War stories

Part of the fun of life in Afghanistan is the downtime spent with new friends trading "war stories".  Some really are war stories, or stories from the personal lives of colleagues whose other work as policemen, firefighters, etc. often sounds far more frightening than an average day in Parwan.  Other stories are more along the lines of "worst date ever" - and the histories of misspent youth.

Really?

Officer Friendly - a perennially cheerful and talkative officer got the ball rolling one night by asking the group if we'd ever been arrested. This unleashed a flood of tales that ran the gamut from excessive speeding to assault with a deadly weapon. I have never been so glad that I could answer "yes" to that question, since I was well out of my league in the wildest story competition, and didn't want to come off like the Momma's boy I am generally assumed to be (no I'm not telling - but it was solidly on the speeding end of the scale).

View From the Turret

Soon some of the real war stories starting popping out, with a bit of gore, and a lot of humor, often at the expense of the person telling the story. One of my favorites was about the proper use of a mortar. One intrepid mortar team was getting tired of trying to adjust their fire (change the angle and direction of the mortar) using a spotter since they coulnd't actually see themselves where their rounds were landing. They hauled the mortar onto the roof, and waited for the enemy to start shooting again. Soon enough they could see the muzzle flashes and they started firing. Now able to get instant feedback on their accuracy they were rapidly zeroing in on their target when they dropped in their third (and final) round, which was wildly inaccurate because of mortar mechanics. A mortar is just a tube with one open end (that points in the direction of the target) and one closed end (by the ground). The projectile is dropped in, and when it hits the bottom the propellant explodes in that very small space, and part of that force expels the explosive round out of the open end and it flies out in a nice arc to land on the target (in theory). The rest of that very considerable force is transferred to the closed end of the tube, and onward into the ground, or in this case, the roof. Having already withstood two impacts from a heavy object being forced downward, the roof gave way as the final round went off - plummeting into the (thankfully unoccupied) barracks below. The Afghan commander walked in, looked up at the hole in his roof, shook his head, and went away muttering about who is training who.

Camel Spider

a popular feature in Afghanistan war stories

(I'm told they're harmless)

Other things are simply goofy, like issues with the camp "Mayor" a military officer who serves as a kind of  administrator/landlord/handyman/ombudsman/counselor to the facility he/she is located on. At a big base, it's very like a civilian mayor, dealing with roadwork, housing issues, quiet hours etc. etc.  On a small FOB (check the list) it's more like being the older sibling who was put in charge as the babysitter - except they aren't usually the older sibling, and Mom and Dad are usually still home. Like any Mayor, they hold town hall meetings - with the difference that attendance isn't usually optional.  Our Mayor held a memorable gathering one evening in which we were advised of our collective inadequacies, called liars (for not publicly confessing to sins like scraping the icing off the cake and leaving the remainder) and informed that most of the (somewhat severe and unnecessary) rules which had been proclaimed by the Mayor and generally disregarded by the troops would be henceforth disregarded by the Mayor as well, since actions speak lounder than words, and he wanted to say *#%^ you to all of us...

The incumbent lost this year.

Dear Mom

Dear Mom,

Summer/winter camp has been fun, even if there are some boring parts.  The other kids are nice, even if we have some weirdos in our tent.  Guess we're all kinda weird in our own way, so that's cool. The guys enjoy hanging out, and I'm staying away from the smokers just like I promised. They've got some epic toys here, but are really strict about people breaking them and stuff, so I haven't gotten to play with most of them.

Our Toy Box

You always said that if it were up to me I'd live in a tent, and I guess this proves you right - but I wanted to let you know that you weren't right about me making my bed, which I actually do without being asked (OK most days I do it)

OK Not Military Standard,

 but Better Than You Thought Right?

We're taking lots of field trips and learning a lot, even though it's still chilly.  During the day the sun comes out and is melting most of the snow away.  We could stand to have a mud room like back home, but the good thing about having everything covered in gravel is that the water just seeps through and the mud isn't bad.  When it gets muddy we just throw some more rocks on and voila, problem solved. :)

Our New Mascot Scruffy



Next week we're thinking about going for a hike, which would be fun if the snow is gone.  I've been trying to stick to my New Years resolution about working out.  Your latest care package didn't really help, but thanks again all the same, they work hard to give us good food, but nothing beats homemade cookies (or circus peanuts).

