for sale. I want to experience that, maybe send something unique home. I am conserving my cash because there is no way to get more cash here-- I need it for haircuts and to pay for shipping my belongings back to Las Vegas in December (I want to travel light on the way home). I guess I'll set aside money for shipping and 4 and 1/2 months of haircuts and see what I have left. I've heard they have silk and wool rugs, but I'm sure some are quite expensive.

Vaguely Romantic Notions

The sunrise burns red every morning over Pakistan, blotted out by either smoke or dust in the troposphere. For being a country that has neither industry nor fleets of automobiles, the air quality here is horrible.

I had some vaguely romantic notions about Afghanistan before I got here, but they have largely dissipated. I can see the ruins of two hill forts that supposedly date back to 2300 years ago, and that's cool, but they are mined so no one goes up there, and the novelty of seeing them in the distance has worn off.

The landscape here is severe, torn, and littered with the combined detritus of modern warfare and Third World poverty. Dust, diesel, burning garbage, and sewage is what you see and smell here. The Afghans all look hard and road worn. Females are all hidden away, I'm assuming they stay in the mud huts. The kids all have old eyes. From afar you see a child, but when you get close you have to ask yourself "is that a small 16 year old or a steel-eyed 8 year old? It's strange. People say that all the time, that the kids here are tough beyond their years.

I was speaking with an interpreter-- an Afghan man in his 40's-- listening to the tale of the downfall of his family, and I realized that Afghans my age (36) have grown up with constant war and worsening poverty. One million Afghans were killed during the Soviet-Afghan war and the country dropped from being almost the least developed in the world to, now, being the least developed in the world, just behind Angola. Some of his family managed to flee to the US, himself included, but now he has returned, trying to give something back to his native country by working as an interpreter for NATO.

It's an interesting story and I'll jot it in down in my journal to tell later (remind me). Unfortunately I can't publish everything here!

Anyway, carrying on. Safe and sound...

Busier...

I’ve been busier lately… less so with prevention and more with actual pathology. Depression, suicidal ideation, anger, marital problems, sleepwalking. My practice here is less intense than at home, with less documentation, less overall work, but I think it’s harder to actually help people here, just due to ongoing, unremitting stressors.

I also have fewer options. The options basically consist of: “keep going to work” or “let’s get you out of here.” There’s very little in-between.

We have a small variety of medication options and I am the only game in town for psychotherapy. Most minor to moderate problems resolve on their own, or if they don’t resolve, they at least become manageable with time. Many times I just see people in the acute phase, and when the pain dulls after a few days, they find that they’re okay.

As time wears on I have become more known on the FOB and I see more and more patients in more places—chowhall, the showers, the gym… It’s a small town here. I find that I have a good feel for the pulse of the FOB—I know who the bad NCO’s are, I know about the stressful operations, I hear the rumors and the myths.

Now that my NCO has returned we have to plan our next mission (outreach to other outposts) and it’s my turn. I may leave very soon, but I’m not holding my breath due to all the problems flying. Truthfully, I’m comfortable here and I wish that I wasn’t expected to travel (make them come to me!). Luckily there have been relatively few emergent situations where our skills are needed, and if that luck holds we will have a light travel schedule into the autumn.

The sounds of war are usually distant here at our FOB—and that’s the way I like it. One thing about war is that sound is a major factor. Explosions and gunfire are loud, and loud sound carries far. Your brain tries to sort out the difference between benign and threatening sounds. Many things blow up in this country, whether it be unexploded Soviet ordnance going off on its own, a donkey stepping on a landmine, NATO aircraft dropping bombs, Taliban shooting mortars, FOBs shooting training rounds.

Yesterday, I was eating dinner with several people when a horribly loud screaming sound came out of nowhere, it rose to a crescendo within 2-3 seconds. Everyone stood up, dinners dropped, wide-eyed, poised to run for cover, when the sound rapidly formed into the familiar sound of a jet engine. A US Navy F18 Superhornet (from a carrier in the Indian Ocean) had buzzed the FOB at about 500 feet.

At his speed and altitude, the roar of the aircraft came suddenly, without warning, frightening everyone on the FOB. The jet made a second pass, just as low, and received many middle-fingers.

