A letter from my friend stationed in Afghanistan

[kreator]

This is an update from 8/19/2009 from my buddy Doyle Bedwell. He is a company commander in Afghanistan. I thought I would share it on the board because I think he did a great job in capturing what our troops go through every day.. He titled it "Just Another Day"

I reach down to turn the water on. The pipe groans a little as the water rushes to the top and then dribbles out of the spigot. It’s not the best water pressure in the world, but it’s enough to rinse the dirt and sweat of a couple days off. It is 2345. Back home they call that 11:45 PM. I am tired. Perhaps exhausted would be a better word for it. Since returning to Afghanistan a month ago, it seems nothing has gone right. Absentmindedly I reach for my little bottle of shampoo. On most days I almost laugh at thought of me using shampoo. You would think a bottle would last a year with as little hair as I have left. As I take my shower I think about the day’s events. I tried all day to find out what the base defense plan for our little camp was. Everyone keeps telling me to ask someone else because it was not their responsibility. “I don’t have it, but I think that guy was supposed to do it.” At the end of the day I have found no plan and realize that nobody ever created one. As someone told me earlier, “What’s the big deal? This place never gets hit. We haven’t been hit in over 2 years!” Coming from the east, that is a difficult answer to accept. We got hit in the east. I decide I’ll have to do it myself. Tomorrow, though, because I have so many things to do and right now I just want to shower and go to sleep. I hate this place.

I finish washing up, dry myself off and get dressed. It feels nice to get out of my dirty uniform. I have been wearing it for over a week now. The sweat and dirt have given the collar a cardboard-like stiffness that has begun to cut into my neck. I remind myself to get a haircut tomorrow so I can feel better about changing out my uniform. I don’t want to get the hairs in the collar of a new uniform. I hate that. As I put on the shorts and T-shirt of my PT (physical training) uniform, I notice how infinitely lighter they feel than my dirty army combat uniform. It is good to be out of my boots. Although I don’t like the shower shoes I am wearing, it is better than my hot, heavy and incredibly smelly boots. Oh, how I hate this place.

I walk out of the showers trailer and start heading back to my B-Hut. The shower trailer looks just like the trailers you would see at a construction site. Inside are three toilets, three showers and one urinal. The showers are 30” by 30”. The toilets are even narrower. I suppose it is a good thing I am not claustrophobic or I would be too scared to crap or shower. I hate this place. The walk back to my B-Hut is about 100 meters. It is easy to see all the rocks beneath me as I walk because there are lights all over the camp. It was the first thing I noticed when I arrived here at night several weeks ago. The west is so different from the east, where I spent the first 7 months of my tour so far. I think of how idiotic this place is… how much I hate it here. A rock presses through the shower shoe, nothing more than a flip-flop sandal, and into my right foot. It hurts like hell. I pause to reach down and make sure it didn’t actually pierce the flip flop and go into my foot. I find no joy in discovering I do not have to buy a new set of shower shoes. I remind myself of how much I really hate this place.

I open the door to my “room.” I live in a building made of some sort of afghan concrete. I call it paper mache. It crumbles to the touch and would not take much to bring it crashing to the ground. Inside the building they have put up 6’ plywood walls for privacy. The ceiling is 8” tall, so privacy is a relative term. I walk in, hang my towel on the little hanger I have on the wall, and then shut the door behind me. I kick off my shower shoes and dry my feet with a wash cloth. I pull out a pair of white ankle socks and start to put them on. I can’t decide if I want to attempt to make a phone call home or if I just want to go to bed. I am just slipping on the second sock and deciding that bed sounds like the better idea when I hear a very loud crash. For an instant I think maybe it was just someone outside slamming a door, but something in the back of my mind is screaming that something is wrong. I open my dear to hear better as I reach over to the little shelf sitting next to my bunk and turn on the radio I use to communicate with my company. As the radio comes on I prepare to call the COR (commander of the relief) to ask if he knew anything, but I can’t get a transmission off as the radio comes alive with frantic and confused reports. “SOG (sergeant of the guard) this COR, did you see what that was?” “Negative, but there looked like an explosion over by the Italian side.”

