Lest We Forget

by leo jenkins

  When we arrive back at Bagram Air Field we are greeted by our First Sergeant. He shakes each one of our hands and tells us good work. The feelings of ambivalence were overwhelming. We get back just in time for Midrats, which was a meal that the chow hall was open for between dinner and breakfast. Mid rations was mainly for pilots and flight crews that kept odd hours. It was the best meal of the day because you could get breakfast and dinner together. There is something incredibly satisfying about getting waffles with your steak, especially when you haven't eaten more than a couple of MREs total in the last three days.

  In the true fashion of the Ranger Regiment we are forced to shave, shower and change into clean uniforms before being allowed to go eat. We end up missing the chow hall hours because of the order from the senior enlisted NCO and would have to wait until breakfast for a hot meal. After conducting what would become one of the most significant search and rescue missions in the Global War on Terrorism we wouldn't want to go to get our Fruit Loops and lasagna looking unprofessional now would we?

  A man who sat and watched from an office, while sipping coffee, would later reprimand us for not wearing our body armor during the research and rescue. We were told by that individual that since we were not fit enough to fight in armor that we would have to start doing “combat PT” in addition to our normal workout routine. This involved going out in the middle of the day, in a full kit, in 100+ degree heat and running for over an hour at a time. This was put into effect within 24 hours of our return from our extended mission. Guys were severely dehydrated and likely close to a condition called rhabdomyolysis. Rhabdomyolysis is a product of severe muscle tissue breakdown that compromises the ability of the kidneys to function.

  I still hadn’t slept since we returned. The reality of those A10s dropping bombs so close to us had not left me. As I lay in my bunk, fighting the pain of exhaustion, one of the privates in my platoon ran into my tent and told me that something was wrong with one of our guys. There are no duty hours for a medic; your job is those men, always. When I got to him he was seizing on the floor at the gym. His core temperature was well over 100. He should have been resting after that mission but instead he was engaged in a pointless act, handed down by a man who was trying to prove a point. I took Brandon to the aid station where we began active cooling techniques. I delivered my assessment to the doctor on duty. He allowed me to treat the patient myself as he sat back and asked me a few questions. By the time Brandon had a few liters on board, my Platoon Leader and Platoon Sergeant came in. The doctor told them his condition and that I had executed as a medic flawlessly.

  This, in addition to my performance on the search and rescue mission that we just concluded, was enough to justify my promotion. My Platoon Sergeant told me that he was promoting me. Nothing feels better than that! I was going to be a Sergeant! My best friends Matt and Jess had already achieved the rank and now I get to join them. I swelled with pride and instantly grew two inches.

  “Congrats Doc, you just made Corporal”

  What the fuck does that mean? I thought to myself. No one gets a promotion to Corporal. I was already an E4, how are you going to promote me to E4? All of the responsibility of a Sergeant without the respect or pay increase. Thanks again Army, you sure do know your way around a practical joke!

  The first sunrise after infill.

  Waiting for nightfall to infill to the Kunar province. These would be our chariots.

  This was just before the shots were fired. Notice how steep the terrain is. You can see four Rangers from my platoon if you look closely.

  Inside the home of the man that we suspected was the goat herder that compromised the initial mission.

  Over watch.

  Over watch. This was just after the baboons rolled up on us.

  Close to where we recovered Navy Seal, Matt Axelson.

  Not much would transpire over the next several weeks. We did what Rangers do during slow deployment times. We went to the gym, played video games and got yelled at for lying out and tanning in our short silkies. It was the scene from Black Hawk Down before the mission that we had all grown up imagining. Despite being on the largest US military base in Afghanistan we were completely segregated from the rest of the military. We didn’t have to pull gate guard shifts and we didn’t have to abide by the rules of the rest of the Army. When we were in the states we never interacted with the rest of the military but to some degree, we had to on this base.

  We shared a chow hall and a running track. It was very common to have a First Sergeant or Sergeant Major from another unit stop us because we weren't in the same uniform or our rifle had a bunch of cool guy shit on it that they had never seen. I recall being yelled at while on a 16-mile run for not having a reflective belt on by a guy who I assumed had never actually been on a mission before.

  "So the Taliban can’t see me!” My response suggested that even with less than two years in, and as merely a corporal, I was already as salty as they come.

  Our next big mission of this deployment wouldn’t come for several weeks. What started as an action packed trip turned into another long grinding tour, until one night when we were all gathered up right before boarding the helicopters.

  "Well, this isn't good,” said one of the squad leaders.

  "What's going on?" I asked.

  "The JSOC Chaplin wants to pray for us before we leave on this mission."

  "That's a first! It's probably because we are all going to die" joked one of the older privates.

  "Sounds about right,” said another.