I can say that I am much more keyed into loud sounds here… I’m always listening. Once or twice a week it keeps me from falling asleep, but I comfort myself with the laws of probability, and a good book.

Irony: (1) incongruity between the actual result of a sequence of events and the normal or expected result (2): an event or result marked by such incongruity*

Article in today's Wall Street Journal-- "Taliban Is Seizing, Destroying More NATO Supplies". Maybe it's just the way it is worded...

"About 90% of U.S. goods destined for Bagram, the main U.S. military base in Afghanistan, make an eight-day journey from Pakistan's Karachi port through the Torkham border crossing into Afghanistan, according to U.S. officials. Weapons and ammunition are flown into Afghanistan.

The majority of NATO supplies transported through Pakistan continue to reach their destinations, say Western diplomats and army officials. The U.S. government estimates it has lost only about 1% of its cargo going from Karachi to Afghanistan.

Still, the targeting of supply chains marks a new and troubling development. The militants' tactics appear designed to bog down foreign forces and wait them out, the same strategy adopted successfully by Afghan insurgents against the Soviet Union in the 1980s.

In response, NATO forces are adopting some of the Soviets' tactics. They are paying more money to local warlords to guarantee safe passage over roads and importing more fuel from central Asia, across Afghanistan's northern borders with Uzbekistan and Tajikistan, where roads are still safe. That presents logistical challenges and drives up the cost of the war."

*http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary

Slower Days and a Quick Brief on the RG-31 (Military Trivia That is Not So Trivial)

My posting has been slow lately, perhaps a reflection that not much is going on here. Combat has been slightly less frequent and there have been no casualties (well, some of our guys surprised some "bad" guys planting an IED and the encounter was a bit one sided, if you know what I mean). Slow is good, from my perspective.

Part of the slowness is that I'm still waiting for my Staff Sergeant to return from the south. He has been stuck for two weeks now, safe and sound, but stuck. It's really hard to move around in this country. Mostly the delays are due to weather in the mountains. The Chinooks need to fly through a number of passes to get anywhere, and if there are high winds or thunderstorms they don't fly. People get stuck places for weeks, and all you can do is sit around and wait for the next scheduled flight. Luckily, he will have visited our two furthest outposts and we will be unlikely to return.

As soon as he gets back I'm going to make the rounds to the outposts that are in the north section of our area. I'll let him stay here for a while and enjoy "civilization" and I'll go to a few other outposts. I'll consider hitching a ride in a convoy as long as I can get a seat in a $500,000 v-bottomed RG31. They are pretty much safer than the flat-bottomed Humvee M-1114.

US Forces are getting a lot of the RG31's (somewhere between 500k and 1 million per unit, courtesy of the US taxpayer credit card, thank you very much) because the Humvees just don't cut it anymore here in the world's biggest ammo dump. I read on the internet that the Humvee is close to ground, wide, and flat-bottomed, which means that the vehicle will absorb a relatively high percentage of a blast from beneath, transferring that force to the occupants and making the vehicle more likely to be breached. The RG31 is a high-riding vehicle that is v-bottomed like a boat, which deflects the blast out and up, rather than just absorbing it. Poor Afghan Army guys drive around in older Toyota HiLux trucks, which are really cool looking but definitely not IED resistant.

That said, I'll be happy to wait around for at least a little while to catch a flight.

FOB Dog Update

Our FOB dog is still alive but they haven't fixed the wall where he gets in. I got a few photos of him yesterday when I found him hanging out in the mortar pit. I currently can't post any photos because the public computer network is down and I can't access Blogspot from my work computer. I can post text entries remotely, by email, but I don't know how to post photos remotely. I can't check comments either, so if you've posted a comment and I haven't responded-- I don't when I will be able to...

The Blues, the FOB dog (update), and Please Send Hallucinogenic Gas Dispensers

I haven't posted in a day or two. I've been here one month and I think I'm experiencing a brief period of "adjustment disorder with depressed mood". As I told my brother-in-law, I am finding that the Army and I are very different. The honeymoon period is over, so now I have to adjust to the reality of this relationship. It's not a match made in heaven-- more a union of convenience (for the Army) or an arranged marriage, which is appropriate for this part of the world.