[kreator]

SHIT! At the word explosion I toss the radio onto my bunk and put my running shoes on. I grab my body armor off the floor next to my door and toss it over my head and onto my shoulders. I grab the Velcro tabs on the sides and secure them to the front of the vest. It is just after midnight and I don’t give a damn how much noise I am making. I have already realized what most of the camp has not, because they are sleeping. We are under attack. As I get the second Velcro strap pulled around to the front, the attack alarm sounds. WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO………. It sounds like an old air raid siren from a World War II movie. I throw my helmet on my head and buckle it on to my chin as the door across the hall opens up. I grab my rifle and radio then move into the hallway. The Lieutenant Commander in the room across from me asks me if I am part of the QRF (Quick Reaction Force.) I tell him I have men on the QRF. As I race down the short hallway to the exit door I holler over my shoulder that I am the QRF. He yells at me wanting to know if this is some kind of drill. I punch down on the handle and race through the doorway. As I exit the building I hear a muffled boom to the east. SON OF A BITCH! “It’s not a drill” I scream back through the door and then sprint over to a Hesco barrier (a “chicken wire” framed basket with a volume of 7 cubic feet of dirt used as protection from explosions,) and throw myself against it. I can hear the rocket as it cuts through the air, its motors propelling it towards us. My mind is screaming” NO, NO, NO!” as I drop to my knees and press my face into the gravel. I feel the fear start to take hold of me.

If you have never heard indirect fire (artillery or rockets) fired at you before; you should know it makes a very distinct noise as it closes the gap between whoever fired it at you and yourself. There is usually a small boom as it is launched. This is the first indicator that you are about to be in deep shit. As it arcs through the air towards you, you can actually hear it pushing through the air. The rockets make sort of a cross between a humming and whooshing noise. As it begins to fall out of the sky onto your position, the pitch of the noise starts to rise. This is usually the best indicator that it is about to explode on you. The higher the pitch, the closer it is going to land. I remember all of this as I hear the pitch of the rocket start to rise. Terror grips me for a second as I wonder if I am thinking my last thought. Unfortunately nobody knows at what pitch you are going to be hit… because those men are dead.

[kreator]

KaWHOOOMF!!!! I hear the impact of the round. It sounds like it hit a few hundred meters to the north of me. It hits me that I have only 2 men in the recently expanded northern portion of the Camp. There is nothing in there because they just started building it up in the last few weeks. It is the most vulnerable part of the Camp because nobody is in it but my two men. It is separated from the southern part of the Camp by a gate. My two men there are only there for observation and I realize they cannot defend it alone. It may seem like a long thought process but it only takes me a second to decide where I need to go. I pull myself off the ground and start running north. The siren is still wailing into the night sky. In the distance I can hear people screaming to get to the bunkers. I am running as hard as I can go as the 50 pounds of gear on my shoulders ensure that I break no land speed records tonight. Thoughts jumble through my head as I speed toward the gate leading to the northern expansion. I press the button on my radio and yell into it, asking for a report from the men in the northern expanse. I am not even sure they can understand me as I breathe hard from the running. I get no answer from them.

In the three weeks that I have been here, we have never done a drill on this situation. I have no idea how the rest of the camp is supposed to act. The attitude that “nothing ever happens here” really says it all. I am sure most people don’t know what to do. I have done this a half dozen times at least when I was at FOB Lightning. I was a major contributor to the base defense plan we had there. My men trained on that plan and knew it by heart. It was all I had to go on, but I decided to try and copy that plan here as I best I could. I was about halfway to the gate when I stopped next to a HUMVEE. I dropped down to one knee and tried to catch my breath. I had to think damnit! I did not have the same men NOR did I have the same communication network I had at Lightning. I tried once again to reach my men in the north but still got no reply. “WHAT THE HELL AM I DOING?” my mind screamed. I was alone in the night and had no idea what anyone else was doing other than running for bunkers. I told myself I was stupid for sitting out here and needed to get my ass to some cover.

[kreator]

For some reason, in one of those “how odd” moments, I noticed I still had my room keys in my hand. “How odd,” I thought. (I would later discover that out of habit, I had actually locked my room when I left… like an idiot.) I tucked my keys into one of the pouches on my vest as the radio crackled in my hand. “Six, this four.” It was SSG Sandage, my supply sergeant. I could hear the higher pitch and huffing and puffing in his voice. He was somewhere out there, just like me. For some reason my heart leaped. I am not alone!

“Four, this is six. Go Ahead.”

“Where do you want me sir?”

“Four, meet me at the gate leading into the northern expansion.”

“Roger six. I am on my way.”

I didn’t know what the hell I was going to do, but at least I wasn’t going to be alone any more. It had been less than 20 seconds since I stopped at this HUMVEE but I already knew it was long overdue for me to move. I still had no plan, but I needed to either move forward to the north to find my guys or find some cover. As I jumped up and started to sprint north again I was hoping to do both. As I ran as fast as I could I wondered how many other people were running towards the explosions and not away from them… probably not very many. Happily, my mind sang a cadence for me as motored along. “This is dumb, this is dumb, this is dumb….”

