Not Forgotten

Sudbury is a town that continues to amaze me in many ways. Its passionate residents with their diverse opinions and backgrounds contribute to heated debates about schools, budgets, and politics. There are as many opinions as issues and as many who'd just rather stay out of the discussion entirely. Yet, for some issues, the true nature of the people of Sudbury shines above the fray in our small world in our small town.

This past Sunday, the Sudbury Military Support Network was at Sudbury Farms soliciting donations of food and supplies to send packages to troops overseas. Organized by the ever-present voice of support for our military families in Sudbury, Patty Houpt, over twenty volunteers braved the rain and DVR'd the Pats game to help the package drive succeed.

The support was overwhelming. Standing in the rain in my uniform as a recently returned Afghanistan veteran, the number of well wishes I received and the number of items donated was a testament to the support our town continues to show to our service men and women. For two hours, people rushing in to prep for the Pats game or for Hurricane Sandy were polite enough to listen to my ten-second spiel, and many of them chose to donate.

There are still over 70,000 troops deployed to Iraq and Afghanistan, but that number is simply boots on the ground. Likely 150,000 troops will rotate in and out of Afghanistan over the next year and a half as we approach the 2014 date for the last combat troops to redeploy from Afghanistan.  Some of the troops will come from Sudbury or are part of families that live in Sudbury, this isn't quite over yet.

Afgahnistan and Iraq are drawing down, but we are increasing a presence in Africa, thought by many to be one of the strong-holds of fundamentalist Islamic terrorist organizations. As with many ideologies, the spread of dangerous ideas is not limited to one country, region or even continent. Our troops deployed from Djibouti down the eastern side of Africa to Madagascar deserve our support and I am certain the Sudbury Military Support Network will be there for them as well.

There is no better way for me to express the emotional response I felt on Sunday witnessing that outpouring of support than to say I would deploy again. I would deploy to preserve freedom for my family, for my friends, but more importantly, for my neighbors for whom I have so much respect.

Thank you, Sudbury.

Wheels up!

There was a rising but quiet pitter patter rhythm in the distance that my ears had been yearning to hear.  The sound was unmistakable, two Blackhawk helicopters making their way across Maydan Shahr district in Wardak Province heading to FOB Airborne.  I was soon able to make them out as their silhouettes passed in front of the mountains, cautiously avoiding any consistency of pattern in order to avoid giving the insurgents a reliable flight path for an attack.  Their shapes, vague and nearly indiscernable at first, were soon heading straight for us with noses up, preparing to land.

The noise was deafening as the helicopter's rotors beat the air with a fury, allowing the helo to land gracefully on the pad at the HLZ (helicopter landing zone).  The sand and small rocks were flying through the air under the bright and clear blue sky on that warm March day.  The door opened and out came a few new guests to FOB Airborne as I waited too anxiously for the all clear signal to load the first helo.

The signal came and with what seemed like the speed of the fastest speed walker on earth, I grabbed all 200 pounds of gear and labored across the pad.  The crew chief helped me load my bags and I jumped into a window seat by the door, my favorite place to fly.

I've flown over a hundred times in Afghanistan, but this time my heart was in my throat, my leg bouncing nervously and my hands struggling to connect the clasps of the seat belt.  Soon the belt was tight and I sat back to look out the window.  The door closed tightly next to me and the crew chief jumped aboard.

When a helo is sitting on the landing pad, the engine revolutions are reduced and there is only a little vibration.  I stared out of the window as we waited for the pilot to take off, a thousand memories passing through my mind.  My first landing on FOB Airborne, my first mission to a remote COP, the room I lived in for nearly a year, the countless missions outside of the wire and meetings with governance officials, friends I'll cherish, friends I lost, enemies I'll despise, snow storms, sand storms, IEDs, firefights, noise.

I felt the engines rev higher in preparation for takeoff, the vibrations of the helo passing through my body as I realized this was it, this was my freedom flight, this was the last day I would ever spend in Wardak Province, Afghanistan.  My body seemed to relish the strengthening vibration as memories and stress, pain and fatigue, loneliness and aggravation began sifting out of me.

The last four weeks have been the most stressful of the deployment.  The number of "green on blue" incidents where trusted Afghans shot their American counterparts in cold blood, the Koran burnings, the murders of the women and children just south of us, and the IEDs and firefights starting again all made me very nervous, very often.  My head was constantly on a swivel and I trusted no Afghan I saw on my FOB that I didn't know personally, and even those I did know I wasn't sure I could trust.  Outside the wire where I had usually been in a relatively relaxed posture, I brought extra ammo and kept an extra weapon on red status just in case my primary failed.  But there would be no more missions outside the wire, no more Afghans soldiers I didn't know wandering around me.