I said this before, but I'll expand on it. I have observed that I have a few external "strikes" against me, as I am considered to be a medic (actually, worse than a medic-- a shrink) and I am Air Force. Even the Army medics are somewhat marginalized, especially the doctors. They are possibly seen as being coddled or soft, whereas the actual "medics"-- enlisted Soldiers who go on missions and rub elbows with Soldiers in the dirt-- are more accepted and even appreciated, which makes sense.

The Air Force thing is mostly a barrier because there is constant griping that USAF deployments are shorter. They will point out that they will go through a third USAF psychologist before they even leave next year. I understand this, it sucks, and I don't think it's fair. But I consistently counter this by asking who was dumb enough to join the Army in the first place. Usually this goes over well because I think while Soldiers complain about the length of deployments, they also hold this as a point of pride-- it's one thing that sets them apart from other service members. To be honest, I didn't use that counter on the squadron commander when he said, "Six months? I could do six months standing on my head." I just smiled. Good thing he can't read minds.

It's an ebb and flow. Things have been mostly up, so it is reasonable to expect to have a few down days or weeks.

Moving on...

The FOB dog came up at the Battle Update Brief today. The squadron commander observed the location on the perimeter wall where the FOB dog infiltrates into and exfiltrates out of the FOB. The dog somehow gets in... It's remarkable. In the brief, he asked the First Sergeant to make sure that the breach is addressed. I'm not sure why it's a big deal. Maybe there are concerns that the little dog will one day wear a suicide vest, or come over at night with an AK47?

The First Sergeant grumbled an assent and said, "I was planning on shooting the dog anyway." I knew he was at least partially serious (I know the guy casually, but I have him profiled).

So after the meeting I grabbed him on the way out:

I said, "Sergeant "X", don't shoot that dog-- you better not shoot that dog."

He said, "You mean the pretty little dog? That dog craps in my horseshoe pit and when I play horseshoes I don't want to step in dog crap."

I said, "You're just a sick bastard and you want to kill something don't you."

Another NCO chimed in, confirming my suspicions, "Sergeant "X" if you need that dog killed, you let me know."

I said, "Just fix the wall so he can't get in. Don't you like dogs?"

There was a little more banter but I hope that I appealed to his humane side. I like the FOB dog. Reminds me of my dog.

If he kills it or has it killed, I will TORMENT him until I leave (a la Doctor Faustus).

Do you know about Dr. Faustus? The supervillain psychiatrist (of course) associated with Captain America?

Faustus has no superhuman powers but has a genius intellect, and is extremely charismatic and can modulate his voice in a highly persuasive manner. He has a Ph. D in psychiatry.

Faustus regularly employs hologram projectors, hallucinogenic gas dispensers, androids, and elaborate props. He also hires henchmen to impersonate various people as a part of his scheme to drive victims insane.

I gotta figure out how to get a hold of some hallucinogenic gas dispensers.

"I will be home and showered and probably three beers in by the time Carmichael makes it in."

My "distraction of the moment" is following Armstrong at the Leadville 100. Yes, I know he's degenerated into a womanizing tabloid figure (what was up with the whole Olsen twin thing?), and I have been reminded that I should be following the Olympics, but I'm curious to see how much of a bad-ass Lance still is on the bike-- and a mountain bike no less. The race is Aug 9, by the way--- www.leadville100.com

Pushed to predict his finish time for Saturday's race, Armstrong said he thinks he'll come in in the neighborhood of eight hours, or about an hour behind the winner — which at Leadville equates to about fifth place...

"I fully expect to get beat up," he said.

He did, however, engage in a little trash talk with coach Chris Carmichael, a Leadville veteran who will compete again this year.

"I know I can beat Carmichael. I will be home and showered and probably three beers in by the time Carmichael makes it in."

Photographs and Afghan Naan

I haven't taken photos lately but I should probably start again, post them for everyone to see.

I saw a HUGE spider in the gym the other day when I was doing sit-ups and I wished I had my camera then. It was as big and hairy as a small tarantula but it was light brown.

I'll get a photo of the sewage truck-- the tank is hand painted in blues and reds and yellows and it's quite pretty. They love to decorate their trucks here and the Soldiers call them "jingle trucks" because they have bells and chains and all kinds of decorations hanging off the sides, jingling as the trucks rock their way over the pot-holed roads.