It took another 15 to 20 seconds before I reached opening in the north wall. The gate was just across a narrow road. I saw a mound of dirt lying at the end of the northern Hesco barrier wall. I headed towards it and dropped down just behind it. It wasn’t much, but it was better than lying out in the open. I hadn’t been there but a few seconds when I heard someone running up from the south. “Captain?!” “Captain!?” I could tell by the voice it was SSG Sandage. “Over here,” I yelled from the mound. He changed direction, picked up speed and headed toward me. When he got to my location he dropped down next to me. It could not have been that long since I heard the first explosion, but it felt really good to have someone else there with me in the dark. I felt like I had been by myself forever. There are no lights at the northern expansion because it has not been built up yet. I felt safer with someone else there with me… but we were anything but safe.

[kreator]

“COR this is ECP 2 (Entry Control Point 2),” the radio came to life. I felt a small wave of relief. It was the men I had been trying to get hold of on the radio. At least I knew they were alive. I got up on one knee and told Sandage we were going to ECP 2. “Sir, you realize that is 300 meters of open ground, right?” Pickett’s Charge came to mind. Getting caught in the open during an indirect fire attack was asking to get killed. “Ya, I know” I replied. “I figured we would skirt around the wall and use it for cover. It’s not much, but that’s all we got.” Sandage just shrugged. “OK” was all he said. I stood up at the same time as Sandage and we started to move forward.

“MEDIC! I NEED A MEDIC”

Somebody was screaming at the top of their lungs for a medic. Whoever it was, was either scared as hell or was hyper from their desperate need of a medic because their voice was shrill. Neither Sandage nor I said a word; we just turned and started moving toward the voice in the darkness. “Over here!” Sandage called out. We linked up with the soldier, but I could not tell who it was in the dark. “He’s over here. He’s bleeding. He needs a medic!” His voice did not sound familiar to me. I did not think he was one of my men. “Take us to him,” Sandage said. The soldier moved off to the west. “He’s just over here,” I heard him say. I grabbed my radio and started the call for help. “COR this is 6. I am gonna need a medic…” Boom. A muffled explosion comes from the east. I forget to release the button on the radio, leaving it on as I scream “Incoming, Incoming!” In front of me, Sandage pushes the soldier in front of him as I push Sandage. We are perhaps 10 meters from a bunker when we here the launch. We scramble for the cover of the bunker, fear trying to take hold of each of us as we run for our lives. I can hear the rocket motors as it arcs towards the camp. “GO, GO, GO!” I scream. It feels like I am trying to run through three feet of water. It takes us four seconds to reach entrance to the bunker. It seems like an eternity. As we pile through the entrance each of us drops to the ground. I am at the edge of the bunker. SSG Sandage is right next to me. The pitch of the rocket rises. This one is higher than the last. Looking back, I don’t know why I would have even thought twice about that. There were only two idiots who had run right towards the explosions and I was one of them. I press my face into the dirt.

I am not sure if I could ever accurately describe the fear someone has as they listen to indirect fire coming in on them. Unlike direct fire, you can actually hear it as it heads toward you. When someone is shooting at you with a gun, you can hear it as well. If you can’t hear them firing at you, you can usually hear the rounds impact or bounce off of whatever you are hiding behind. If you are unlucky enough to be hit, you cannot tell the difference in time between when you hear the shot and when you feel the impact… if you live that is. So what you fear is simply being shot. Not the moment of BEING shot. Indirect fire takes longer to get to you. The results are much bigger. It doesn’t just hit you… it crushes you and tears you apart in almost the same instant. If you have never seen anyone who has been torn apart by an explosion of some sort, then count yourself lucky. If you have seen it before, then you never forget the pieces of that somebody lying all over the place. Just not all of their pieces are there. The pieces…. This is the terror of indirect fire. You know what is about to happen to you, but you have to wait for it. You have to listen to it as it comes right at you. It is like standing on the tracks with your eyes closed, listening to the train as it races towards you. You have all kinds of time to wonder if you are about to die.