These last few moments before takeoff lasted an eternity as every sense was more finely attuned to my surroundings.  The sound of the rotors had a peculiar secondary sound on each beat of the blades that I'd never noticed before.  There's was a soft, bell like chime from one of the latches that reminded me of a Christmas ornament dangling on a brightly lit tree.  There were a few loose bolts on the seats as a metal on metal clank matched the pattern of the rotor pulse.  My strong exhale, trying to calm down a little, ripped through the other sounds in my head with a thunderous rancor that was unexpected.

My body knew we were flying before my eyes did as it felt the small changes in balance as the pilot gently lifted us off of the pad.  He kept the helo level as we rose slowly and inched towards the outer edge, turning to the opposite direction.  As we nosed down, moved forward more quickly and rose up, I watched the buildings of the FOB fade into the distance until they appeared as they did when I first saw a map image almost fourteen months ago.

I sat back in my seat, closed my eyes, and imagined Carrie Lou and the girls straining for a glimpse from the end of a jetway in Boston, smiles on their faces, their eyes sparkling beautifully on a sunny day.  Fourteen months after I started on this adventure, I can imagine the walk together out of the terminal, arm in arm, hardly able to let go of each other, ready to pass into the next phase of our lives.

A quiet unease

There is a growing unease among the soldiers here on the FOB. It is quiet and unspoken, yet palpable as we recognize what the change in the season will bring to our little corner of Afghanistan.

The winter has been very cold and the snow at our elevation deep, at times the weather dropping over two feet of snow on us.  The snow is welcome because it falls across the mountains and the fields that surround the villages here in Wardak Province, covering the landscape in a surreal sheet of white peace that is rarely broken by explosions or gunfire.

The deeper the snow, the more difficult it is for insurgents to travel and gather their weapons as they wait out the cold and ice.  When the snow is deep, an insurgent's tracks from a weapons cache or an IED placed on the road is easy to identify.  It is during this time of year that the roads are the safest.

I shuddered this morning when I realized that nearly all of the snow on the southern side of the mountains near us has melted away.  The receding winter reveals evidence of the barren waste that occupies most of the countryside; a brown, featureless surface that yields not life, but death.  When the ground is free of snow, it is much easier to launch a rocket and even easier to hide afterwards.

In Massachusetts, where there wasn't much of a winter, the buds will soon be bursting.  The pink dogwood flowers, passion-fruit color croci, the deep green of the grass awakening from their own winter hibernation are a welcome sign of spring back home.  There are areas of Afghanistan where the Spring brings beauty, but ours is not one of those areas.

My countdown is in single digits, just a little more snow for another week or so would do me just fine.

Good things come to those who wait

I embarked on a long journey last June when I arrived in Afghanistan; no, not the journey of the deployment.  This journey was just a part and would be more difficult - navigating two massive bureaucracies in an attempt to improve the lives of Afghans through mysterious government systems of abject neglect and corruption.

Afghanistan has a very primitive health care system.  There is no health insurance, few real hospitals and only a few reliable, quality clinics.  These facilities service only about fifteen to twenty percent of the entire population.  The rest are left to whatever care is available in their villages or, if they able able, to trek hours or days to a facility that can help treat them.  The mortality rate of children in particular is high because there is simply no way to get mothers and their children to facilities often enough for even routine care.

I endeavored last June to create a mobile hospital system in our area that would change the dynamic, allow health care to reach the rural Afghans and provide a noticeable, if small, improvement in their health care.  Afghans traveling long distances is too much for many of them, our project would be to purchase ambulances that would have four wheel drive, have room for emergency patients and carry enough supplies to be a mobile clinic.

The Turkish Provincial Reconstruction Team works with us often on different projects and they had recently constructed a few clinics in the very remote districts of Merkaz-e Behsud and Hesa-e Awal-e Behsud.  We sought to equip those clinics with the ambulances so that the local medical staff would be able to extend the reach of their clinic and their supplies.  One of the benefits of these two districts is that they are mostly Hazaran, an ethnic population that is very supportive of coalition forces and is a safe area for us.

This simple task turned out to be a bureaucratic nightmare on both sides, the Afghans and the Americans.  We first submitted the reams of documentation and paperwork to purchase the ambulances and were met with the first frustration.  We were asked, "Why in the Behsuds?  There's no value for us to offset the fighting there."  It seems part of our "hearts and minds" campaign is to wage war by spending money in the places where people want to kill us.  Give them money and projects, and they'll stop shooting at us.  I'm not sure who's brilliant idea that was, but let me just say, it doesn't work.  More on that in a later post after I leave Afghanistan.

