D-Day plus One
I guess what they say is true. There is no such thing as a flawless convoy and sure enough, one hour into our bumpy ride, one of the 7-ton trucks broke down. This meant that we would have to sit and wait further until whatever it was got fixed. Mechanical problems are nothing new, and amid the usual storm of cursing that erupted about motor T mechanics never doing thier jobs, I thought I heard a gunshot, albeit a faint one. I told everyone to be quiet and point their weapons outboard; another gunshot one minute later. It was too far away to be anything aimed at us, which meant one of two things. Either there was a haji somewhere out there hunting wabbits or they were signaling each other. All i knew was that august wasnt rabbit season. I dont even think they have rabbits in this God-forsaken country now that i think of it. On past missions, i remember our "terp" (interpreter) telling us that the taliban doesnt exactly utilize phones, so they fire shots into the air to signal each other. Tensions heightened as more shots rang out, each one signaling that the Americans were now in the area. We were on their turf now.
After what seemed an eternity, we finally reached our destination; the mouth of the Chawkay valley. More than once i have heard it likened to "the valley of the shadow of death". I didnt know much about it, except that it was the same area where the helo got shot out of the sky and the navy seals went down. When i stepped off the truck, i saw the last thing in the world i expected to see. Donkeys. 20-30 of them.
Due to the nature of this mission....meaning that since we were foot mobile with no routes of resupply nearby, we were packing mules with enough water and food to sustain us for the duration of the time we would be out there. Involentarily, I smirked. More moving parts added into the mix, and something inside told me this would be the first to go. One thing Ive marveled at, is that in the entire build-up that this unit has conducted prior to coming to Afghanistan, not once did anyone think that the day might come when we would have to pack our own water in order to just survive the environment.
What did this break down to for the individual Marine in my section?
Lets pause to do a gear check. Inside of our packs, it was mandated that each Marine was to have a MINIMUM of 24 bottles of water, 5 MRE's (Meal Ready to Eat), a poncho, Gore-tex Top and Bottom, a fleece, enough clean socks and undershirts to last and of course, shaving gear. (for reasons unknown, the Marine Corps is adament about having a fresh shave even when out on missions.) If you were a mortarman, like myself, you had to strap 2 high explosive 81mm rounds to the sides of your pack, an additional 24 lbs. Not to mention carry the actual pieces of the mortar system which meant the baseplate, bipods, and tube, (each weighing 27.5, 29, & 35 lbs. respectively.) Anything else you wanted to bring was your choice, but after all of that, who wants extra weight of any sort?
We had another tag-along, her name was Paris. Noone knows where she came from, but she was somewhat of a remarkable dog, following us as we left down the trail for probably 12 miles. Taking breaks right with us and stepping when we stepped. Why? Maybe she had a fetish for Marines, i dont know but its weird, she had almost a human quality about her. I still see it even now when i look at her picture.
And of course, it wasnt long before the donkeys started to drop one by one like flies under the cruel and relentless sun. You could tell that the conditions were too extreme, and it was just too much for them to handle. Arguably, the same could be said about us. Each step that i took seemed to get harder than the last, and everytime i looked to the front of the ranger file, we were headed uphill. The remaining donkeys that didnt die by encumberment or exhaustion committed suicide. Ive never heard of anything like it before, but i swear, i saw it with my own two eyes. They just couldnt go on any longer, and rather than suffer another beating, they took a sharp right turn and walked straight off a cliff. It had to be intentional, i realize and understand the fact that donkeys arent the smartest creatures alive to begine with, but they knew exactly what they were doing. Our suicide donkeys had just walked off the side of a cliff and our water had gone down with them.
Id be lying if I said that each of us hadnt thought about following suit and doing the same at least once, even if in jest. But we as Marines are different. Ever since the earliest stage of basic training, we were taught to ignore pain, dig deep inside and push past all of it. So without water resupply, thats what exactly we did. I checked my watch; 7:22pm. I checked my elevation; 4,668 ft. and counting. There was a rumor circulating that our objective had an elevation of over 8,000 ft. It was times like these that i kept my head down and continued walking. Its the plight of a Marine, keep your head down and continue walking.
This went on for several more hours until we had finally found ground suitable to set up for the night and get some much needed rest. Reveille would sound at 0330 which gave me 4 hours of sleep. Not much but....enough. The enemy had not shown his face yet, but I was certain they had eyes on us ever since we stepped off the trucks. All of us had the feeling that we were being watched and for good reason.
The same people that you pass in the day would change clothes at night and fire AK-47s at you. We would soon learn the valuable lesson the next morning that none of us could be too careful.
........to be continued.