I'm still trying to photograph that FOB dog-- she's a little grey and black mutt, about 40 pounds, with a curled tail and pointy ears. She gets into the FOB by climbing up the Hesco barriers and sandbags and squirming her way through the barbs of the concertina wire. I guess she eats garbage on the FOB. Americans have the best garbage in all of Asia, every Afghan dog knows that. People ignore her and she keeps her distance, always on the move. She's scared the crap out of me at night when she streaks through the beam of my flashlight.

I haven't seen her for a few days. I also haven't seen cats for a few weeks. There used to be a lot of cats that lived inside one of the qalats-- I thought it would be good to have cats around-- keep the rodent population in check. I heard that the commander put a contract on the cats and the Afghan laborers took care of them.

Which reminds me, the medics here provide aid for local national workers on the FOBs, mostly "terps" but also laborers and the guys who pull security on our walls (picture bearded guys with AK47s in dark green camo and white sneakers-- actually there is interesting story about those guys but I'll get to that later...) Anyway, the Afghans will bring food for the medics as a gift for services rendered.

They usually bring garlic naan and kabob wrapped in old Afghan newsprint. It looks and smells great, and the guys who bring it are smiling and expressing genuine respect and thanks. I find it vaguely sad-- impoverished people offering gifts of food to Americans. The food is usually dumped. Diarrhea, otherwise known as a "leaky o-ring", is prolific here, and eating local food may contribute to this? Most of the meat is supposedly lamb but the only livestock I have seen has been thousands of goats, some camels, and a few skinny cows. I haven't seen any sheep. Lots of dogs though.

I admit to some amount of paranoia. I have yet to eat local food and my guts have nevertheless been populated by some southwest Asian organism (I also have yet to go to the local bazaar due to my vaguely irrational notions about the stereotypical suicide bombers' affinity for markets and bazaars). To go to the market you have to be armed, but body armor is optional!

There's a bakery on the FOB-- the guy makes cinnamon and garlic naan. I gotta go check it out. Take a photo of that too...

Talking about Censorship

This book sounds disturbing enough by itself, but it's just plain Orwellian-creepy that civilian and military officials would want to censor a text like this and keep it from the public. Based on this read, elements within the Army fought to keep it as an open source.


Kevin C. Kiley, a retired lieutenant general who was the Army's surgeon general when the book was being prepared, said some higher-ups in the military had been worried that the pictures "could be spun politically to show the horrors of war."


So, what's worse, political spin to show that war is not that bad, or political spin to show "the horrors of war"? The underlying implication is that if citizens really know that war is horrible (um, is that still up for debate?), then they will be less likely to support war. Expanding that, the implication is that if citizens see maimed Soldiers then they will lose the will to send more Soldiers into harm's way. Is it really that simple? However the thought process went for the would-be censors, it is clear that they thought it best for the general public to remain ignorant.

I guess this is just an extension of the same line of thinking that led to barring photos of Soldier's coffins and other images of US casualties (anyone follow the recent Zoriah Miller controversy?) I don't think there are easy answers to this stuff, and I can see how immediately published after-action photos could have security and intel implications, but I do think too much censorship diminishes the contributions of American sons and daughters and cheats the voting US citizens.

Half of the time I can see the purpose of this mission and half of the time I can't, but when I do see the purpose it is always informed by a consideration of the human cost. I can't make good decisions as a citizen without being aware of certain realities.

But, I have a different view of war because much of what I do is listen to Soldier's narratives. They tell stories about what keeps them up at night and I try to synthesize science and good old fashioned empathy into a salve to get them a measure of respite.

I admit that there is a part of me that wants all Americans to be respectful, thankful, and empathic towards our servicemen and servicewomen who are on the front lines. This is not respect just because they are "heroes", but also because for every five of these men and women who come back from combat, there is one or two who will have jarring, anxiogenic memories that will live on with unerring clarity for the rest of their lives.

Somehow I like to think that if the rest of us understand what they went through, then it will easier for them to make it.

There-- that's my circuitous and obliquely psychological argument against censorship.

I had better get to sleep.

Maybe tomorrow I'll write about the clever little FOB dog. But I won't tell you about what they did with the cats!

Same Week-- Ramadan and NFL!