[kreator]

I finally make contact with ECP 2 on the radio. They are both OK. I ask them if they can see anyone moving toward the wall. They tell me they are in the vehicle and cannot see over the wall. I agonize a moment over what I am about to tell them, but I have no choice. I need to know if anyone is moving to enter or attack the camp. I tell them over the radio that I need one of them to climb on top of the vehicle and look over the wall to see if anyone is moving towards the perimeter wall. There is a moment of hesitation on the other end, but the reply “roger sir” comes across loud and clear. I have just asked this kid to expose himself to both indirect and direct fire to get me the information I need. It is a shitty thing to ask of someone but I have to know. I need to know if I need to start moving people to the wall to fight or is this just going to be an indirect fire attack. This camp hasn’t been hit in two years, so there is no real way to do pattern analysis and figure out what to expect. The soldier calls back on the radio that he can’t see anything moving outside of the perimeter wall. Well at least that is good news. I still feel that I need to get out there so I can see for myself. I look at Sandage. He looks at me. He knows I am thinking about going back out there even though we almost got killed.

I am still thinking about it when I hear another muffled boom from the east. I drop back down to the ground, press the key on the radio and call out “Incoming” to both the bunker and anyone listening on the radio. The humming warble of the rocket’s motors grows louder as it arcs toward the camp. As I press my face closer to the ground I think about the waiting game we are about to play. In the background I think I hear someone praying. I figure it is probably SGT Geist, the Chaplain’s assistant. The rocket starts getting louder and the pitch starts to change. This one gets louder than any of the previous ones. I yell out “This one is gonna be close!” I try to get even closer to the ground but I am as close as I am gonna get with all of my body armor on. Everything slows down as the sound of the rocket grows incredibly loud. Fear turns to terror…. and then into calm. “I wonder if they’ll find all my pieces?” my mind wonders. What a waste of a last thought.

[kreator]

CRACK-WHOOMF!!!! The ground shakes as the deafening explosion roars over us. It almost seems as if somebody tried to pull the breath out of my body. I hear SSG Sandage next to me scream out “FUUUUCK!!” I look up just as the dust and dirt come over the wall. Somebody behind me yells out “Jesus Christ!” I release the rocks I had grabbed in my attempt to hold on to the ground. I am scared. I am just over three weeks from getting out of this hell hole and now I face the very real possibility that I or some of my men might get killed tonight. The thought of having to deal with the death of another one of my men scares me more than my own. The fear drives me to fury. “FUCK ME; I AM SICK OF THIS SHIT!” I yell at the walls of the bunker. In almost the same moment I bring the radio up and call the men at ECP 2 and tell them to stay inside the vehicle for now. If these stupid Taliban bastards wanna come to my wall, let them. I’ll kill every one of them and display their bodies to the world. If they want to hide their faces behind masks while they film themselves in life, that’s fine with me. We’ll display their corpses to the world to show them who failed. I rage silently. I place my back against the wall of the bunker, take a deep breath, and then let it out. I try to imagine pushing all the fear and rage out with that single breath. I have to stay calm.

Remaining in the bunker at this point is a no brainer. I realize there is too much indirect fire and that it is way too accurate to be running around right now. I hear movement and voices somewhere outside the bunker. SSG Sandage and I are the only ones wearing any body armor or carrying any weapons. We are positioned at the front of the bunker and are the only people there prepared to fight. We both stand up and look over the front barrier to see who it is. As my eyes clear the top of the barrier, I can see two men walking about 20 meters in front of where I am. “Who’s there?” Sandage yells out. I recognize Chaplain Pace’s voice as he calls back. I start to ask him, jokingly, if we are being punished because I have not been to church the entire time we have been in Afghanistan, but before I can finish, another muffled boom is heard from the east. Sandage yells “Incoming” as I scream at the two men “Get the fuck over here!”

Chaplain Pace and I have become friends since our time together starting at ft. Bragg, NC. We have had many philosophical discussions on religion and faith. I am sure he will forgive me for swearing at him in the heat of the moment. As we hear the rocket speeding towards us once again, my only thought is to get both of them into the bunker. As they sprint towards us I realize neither of them has any armor on. Sandage moves off to the side a little to give them room to get in the bunker. The pitch from the rocket grows louder and starts to rise as it hits the top of its arc and starts to come down on us. “Come on Chaplain!” It’s going to be close. Chaplain Pace turns the corner as Sandage pushes him and his counterpart through the opening. I can see his face as he dives into the bunker. He is afraid. We all are afraid. His shoulder crashes into my right leg as he tries to get through the opening. His weight and momentum cause my leg to buckle underneath me. I fall into the wall of the bunker and bounce towards Sandage. He is already dropping to the ground. I let out an audible grunt as I land hard on the ground next to Sandage. I see him close his eyes as the noise of the rocket closes in. I once again have a last thought go through my mind. “God must hate us if he is going to kill the Chaplain.”