In the end, we successfully convinced people that spending money in areas where we could actually have a positive effect on the lives of ordinary Afghans was a good thing.  We completed all the remaining documents and paperwork and eventually were able to push through to a contract.  We executed the contract and waited anxiously for the ambulances to arrive.

Then the real fun began.

When the ambulances arrived at the embarkation point in Afghanistan, the customs officials refused to allow the ambulances into the country without paying the requisite import tax, roughly $140,000 USD.  The ambulance contractor was surprised, as were we.  This was a donation by the US Government to the people of Afghanistan, why would we pay more money to the government for the privilege of donating to the government?  The thought was this was more a ploy to shakedown the contractor, but the customs office wouldn't budge.

It seemed our best bet was to work with our US partners to identify a document, memo, phone call that could be made and straighten this out in short order.  The response I received was even more shocking.  Everyone I spoke to thought the contractor was shaking us down!  I tried to explain that the contractor was only looking for a way to get permission to bring the ambulances into the country, but you can only hit your head on the brick wall for so long.

Trying to work through the Afghan government was just as bad.  Nearly everyone we spoke to wanted a little something to help us out, and I know you all know what I mean.  Now it became a matter of principle.  These were ambulances, not LCD TVs.  These ambulances were going to save lives.

Three months we worked the problem through multiple levels of governments on both sides.  Eventually, there was a very positive resolution.  The Ministry of Finance at the highest level of Afghan government finally stepped in and instructed the customs office to release the ambulances without prejudice.  Two days later the ambulances arrived at FOB Airborne.

It is nice to know the Afghans finally worked out the resolution with the Afghan government, in the end that was the best solution.  But the frustration of working through such obstinate and corrupt government processes left me as frustrated with my own government that refused to offer its support for a project that it itself was funding.

We enjoyed a wonderful, sunny day with a ceremony presenting the ambulances to the Director of Public Health and our friends at the Turkish PRT.  It was a great end to a long process that will bring a better quality of life to many Afghans.

Senioritis

I remember the last few weeks before high school graduation where everyone was experiencing "senioritis."  Well, everyone except maybe the beautiful and brilliant Lisa Misterka who was heading to MIT. Those last few weeks of skipping class, studying only when we had to and generally goofing off were innocent and a part of the American high school student experience.

Now that I am in the last weeks of this deployment, those thoughts of senioritis and the difference here in Afghanistan is foremost on my mind. The end is in sight and we are working hard to pack and transition gear, information and relationships we've built up over the past year. I have met a number of inspirational people and feel content that the work I've done has made some small difference in the life of the average Afghan. Yet the excitement coming home also brings the realization that the two most dangerous times for any soldier are the first thirty days and the last thirty days. I'm now in those last thirty days.

Whom can you trust?

Maybe it's because I didn't know what to expect or it was such a whirlwind when I arrived, but I am more nervous now than I've been my entire tour. Part of my anxiety stems from the fact that one of my very good friends, 1LT Derwin Williams, was killed by an IED days before he was to return home to his wife and three daughters in Chicago. His job was much different than mine, he was trained to defeat IEDs on the roadways and he was only equipped with an up-armored HUMVEE. But he was so close to being home, that fact resonates deeply with me.

The protests and riots that many of you are observing in the news may not seem like much, but for someone like me that works with the Afghan government on a near daily basis, it is quite unnerving. We've always known that there are Taliban sleeper cells embedded in the Afghan government waiting for a signal to act. The burning of the Qu'rans at Bagram Airfield seem to have given them a signal of some sort as there are too many acts of violence happening from inside "safe" zones where we've become comfortable and relaxed.

The meetings I used to attend with a sense of relative safety I now find myself jittery and ultra-focused in. More than once I've found my hand moving to my pistol I always wear with my thumb on the safety and my forefinger on the release, just in case. I'm no longer comfortable being in a room with Afghans behind me where I can't see them and where I used to stop and shake hands with visitors at the provincial and district centers, I now avoid crowds of people. There's two feet of snow on the range, but zeroing a weapon, regardless of how cold it is outside, is usually a good way to ensure a shot aimed is a successful shot.

There are only a few more weeks here on the ground and I am looking forward to turning in my weapons and going home. I expect it will take me a little more time to adjust when I get home this time.