Our Favorite Local Market...

and a Typical Vendor with his Merchandise...

(just what were you expecting?)

That's about all for now - hope everyone is well at home, talk again soon, miss you.

Love, your son

Let it Snow

Today is my first big snowstorm in Afghanistan and it's going strong after almost 24 hours.  Like everywhere else it seems to bring quiet and peace with it, and that is extra welcome here. There's enough that a half-hearted effort was made to shovel, but the base is covered in gravel, and there aren't any real paths.  The snowball fight (sadly I had a visitor who didn't seem interested in participating) wrecked the notional paths that had been shovelled so the effort was abandoned. It made me miss some "epic" snow battles that were a highlight of my recent vacation, and I'm hoping to partake in the inevitable rematch. Of course I could usually hold my ground in those battles even when outnumbered, and I am slightly fearful that the combination of enthusiasm and combat experience could result in my stumbling into an first class ambush that might leave me wishing I was wearing my body armor...

Ambush Alley

New Recruit

Another positive result is that I've come up with my first nickname for my colleagues. The Mad Medic.

Our medic is 200% dedicated to the well-being of "his" troops and would take the shirt off his back if he thought it would help them. He also takes it upon himself to entertain them (and me by extension) - typically by spontaneously barking out a laugh, and then following up with the joke that inspired it. The jokes aren't usually very funny, but he still brings a smile to my face. Anyhow, Mad Medic informed us that the snow also keeps the insurgents from attacking. Our resident attorney, who will henceforth be known as CPT Esquire gave a textbook look of courtroom skepticism and asked if he was sure the Taliban had gotten that memo from HQ. I'm with the medic on this one, who wants to fight in the snow?

Salang Tunnel Entrance

Then came the real treat of the day - an opportunity to visit the Salang Tunnel. Our intrepid governor had decided to commemorate the soviet withdrawal from Salang (his home district) by visiting the tunnel, and we were invited to tag along. After a long and snowy drive passing an obscene number of fuel trucks heading to U.S. bases we arrived at the tunnel, which was strikingly unimpressive for anything except its mystique as a soviet-era legacy and its breathtaking location starting at 10,000 feet.  We were treated with tales of how the Governor had led attacks against the Soviets and Taliban encamped by the tunnel, seizing their weapons and then firing downhill into the encampments below.  Nasty business, but always done during the summer.

  Tunnel Seen From Valley Below



Home Sweet Home (Really)

Well, after a very, very, very nice trip home I find myself back in Parwan settling back into my other “home” here in Afghanistan.

While it would be going too far to say I’m happy to exchange the company of my loved ones and the comforts of a life where the toughest decision of the day might be which K-cup to buy at the grocery store, what I CAN say is that I am less unhappy than you might think, and than I expected. My good humor is unrelated to my trip home which was a 48 hour marathon that began with just missing my departure flight due to a blizzard, included two eight hour campouts on airport chairs/floors, and was topped off by an aborted attempt to land in a second blizzard.

Nice weather once things cleared up

Once I did get back, I learned that things have been running so smoothly that I am tempted to leave again and see if more improvements will follow. Despite my explanations about the scientific method and the importance of my taking another vacation to provide a statistically valid study of this phenomenon, my boss didn’t bite, probably because he just returned from vacation and apparently didn’t have the same experience…

So, dear reader, you may be wondering why I am not (yet) wallowing in self-pity counting the days until a trip to the store to get the right size of coffee filters (no K-cups here) doesn’t require a week of planning and a two day trip. (for the record, as a custodian of taxpayer funding I would always combine such a trip with other important business, like getting a haircut…)

The basic answer is that there are just a lot of interesting/cool things going on.