There is constant action in Afghanistan these days. The Taliban (and their friends) are either targeting the Afghan Army, Afghans who transport goods for NATO, or NATO forces. Typically they will avoid direct confrontation with NATO patrols unless they have elevated positions and a quick avenue of escape, or caves. The Taliban love caves.

It seems like the most frequent attacks against NATO forces are IEDs (pressure plates or command-wired) or indirect fire (Chinese-made mortars or rockets). These guys are resourceful. Most of the trigger mechanisms are basically made out of trash and stuff that they find laying around in the dirt. I have been shown a number of IED trigger devices that were made from trash that was discarded by US forces: water bottles, batteries, copper wire, calling cards. There's terrible irony that people from this medieval culture take the refuse of the industrial age and fashion it into weapons that have the potential to crack open the most advanced vehicles we field. Of course we counter this with more technology.

The word on the street is that we probably have one more month of intense fighting and then Ramadan eats up most of September (that was a bad joke, ya get it?). Typically Ramadan means less fighting, or so I hear, but I would speculate that maybe that time would be ripe for suicide bombers? A rich combination of religious fervor and grumpiness from fasting-- that promise of 70 virgins. Lots more female suicide bombers these days.

Do the female martyrs get 70 male virgins? Probably not. But that might not be such an incentive anyway.

After Ramadan it will start getting cold here. Once the ground freezes at night it becomes harder to dig holes for IEDs, but because they lack good cold weather gear they also lose their motivation to sit around in prepared fighting positions waiting to ambush NATO patrols.

So, the start of the NFL season roughly coincides with the start of Ramadan. I am looking forward to both.

With luck I will be back home in time for the AFC and NFC championship games!

Not a Comfortable Viewpoint to Consider...

"We only want a stable country, whether with the Taliban or the foreigners." But he said that the level of violence made him realize that the foreign forces could not bring security... His father, brother and a daughter were among those killed. "You cannot take revenge against a plane," he said. "But I will not forgive the foreigners for this crime."


These poor people. I can't imagine the pain. I'm reminding myself to not take anything for granted in the US, not even $5 a gallon gasoline.

Technology, Hellfire, and Guilt

I've been impressed with the capabilities of our technology. As an Air Force guy, I'm surprised that the Army doesn't give the Air Force more credit. The grunts rely on the availability of close air support and all operations are run with either a B1, an A10, an F15 or an MQ9 close at hand. The UCAVs (Unmanned Combat Aerial Vehicles: the MQ9 and the MQ1) have these high resolution cameras on them and they fly really slow, so they can literally focus in on what someone is doing with their hands. They can see at night, they can see through things (infrared), and you never know one is around because they are little and quiet. They also remind me of home, because the UCAV missions are flown by remote control by miserable people in little metal boxes in Las Vegas, Nevada.

Anyway, I watch these video feeds and I'm impressed. Even the F15 has great cameras that scan the ground with really high resolution. They can literally see a bad guy with a gun from miles up in the air.

Highlight footage recorded by these aircraft cameras is distributed via thumbdrives (probably illegally), and it's used for inspirational purposes when put to a soundtrack-- like showing a reel of a football team's best plays before a big game. I'll give you an example of highlight footage: an unmanned aerial vehicle spots four guys who are lobbing mortars at a FOB in the middle of the night. The UCAV circles and waits until the four guys are clustered together around the mortar tube. You can see them talking and gesturing to each other. You can see their clothing move, see them scratch themselves, see the small pile of unfired ammunition on the ground. Then suddenly there is a flash and they all disappear in a cloud of dust... the UCAV has released its single AGM-114 Hellfire missile. As the dust clears, there is just a hole in the ground where the mortar crew was before, but one man manages to crawl out of the dust cloud, then gets up on his feet and tries to run, staggers, then falls, kicking up a small cloud of dust.

The UCAV footage is tame compared to the A10 footage. The A10's 30mm cannon shoots huge depleted uranium shells at 70 rounds per second. I was shown video of an A10 hitting a truck full of bad guys and then chasing down the survivors on three subsequent strafing runs.

A month ago that stuff would have disgusted me, but somehow I now take guilty comfort in those images. It's not pleasure-- I still think the images are disturbing-- but when I see those feeds at the TOC or hear a report that a bomb-maker a few miles from here blew himself up while preparing an IED made out of Italian anti-tank mines-- well I have to admit that I reflexively feel satisfied. Maybe it's just the tenor of war, that when you feel threatened you take incremental comfort in any damage to whose whom you perceive as your antagonists.