Run to Home Base

Traumatic brain injury (TBI) is one of the most common injuries for soldiers who have served in Iraq and Afghanistan.  Some estimates put the rate as high as 30% of all combat related injuries.  The problem with TBI, and its more prevalent cousin, mild traumatic brain injury (mTBI), is that the symptoms can remain hidden for months or years.  Mass General refers to these injuries as "the invisible wounds of war."

My own experience with mTBI as a victim of IEDs here in Afghanistan allows me to relate, in some small way, to those who suffer from more significant cases.  The short term memory loss following the event and the ever present question of whether there is long term impact are real effects that should not be ignored.  Research is critical to improve not only treatment, but accurate diagnosis of TBI.

I am honored to support research again in 2012 with the Red Sox Foundation and Massachusetts General Hospital by participating in the Run to Home Base race at Fenway Park.  I would appreciate once more the support of my family and friends that have been with me through this deployment for this important cause.  I ran the race in 2010 and it was a great experience for important research.

Please click here to make a donation, or for more information on the research at Mass General, please click here.

Thank you for everything you've done to support me and my family, I look forward to thanking you all in person in 2012!

Klondike Derby

I was living in Albuquerque, New Mexico, as a young Boy Scout in February of 1983.  The Boy Scouts have an event in the winter called the Klondike Derby where the troop heads out into the woods to learn cold weather skills and have fun in the snow.  That year we headed into the mountains north of Albuquerque, a bucolic mix of pinon and ponderosa where the sweet scent of sap floated on the brisk, cool air. 

I arrived and setup our camp with my three tent mates on a fragrant bed of pine needles in a small clearing that had a commanding view of the sloping hillside and mountains beyond.  We found stones to build a fire ring and had just enough time to collect some firewood to keep warm before crawling into our sleeping bags for the night.  I remember the purple and orange hues of the pine cones burning and popping in the fire as we enjoyed a clear night sky.

The morning was a big surprise, our tent was surrounded with two feet or more of fresh snow, the inside of our tent colder than the outside air with the bright morning sun.  We dug our way out of the tent and cleared away the fire pit to try and get warm and make some warm breakfast.  Though the air was cold, the snow deep and the activities difficult in the new snow, it was only a weekend in the snow.

The landscape is beautiful but forbidding

I recently traveled to a remote COP (combat out post) here in Afghanistan that, at over 9,000 feet, is even higher in elevation than my main base.  This is a real Klondike Derby where the temperatures are below zero Farenheit during the bright, sunny day and brutally cold at night.  The heaters for the tents are simply inadequate to keep the temperature above 30 degrees inside, and the buildings where the Afghans work are even colder without working windows or doors.

A few curious boys in the local bazaar

The view from this COP is beautiful as it looks out over the frozen valley to the mountains.  But it's a frozen wasteland, devoid of enough trees to burn for the locals to keep warm.  We visited the bazaar and you could see the cold, hard and almost powdery texture of the faces of the children that were there.  It was obvious they were incredibly cold as they attempted to sell their wares.

The growing teenagers wore sandals with thin socks, their pants reaching down only to their shins as they were growing faster than their parents could provide clothes that fit.  There were several signs of frostbite and we invited a few of the children to come to the COP for medical care.  A small and inadequate gesture that would not solve the root problem, but may provide at least some temporary relief.

A young boy with some frostbite on his knuckle

I spent the nights in my tent with layers of polypro, waffle thermals, a long sleeve shirt, two pairs of wool socks, a cold weather sleeping bag, and my fleece cap - and yet I still shivered most of the night.  The Boy Scout motto is "Be Prepared," and I completely failed.  I had not been that cold in a very long time.  Thankfully, I was only there for a few days and like the Derby, I was able to head back to a warmer, more inviting place.  The fact that I think my FOB is a warm and inviting place should tell you something about life for soldiers on a mountain side COP.

One of the benefits of my job here working with the government officials is enjoying traditional Afghan meals.  While away at this COP, I had a very delicious dinner with the District Sub Governor as he hosted me and my team.  For a people that have very little themselves, they are exceedingly hospitable to their guests.  The dinner, a richly flavored rice dish with local vegetables was delicious.

Traditional Afghan meal with local fruits and vegetables

Following dinner we enjoyed the traditional Chai tea; however, the governor thought we would enjoy sugar in our tea which is very Western and not at all Afghan.  The gentleman who served us the tea must have put 4 tablespoons of sugar in each tea cup.  It was very hard to drink, but we accepted graciously.