  These guys had an amazing sense of humor. I had been exposed to it as a kid in the fire stations of Peoria, Arizona so it wasn’t too shocking. However, these were 19 and 20 year olds that were talking like the firefighters that were friends of my father. Those men had seen 20 years of carnage to become that cynical, these Rangers took the fast track apparently. In just a couple of years of war fighting they had already become as callous as men that had been working civilian EMS for decades.

  I image the speech delivered by the Chaplain was a heartfelt one. I, however, was too busy trying to figure out how to work a radio to pay attention. Up until this point I’d somehow managed to avoid having to carry a radio on a mission. To be honest, I don't think that I needed one for this objective either but at this point I was the only NCO in the platoon that didn't have one, a fact that got under the skin of some of the other guys. As a medic I frequently got away with things that other NCO’s wouldn’t, not intentionally of course. I finally get it to work as we board the Chinook helicopters for what would be my first hostage rescue mission.

  Tucked between my body armor and plate carrier is a 3'x5' American flag. I wanted to be able to give a gift to my father upon returning from this deployment that was significant, something to say thank you for all that he had done to support me. I figured that carrying the flag of our country on a historically significant mission would suffice.

  We were informed that a _____ contractor had been captured by Taliban forces in the _____ province of Afghanistan. During the Operation Order I ask if our guy has any medical conditions to consider. I am informed that he has asthma so I locate and add an albuterol inhaler to my packing list. I also add a couple of red bulls to my pack. The clock was ticking but as important as speed was to the success of the mission, accuracy would be just as crucial. With these types of missions the stakes are a great deal higher than a direct action kill/capture objective. Our platoon’s role was to be infilled a couple of clicks outside of the village to act as an immediate back up plan for the Seals that would be doing a high altitude free-fall parachute jump into the objective.

  The flight from BAF was one of the longest I have ever experienced in a helo. We are pulled off target multiple times so as to not compromise the SEALs infill. We hovered around in the back of that cramped Chinook literally all night. We took off at just after sunset and finally got on objective minutes before the sun came up. My entire body cramps up in the heat of the Afghan night. Th
ere are guys on top of guys in the back of that floating bus. Despite the uncomfortable conditions no one complains. By the time that we land my legs are cramped beyond belief and I have trouble running off of the back gate into the pitch-black desert night.

  We form a semicircle around the back of our rotary winged aircraft to provide rear security for its take off. After hours of incessant noise and vibration it is completely silent, a shift so severe that it sends a shiver up my spine. We sit in place holding security for at least twenty minutes; everyone is on high alert. The sun begins to illuminate the silhouettes of a few of the Rangers to my left and right. It is difficult to tell through the night vision goggles but as soon as things become a little brighter it becomes evident that we are, from a tactical standpoint, in about the worst possible place imaginable. We are sitting completely exposed on a hill with absolutely no cover or concealment. There are ridges to three sides of us that featured large rock formations that would be ideal for enemy sniper positions. Missions like these do not require an officer above the rank of platoon leader; however, it is common for higher-ranking officers to add themselves to the manifest.

  They do nothing but get in the way and more often than not they are there for glory, for medals, and as a means by which to potentially achieve their next promotion. Not all officers are this way but 90% of them are and the one that erroneously put himself on this mission was all that and more. He felt that since he was the highest ranking guy on the ground that he should be calling the shots. To be honest, he had less than half the combat experience of the youngest private in our platoon and it showed. His decision was to do nothing. We sat on that exposed piece of ground for hours in the burning sun with no cover. At the time, no one knew what was going on. For at least six hours we sat, waiting for orders and getting burned beyond belief. Finally the call is made to move us into the rocks for cover.

  By this point our platoon was dehydrated and pissed off. We had been receiving updates that the Taliban had moved the hostage into the hills where we were located. We had small patrol elements searching but initially came up with nothing.

  Eventually _____'s tragic fate was discovered. Someone in the village tipped off the hostage takers about American presence in the village. We suspected that three Taliban members took their hostage into the hills just outside of the village, his head was with an old band saw. We call for exfill but are denied. We are told that it is too dangerous. The 160th has already lost too many birds this rotation and they won't touch down until they can do so under the cover of darkness. I get a little upset about this. We have over 30 guys exposed like sitting ducks. Our lives are trivialized in the grand scope of the fight. It is better to leave us out there than risk losing another helo. I understand the decision but it doesn't make it any less shitty.