First and foremost, Afghans are wonderful people and live in a stark, but beautiful country. As some of my pictures show, the mountains here are covered in snow, but the donkeys don’t mind.  If I took better pictures you would notice that the local people in these picture look different – more asian.  They are in fact Hazara – a historically persecuted minority that lives in the far west of Parwan adjacent to the better-known province of Bamiyan, home of the two thousand year old giant Buddha statues that the Taliban are infamous for blowing to bits during their reign of terror. Hazaras are believed to be descended from Genghis Khan and his henchmen who swept through Afghanistan a few centuries back.

As I may have mentioned, Afghans (like most non-American cultures) have a far stronger sense of history than we do.  In a recent incident, my boss started giving me annoyed/disappointed looks because my pre-brief left him totally unprepared when a lunch conversation with the governor turned to the subject of “the Chinese minority” and their role in local politics. Just before I raised my hand to interrupt to self-immolate by interrupting him and asking him just who the heck these Chinese people are, it became clear that he was saying the Mongols, and in fact meant the Hazaras, though his word choice implied that they are still considered outsiders having settled here a mere 800 years or so ago…

The preferred modes of transportation in Afghanistan

Toyota Hilux, Armored Vehicle or Donkey

But I digress. The Hazaras live in the far west of Parwan, and I was very pleased that my inaugural mission in 2011 took me to the far edge of Parwan, well beyond the limits of previous trips in that direction. Having suffered badly under the Taliban, the Hazaras are also quite friendly to “coalition forces” and were glad to see us and speak with us.

OK , OK this is a repeat

it's the Alexander the great fort in a new season

Another neat thing of course is the machinery of war. Like all small boys (and we’re all small boys) I am genetically hardwired to find guns interesting, helicopters fascinating, and explosions awesome.  As a result, coming back into this environment I still get a kick that the guy across from you in the cafeteria is carrying a weapon that fires a .50 caliber round (which can easily disable a car) and can be programmed to have that round explode at a specified distance, effectively giving them the ability to hit target hiding behind walls or corners at a distance of several hundred meters. I will say that the cool factor is significantly elevated by the fact that my team has this capability, and the enemy does not. Similarly, confident in the knowledge that the Taliban lack an air force, I could relax and enjoy a live-fire exercise which basically consisted of blowing large and medium-sized rocks on the mountain behind our base into small and tiny sized rocks. I will say that the mere sound of a helicopter letting loose with either its “cannon” or missiles would be more than enough to send me running to the peace table. 

Regrettably, I made the mistake of making an important telephone conversation after I thought that the gravel production practice was finished.  I've been trying to replace my Afghan assistant, and was doing a phone interview with the most promising candidate.  Halfway through a nice conversation both my Korean hosts and the American helicopters moved on to joint firing exercises with the result that I had to pause for a moment as the combined sound and vibrations from multiple heavy caliber weapons and missile strikes drowned out my erstwhile new assistant. Hearing the "uhhhh is everything OK" at the other end of the line I was sure I'd just lost my big fish of the day and quickly explained that our "shock and awe" campaign was purely pre-emptive in nature, then fibbed about calling from outside (it was plenty loud in my office) and did my best to minimize the background noise and finish the call before the mortar outside my office got put in play and destroyed my credibility entirely. To his credit, his enthusiasm never dipped as we finished our talk about what a peaceful province this is, but my fingers will remain crossed until he signs on the dotted line.

Parwan Gravel Pit

Last but not least, and perhaps most surprisingly, is the cuisine. Although there are definitely meals that help me make good on my more ambitious New Years resolutions, I genuinely missed not only my daily dose of BSM (had to throw a few acronyms back at you), but what is fondly known by my younger and more muscular Army brethren as “rabbit food”.  Additionally, the age-old tradition of surf and turf for the grunts is alive and well, and my friends in low places hooked me up with a lobster tail and steak dinner to spare me from what was apparently a very meager offering at the rabbit hutch.

Life is Good

(despite my technical difficulties loading this picture)

So, I’m back, no better than before, but hopefully no worse, and with a commitment (read New Years resolution) to step up the pace on the blog, so stay tuned.