My friends that are there will live in that harsh, cold environment through Spring when the thaw arrives.  It only continues to remind me to appreciate what I have when I have it.  You never know if you'll end up on a proverbial COP, pining for what once made you comfortable.

A remote village in the moutainns cut off from
the main roads for some of the year

An endless landscape of cold

Helicopters are sometimes the only
way around the mountainous landscape

Hope is in the children's eyes

The differences between districts and villages are astounding.

The Bazaar

Down the hill from our FOB is a very active and prosperous bazaar, one of the busiest and most profitable in our area of responsibility.  There are dozens of shops that sell produce, essentials, pharmaceuticals, meats, shoes, auto supplies, etc.

A few of the bazaar owners talking with us about how their
businesses are doing. Most of the supplies are bought in Kabul.

The bazaar was very busy today and we had a great time walking and talking to local Afghans.  One gentleman I spoke to had a cobbler shop just outside the main bazaar.  His "store" was essentially a small hole about four feet deep and wide, and two feet high.  He locks up his tools and supplies and works right out on the sidewalk.  He is a from a village that isn't very close, yet this bazaar is the only way for him to earn money for his family.

The temperature was about 20 degrees today and he was working with his bare hands.  At least in the sun it felt a bit warmer, but you could see the years of toil his hands endured.  The heavily calloused and cracked fingers still maintained their dexterity as he carefully threaded a new sole on a shoe.  The white hue on his finger tips were a sign of just how cold his hands were, yet he kept working.  He was polite, but I didn't get the sense my intrusion was welcomed, only tolerated.

We continued to walk the bazaar and spoke with a number of other people.  One gentleman we encountered wanted to ask us more questions than we asked him.  His first question was direct and to the point - if we are losing soldiers in Afghanistan, why stay?  The question took me a moment to try and formulate an answer, mostly because my gut response was "I wonder the same thing!"  I explained to him that we continued to support the Afghans and wanted to work and fight terrorism side by side with them, eradicating the cancer that has consumed their country for decades.

He then asked why we didn't do more to kill the Taliban.  This was a more difficult question to answer because most of the men at FOB Airborne want to do just that, it's their whole reason for coming to Afghanistan.  But I had to explain to him how difficult a task that was without hurting other people.

A few of the men anxious to be rid of the Taliban.

The Taliban are exceptional urban survivalists.  They fight amongst the people, use homes and civic buildings for cover, and are hardly ever out in the open.  When they are out in the open, it's like fish in a barrel with our advanced technology.  But when not, it's extremely difficult to isolate bad guy from good guy.

One example of this is a recent mission to a highly kinetic area.  We were building a clinic there to try and bring health care to people in a very rural area that were far from any other clinics or services.  During this mission, the Taliban opposed our movement and took up a fighting position in the clinic.  The clinic was targeted by our aircraft and nearly razed, a clinic that was 90% complete and a year in the making.  Had there been people in the clinic, we would have had even fewer options.  But such are the actions of cowards, putting innocent lives in danger in order to pursue their own goals.

The man agreed with my assessment and described at length his hatred of the Taliban.  The destruction they bring to villages, the intimidation, the arrogance.  He agreed with me that the Afghan people need to do more to drive out the Taliban from the village strongholds but we also agreed that the Taliban terrorize their own people as much as others.  We parted company and I wished him health and happiness as we promised to look for each other when I visited the bazaar again.

Buying some fresh, hot naan from the bazaar. We spent
about 1,000 afs at four shops today. Most businesses
here sell approximately 3,000 afs worth of goods per day.

Most shops are run by older men doing business there for years, yet there is no shortage of shops run by teenagers.  I had the pleasure of meeting one of these young gentleman today who is from a small, nearby village.  He is in the tenth grade, only fifteen years old and spends his time between school in the village and the shop in the bazaar.  His English is very good by village Afghan standards and he has a smile that is as welcoming as it is big.

Many students in the U.S. that work during high school do so because they help pay for car insurance, need gas money for driving to and from sports or a little extra cash for weekend nights out with their beaus.  I know that was me.  My first car cost only $25 and was missing part of the floor under the back seat, but it still took money to run.

A determined and intelligent young man with a bright future.

This young man commutes to the bazaar on his bike and the money he makes helps support a family of eight.  This is in addition to working hard in school, something that is evident from his excellent English skills and his ability to calculate an exchange rate from dollars to afs in his head.  He is working hard to make the most of his future and hopes to attend a university someday.

It was a wonderful day in the bazaar meeting a young man like this whose own vision of his future is still bright, still full of promise.  I look forward to going back and saying hello to him again.