It's not vindictive. I think it's a natural response to fear. I think that's why the idea of "turning the other cheek" is indeed Christlike. What normal human can really live that creed in both thought and deed?

The Daily Smoke Session...

Since there's not much going on (that I can prudently write about :) I'll go ahead and share one thing that's really helping me get through deployment: smoke sessions.

Not that kind of smoke session-- the Army kind-- intense physical activity-- only without a Drill Sergeant standing over me yelling obscenities.

Before I got here I was planning on working out a lot while I was serving my time here, but I didn't really have a plan. I suppose I vaguely thought I was just going to run regularly, lift some weights, do some push ups. I didn't know--

I have to give a lot of credit to this guy I met here-- he's been here four months and has a routine that mostly stays the same. He's 40 years old and can pretty much crush me on any measure of physical fitness. He attributes much of his discipline to recovering from a broken hip a few years back. I'm not copying him, well, maybe I am kind of copying him. I'm using him as an inspiration and I'll share the inspiration here.

The first inspiration: do two-a-days as often as possible. I used to do these when I was crazy about triathlon, but they always seemed excessive and luxurious, especially if you had to work, be a parent, those kind of things. I'm sold on two-a-days here, because I have the time, and also because once I start doing them I realize that I can actually sustain them. For most people it's hard to get a two hour block for exercise during a typical day, but if you split it into two, one hour blocks, or even two 30-45 minute blocks, it is much more feasible and it can double your exercise volume in a week, making it easier to gain or maintain fitness or lose weight.

The second inspiration: do regular abdominal work. I've always been half-assed about working my abs even though EVERYONE knows it's good for your back, good for stabilizing hips and knees, and generally complements any physical activity. I now do a 10 minute ab workout six days a week. It goes like this: 1 min bicycle crunches, 1 min traditional crunches, 1 minute vertical leg crunches, 1 minute traditional sit ups, 1 minute boat pose (with bent knees) and then you do it all over again, no rest between exercises, for a total of 10 minutes. The first day I did this I almost died. It goes by in a flash.

The third inspiration: do more than I think I can. If I can run for 30 minutes, why not run for 40 or 45? I'm typically a 45 minute guy if I'm just out for a quick run but I've been doing at least 60 here, just slowing down if I fatigue. Also, I thought the stationary bike would be torture (it's so not like riding a bicycle) but it gives me enough of an approximation of a real bike that I'll chug out 30 or 40k, imagining I'm somewhere else. I ignore the clock and have found that if I think I can do more, I do it easily.

The fourth inspiration: keep it simple. I can do almost everything I need to stay fit without any equipment, just some shorts and shoes and a shirt. The art of the sit-up, push-up, the pull up, and the dip-- body weight exercises that work the major muscle groups of the upper body. The body weight workout to failure is fast and can be done almost anywhere (well, push-ups at least). It takes about 20-30 minutes of constant motion and I'm cooked. (See: An Enduring Measure of Fitness: The Simple Push-up). This year I've become a huge fan of the push-up.

And the last inspiration is actually Michael Pollan's well known mantra: Eat food. Not too much. Mostly plants.

Okay. Indulgent self help session is over.

I'll get back to war-blogging tomorrow, maybe.

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."

Two Good Things and One Bad Thing In Afghanistan...

Walking back from the latrines the FOB is completely blacked out and I had to let my eyes adjust for a moment and switch off my blue LED. The moon is gone and the wind was relatively calm today, keeping the clouds of dust out of the sky.  I looked up and saw, for the first time here, the big white streak of the Milky Way.  

 

Completely clear and beautiful, all those stars. I've missed seeing them with as much clarity as I remember them from all those nights at 10000ft in the Sierra Nevada.

 

That's one good thing about being in Afghanistan.

 

Another good thing is that I survived my first two convoys (although one was much more unsettling than the other) but I'll need to post that story tomorrow.

 

A bad thing is that I've got a touch of "Osama's Revenge", if you know what I mean.

 

That's what's called "too much self disclosure".

 

I'll stop now.