[kreator]

An amazing story to read. When does your friend come home?

3 Weeks he will be home

[CBRzach]

So what was the outcome?

[cmoosego]

I pray for the soldiers over there every night, I pray that God keep them safe and bring them home soon... I lost my best freind there, I don't wish that pain on anyone...

[kreator]

So what was the outcome?

Oh ya, haha.. I just assumed everything was OK seing how he was able to write about it, but ya, I found myself thinking I missed part of the file..

[chevysoldier]

Yes, I too want to know the outcome. And he's right about mortars. The sound of them coming in is hell. I pray he and all his men come home safe. Tell him I (if not most/all of OR) support them and pray for them.

What unit is he with?Let us know when he's finally home. He sounds like one hell of a good commander-"The thought of having to deal with the death of another one of my men scares me more than my own. The fear drives me to fury. “FUCK ME; I AM SICK OF THIS SHIT!” "

Thanks for sharing.

[RFM]

Well written. If he does a book, please post the information. Cheers-

[kreator]

Yes, I too want to know the outcome. And he's right about mortars. The sound of them coming in is hell. I pray he and all his men come home safe. Tell him I (if not most/all of OR) support them and pray for them.

What unit is he with?Let us know when he's finally home. He sounds like one hell of a good commander-"The thought of having to deal with the death of another one of my men scares me more than my own. The fear drives me to fury. “FUCK ME; I AM SICK OF THIS SHIT!” "

Thanks for sharing.

2/130 infantry OIF III

Bloomington, IL

[redbarron77]

can you let us know when he gets home, or at least stateside?

[siggywiggy]

thats a great letter!

[unc7237]

Thoughts & prayers with him as well as all of my fellow soliders that they return home safely!!!!!!!! ARMY STRONG!!!!!!!!!!!!

[Likwid]

Fuuuuck, dude's a great writer... now find the rest of the story!

[Meanie]

That was a great post, thanks for sharing. Like mentioned before I hope for their safe return. I had a lot of friends that were over there. Actually one of my friends I was on the wrestling team with had a desk job and when the crap started over there, he decided he needed to be out on the lines instead of being behind a desk. A few days after he arrived in Afghanistan he got shot several times. He survived, but lost and eye, and had severe damage to his right side. I talked to him through facebook once or twice but I haven't been able to meet up with him in person. My sister seen him at a fair back home in Pennsylvania. She said he seemed to be doing ok, but I'm sure it fucks with his head alot. That whole war just pisses me off, but I have nothing but respect for anyone who has ever served.

[oldschoolsdime92]

that was a great story.. im with everyone. huge respect to anyone willing to go and fight. Please let us know when he returns home.

[kreator]

I def will, should be 3 weeks and a few day's travel.. It took him 9 days to get back to his unit last month after his 10 day leave!

[4DAIVI PAI2K5]

wow thats moving! try and find the rest of it!

[Fonzie]

I have the utmost respect for anyone volunteering to put their lives in discomfort & danger while serving on our behalf over there........ But DAMN I sure hope these wars hurry up & get over SOON!!

It's been goin' on too long already, with no end in sight

[kreator]

I just talked to Doyle and he said more to come soon, this was just the part he had completed by the time he sent the e-mail out.

+ 1 Fonzie.. Last Tuesday Doyle was dodging rockets and I reading some thread about busahawtie and a strip club, bike night or some shit like that.

[chevysoldier]

I just talked to Doyle and he said more to come soon, this was just the part he had completed by the time he sent the e-mail out.

.

Looking forward to it. This kind of stuff should be put in the newspapers all over the country so all the dipshits out there can undertand (somewhat) what others go through so they can enjoy the rights they have.

IT IS THE SOLDIER

It is the Soldier, not the minister

Who has given us freedom of religion.

It is the Soldier, not the reporter

Who has given us freedom of the press.

It is the Soldier, not the poet

Who has given us freedom of speech.

It is the Soldier, not the campus organizer

Who has given us freedom to protest.

It is the Soldier, not the lawyer

Who has given us the right to a fair trial.

It is the Soldier, not the politician

Who has given us the right to vote.

It is the Soldier who salutes the flag,

Who serves beneath the flag,

And whose coffin is draped by the flag,

Who allows the protester to burn the flag.

©Copyright 1970, 2005 by Charles M. Province