I guess what they say is true. There is no such thing as a flawless convoy and sure enough, one hour into our bumpy ride, one of the 7-ton trucks broke down. This meant that we would have to sit and wait further until whatever it was got fixed. Mechanical problems are nothing new, and amid the usual storm of cursing that erupted about motor T mechanics never doing thier jobs, I thought I heard a gunshot, albeit a faint one. I told everyone to be quiet and point their weapons outboard; another gunshot one minute later. It was too far away to be anything aimed at us, which meant one of two things. Either there was a haji somewhere out there hunting wabbits or they were signaling each other. All i knew was that august wasnt rabbit season. I dont even think they have rabbits in this God-forsaken country now that i think of it. On past missions, i remember our "terp" (interpreter) telling us that the taliban doesnt exactly utilize phones, so they fire shots into the air to signal each other. Tensions heightened as more shots rang out, each one signaling that the Americans were now in the area. We were on their turf now.
After what seemed an eternity, we finally reached our destination; the mouth of the Chawkay valley. More than once i have heard it likened to "the valley of the shadow of death". I didnt know much about it, except that it was the same area where the helo got shot out of the sky and the navy seals went down. When i stepped off the truck, i saw the last thing in the world i expected to see. Donkeys. 20-30 of them.
Due to the nature of this mission....meaning that since we were foot mobile with no routes of resupply nearby, we were packing mules with enough water and food to sustain us for the duration of the time we would be out there. Involentarily, I smirked. More moving parts added into the mix, and something inside told me this would be the first to go. One thing Ive marveled at, is that in the entire build-up that this unit has conducted prior to coming to Afghanistan, not once did anyone think that the day might come when we would have to pack our own water in order to just survive the environment.
What did this break down to for the individual Marine in my section?
Lets pause to do a gear check. Inside of our packs, it was mandated that each Marine was to have a MINIMUM of 24 bottles of water, 5 MRE's (Meal Ready to Eat), a poncho, Gore-tex Top and Bottom, a fleece, enough clean socks and undershirts to last and of course, shaving gear. (for reasons unknown, the Marine Corps is adament about having a fresh shave even when out on missions.) If you were a mortarman, like myself, you had to strap 2 high explosive 81mm rounds to the sides of your pack, an additional 24 lbs. Not to mention carry the actual pieces of the mortar system which meant the baseplate, bipods, and tube, (each weighing 27.5, 29, & 35 lbs. respectively.) Anything else you wanted to bring was your choice, but after all of that, who wants extra weight of any sort?
We had another tag-along, her name was Paris. Noone knows where she came from, but she was somewhat of a remarkable dog, following us as we left down the trail for probably 12 miles. Taking breaks right with us and stepping when we stepped. Why? Maybe she had a fetish for Marines, i dont know but its weird, she had almost a human quality about her. I still see it even now when i look at her picture.
And of course, it wasnt long before the donkeys started to drop one by one like flies under the cruel and relentless sun. You could tell that the conditions were too extreme, and it was just too much for them to handle. Arguably, the same could be said about us. Each step that i took seemed to get harder than the last, and everytime i looked to the front of the ranger file, we were headed uphill. The remaining donkeys that didnt die by encumberment or exhaustion committed suicide. Ive never heard of anything like it before, but i swear, i saw it with my own two eyes. They just couldnt go on any longer, and rather than suffer another beating, they took a sharp right turn and walked straight off a cliff. It had to be intentional, i realize and understand the fact that donkeys arent the smartest creatures alive to begine with, but they knew exactly what they were doing. Our suicide donkeys had just walked off the side of a cliff and our water had gone down with them.
Id be lying if I said that each of us hadnt thought about following suit and doing the same at least once, even if in jest. But we as Marines are different. Ever since the earliest stage of basic training, we were taught to ignore pain, dig deep inside and push past all of it. So without water resupply, thats what exactly we did. I checked my watch; 7:22pm. I checked my elevation; 4,668 ft. and counting. There was a rumor circulating that our objective had an elevation of over 8,000 ft. It was times like these that i kept my head down and continued walking. Its the plight of a Marine, keep your head down and continue walking.
This went on for several more hours until we had finally found ground suitable to set up for the night and get some much needed rest. Reveille would sound at 0330 which gave me 4 hours of sleep. Not much but....enough. The enemy had not shown his face yet, but I was certain they had eyes on us ever since we stepped off the trucks. All of us had the feeling that we were being watched and for good reason.
The same people that you pass in the day would change clothes at night and fire AK-47s at you. We would soon learn the valuable lesson the next morning that none of us could be too careful.
........to be continued.
Sweet dog.
Hope everything's good.
Who's Mine Is It Anyways? I laughed out loud for like 5 minutes. Drew Carey, what a pussy. Sorry to hear he cancelled. You know if I was famous I'd be all over the entertaining the troops gig.
I didn't mean write a book like... literally like that. Just saying you've got a way with words, and I am always drawn into your stories of adventure when it comes to saving the world. Can't wait for the next installment!
Or my letter!
Take care of yourself.