 

To bed.

 

The Important Things in Life...

The final stage near San Diego will actually be a mountain top finish, a first for the race. "The final stage is planned to be a mountain stage up Mt. Palomar. Whoever wins the race will have to have legs on the final day!"

Since our family is leaving southern Nevada in 2009 this will be my final chance to easily spectate at the one of the premier stage races (the premier?) in the US. What a combination... San Diego, staying at Coronado, a mountain-top finish at the Tour of California, the end of my freakin' deployment!!!

 

Anyone want to meet me there?

 

 

Invisible People

This is something that doesn't get a enough play in the media:

 

According to a January Defense Department report, despite significant efforts, the number of suicides continued to rise. And an earlier report showed us that an increasing number of troops were killing themselves while in Iraq or Afghanistan.

 

There has been one completed suicide here since I arrived (it wasn't at one of my locations). In the last few months, the guys I replaced had responded to one other suicide completion and several attempts and gestures. It is no secret that people here suffer under the stressors associated with combat duty.

 

I sit in on a commander's briefing every morning and one of the reports is a medical situation report on patients seen at medical aid stations in the last 24 hours-- combat stress patients are one category but the number is always zero-- meaning that people are presenting to aid stations with other symptoms like headaches, sleep problems, vague aches and pains, fatigue but they aren't reporting combat stress, or the medics aren't asking.

 

Based on those numbers, no one has combat stress. The commander looks at my numbers once a week, which says to me that it isn't much of a concern. (He gets a daily update on when the next mail delivery is coming).
 

BUT... the Army completed the 2007-2008 MHAT V (Mental Health Assessment Team) report this year and concluded that depressive and acute stress symptoms were worsening in Afghanistan, catching up to rates in Iraq. This was before the death rate in Afghanistan passed Iraq. Post-deployment surveys of service-members consistently confirm that up to 25% of returnees experience significant psychological symptoms, and the VA is under-resourced and overwhelmed with OIF and OEF vets seeking services-- with people looking at the lack of services as being possibly associated with vet suicides.

 

So there are these people out here who are really struggling, but they are mostly invisible to me.

 

A related task for me is to get the NCOs and officers to be able to better recognize Soldiers in distress, but also to get them to do something to help. It's hard in an environment where almost everyone is experiencing some degree of distress, stress, discomfort. Everyone has risk factors so how do you sort out the severe cases? I need to get them to ask that question. No one asks that question.

 

Anyway, word came down this morning from another FOB that they need a psychologist ASAP. So much for prevention.

 

I hear the chow is better over there... KBR food.

 

 

 

Negligent Discharges

A notable thing about the war zone is that everyone carries around a loaded weapon; everything from 9mm pistols to big SAWs (squad automatic weapons). Most places that aren't under some sort of imminent threat (real or imagined) keep people in "green" status, which means that they carry an unloaded weapon and have a magazine elsewhere (back in their room or on their person, just not in the weapon).

 

Here at our FOB we are in "amber" status, which means that we carry weapons with a loaded magazine inserted into the magazine well, fire selector on safe, without having a round chambered. Loading and charging a weapon is the two step process that is widely known as the "lock and load", the result of which is a weapon that is ready to fire.

 

Whenever people venture outside of the wire on ground transportation you always lock and load, but keep your weapons on safe (which means if you pull the trigger, nothing happens). If you are locked and loaded, all you need to do to fire the weapon is to move the selector from safe to fire.

 

When you venture back into the wire you are supposed to go through the process of clearing the weapon; that is you drop the magazine, clear the round from the chamber and ensure your selector is on safe, not fire.

 

You can probably tell where I'm going with this...

 

People forget stuff.

 

Since I've been here there have been two incidents known as "negligent discharges". One was an Afghan guy who let off several rounds from his AK-47 into the ground BETWEEN THE LEGS of one of his buddies. Another was by a medic who somehow squeezed off a round from her M-4, also going into the ground. That both of these incidents did not cause harm illustrates the importance of what is known as "muzzle discipline", or always keeping your weapon pointed at the ground unless you intend to shoot something. If the rules about keeping your weapon on safe and keeping your finger away from the trigger don't work, hopefully you abide by the third rule and keep the thing pointed in a safe direction.

 

Now the really crazy story... There was a medic who was treating a leg injury for someone and was joking around, saying something like "I know what will fix that leg" while taking out his pistol to pretend to shoot the guy's leg. But instead of pretending, he somehow actually shot the guy in the leg.

 

It gets better...

 

He is still in Afghanistan working as a medic.

 

Ya gotta love the Army. They are so forgiving and tolerant... quite the liberal organization. Shoot someone? That's okay. Beat your wife? That's okay too. Problems with cocaine? Get your ass to Iraq Soldier!

 

Now if you're gay...

 

Cheers from lovely Paktia Province!

 

TLC

Quiet

Not much to report from here. SSgt R left for our first mission down to the south of our territory. It is expected to be uneventful, other than dealing with delays in air travel. I maintain a presence here and wait for the local operations to calm down, and then I'll be headed east to another outpost. My goal is for us to visit all of our FOBs by the end of September. This will effectively split our time here, with the first half (July-September) being spent establishing a presence, and then we'll come up with some kind of plan for the second half (October-December).

A current excitement on the FOB is related to the upcoming football season. There's a TV in the chow-hall, so people are dreaming of 2am football parties. I'm sure I'll be there.

The Lament of a Non Soldier in a Soldier's World

Big operation out of the FOB… lots of soldiers, helicopters, big guns, Afghan National Army troops, massing for a mission and then gone. There is always a mission going out each day, but this was my first experience with a big one. A specter of tension hangs over the FOB and it gets verbalized at the medical aid station. Every time the phone rings (and it doesn't ring often) it might mean a KIA or a WIA notification. This fear is born out when the phone rings this morning—an IED strike—no injuries.

Along with this news is word that several bad guys were killed by an F15 that was prowling ahead of the US insertion—SSgt R, my NCO, was talking with the airborne infantrymen and he said they were joking about getting guts on their boots as they get out of the helos—gallows humor as they stand on the brink. Enemy deaths are subtly celebrated, representing one less guy who might kill one of our guys.

Early in the morning I ran for an hour, making loops past the ECP where a large convoy of MRAPs was lined up waiting for orders to leave, guys sitting in body armor and Kevlar helmets behind deadly looking 50 cals and Mk 19s. I had a vague sense of guilt that I stay at the FOB, working on my PT, while they prepare to look for IEDs, get shot at and shoot back. I wonder if I will be more useful to them if I have experienced what they have…

I've seen about 20 different people since I've been here, and my combat experience (or lack thereof) has not been an issue. Part of me thinks that I would need my own services if I was rolling out in convoys—which would render me pretty ineffective in my primary duty here.

To make myself feel better I remind myself that I'm not a Soldier—I'm an Airman, I'm a health care professional inserted into this environment so that Soldiers have easy access to me, not so that I can do what they do. By default I may experience my share of exposure to these stressors, but experiencing the stressors is not a task I need to check off in order to get my job done.

Lately, planning missions, I've felt jealous of other USAF folks who stay at Bagram or are assigned to places like Kuwait, or Qatar. They don't have to even consider riding in convoys or flying out to 20 man combat outposts on the Paki border. Why couldn't I have been so lucky?

I think some of this comes from something the battalion commander said to me a week back, he said "I need you forward deployed, so that the guys can see you doing the things they do, get mortared with them… so you know what they know." I see his point, and I see how getting the "street cred" will possibly make things easier, but then again… I don't need to have experienced a panic attack or a major depressive episode to help someone manage the symptoms.

I vacillate back and forth, trying to sort out what it will take to do a good job here, how to minimize our risks but still get the job done, how to create a balance between heroically going anywhere for the mission, but still maximizing our chances of getting back home safely.

Ugh. I guess that's part of the burden of leadership. If you make a decision you need to be willing to live with the consequences. Risking the guilt of being too conservative, versus the consequences of dismissing risk.

One thing that helps… this may sound strange… is that I remind myself of how "bombproof" those bunkers really are, and MRAPs are pretty damn tough. That seems like such a screwed up thing for ME to be thinking about… I should be thinking about getting home early for dinner, finding a new job, playing with the kids… (then the Voice comes in and says "what the HELL was I thinking?")

Pointless direction to go down at this point.

I just need to break the seal on these missions, get a few done, and hope that with experience will come clarity.