  By this time the hunger pains start stabbing at me. I could feel my low blood sugar affecting my ability to move. At this point we had been awake for well over 30 hours and we still had at least another six on that rock. Ohhh shit, I forgot about those Red Bulls! The can nearly burns my hand as I pull it from my pack. Down the hatch! I feel my blood sugar instantly rise and I feel alert for the first time since we exited the Chinook. The high would be short lived, however. Within an hour of dusk I crash. I crash hard! I can't focus at all; I'm going to pass out. I didn't really pack any food because this was supposed to be a quick in-and-out. The mission plan called for us to be extracted by dawn. Stupid. In the hundred missions that I would help conduct after this one I never made that same stupid mistake. Food would become as essential on my packing list as ammo regardless of how short the mission was supposed to be. I ask my buddy Nick if he has anything to eat. I feel terrible doing this because I am supposed to be the one looking out for these guys and now I am asking for their help. He produces a Harvest bar from his assault pack and tosses it to me. He might as well have tossed me a Thanksgiving dinner with all the trimmings. It was strawberry and hard as a rock. Most strawberry foods are delicious but strawberry Harvest bars taste like absolute shit under most circumstances, not this time though. I was so grateful for that piece of food. I don’t think I would have maintained combat effectiveness without balancing out my blood sugar with that bar. Still to this day I swear that it saved my life.

  What could have been another beautiful Afghan sunset is ignored as our platoon positions itself for exfil. I volunteer to carry the man’s remains to the bird along with a couple of other guys. The flight crew takes the body bag containing _____ . My Platoon Sergeant and I form a choke point at the tail of the helo to count everyone as they get on. Over the deafening churning of the rotor blades overhead I yell, "WE'RE UP SERGEANT!" I’m the last one to board and try to find a spot in the packed Chinook, there is no place to sit. Except. Except on that body bag. It's a four-hour flight back to Bagram Air Field. I spend the last few hours of that very long day sitting on top of our failed mission.

  Our platoon conducted a few other missions on that deployment but the majority of our time was spent training. We had the opportunity to travel to another unit’s compound in the mountains. It was a surreal experience having the opportunity to work with them and their facility was absolutely incredible. Tucked into the mountain landscape, the work that they conducted was amazing. They had their own mock villages set up for practicing raids complete with fully furnished houses. We practiced close quarter combat and live tissue training with their unit. I wish that I could talk about it in further detail, however in an effort to respect the secret nature of what they do I must refrain.

  We frequently found ourselves at a place called East River Range, which wasn’t really much of a shooting range to speak of. It was more like the place out in the desert in Arizona where I would shoot as a kid growing up. Just a dirt road that led to a lot of open desert with a mountain back drop. There was never a shortage of ammo to shoot. Being the medic, I was able to float around and cross train with all of the different weapon systems. The guys from our mortar section were eager to teach me how to lob a 60mm a few hundred meters. The snipers taught with the proficiency of a college professor on windage and trajectory all of their various toys. I was able to throw several rounds through the Barrett 50 Cal. which, needless to say, was cool as fuck! The breachers would show me all the ways that they use to gain access to a building including the shotgun, halligan and C4 charge. We shot anti-tank rockets and deployed claymore mines and threw grenades. As cool as all that was, none of it was as fun as shooting the MK 19 grenade launcher. The MK 19 is a belt fed, air-cooled, fully automatic truck mounted grenade launcher that is capable of hucking up to 60 grenades per minute at a distance of up to 2 kilometers. Typically you fire that piece of war glory in six to nine round bursts, then you wait. The rounds seem to float in the air like a fade away jump shot. Since light travels faster than sound the operator gets to see impact of the half dozen grenades a couple of seconds before hearing their explosion. I can still feel my belly jiggle from laughing like a young child at the joy I exuded from firing that weapon.

  We continued to grow as a platoon, teaching one another the skills that we had become specialists in. As I taught the men in my platoon first responder skills they taught me how to do their jobs. We gained a more comprehensive proficiency as a unit. We would need every bit of that proficiency if we were going to survive our next deployment.

  Shortly after my 23rd birthday I board the massive cargo plane to return home from Afghanistan for a second time.

  Training force on force with simunition rounds on Bagram Airfield.

  Shooting mortars on East River Range

  Ranger snipers, Steve and Chris reaching out and touching some targets.

  Chapter 9 - When Skeletons Live

  Within hours of stepping off the plane from Afghanistan I'm on my back porch with a beer in my hand. It's early October now and it doesn't feel like a minute has passed since Matt and I were planning our 4th of July BBQ. The two of us sit up most of the night catching up. The sheer gravity of all that has t
aken place over the last three and a half months is finally able to come out. There is no place for weakness while you are deployed; there is no time for reflection. You have to keep your head in the game. But now that I was at home and had a few drinks, the floodgates opened.

  Matt sat with me on the ground in our backyard as I unloaded, brick by brick, everything that I had been carrying from our first mission to our last day in country. I was on the verge of tears when he provided to me a great deal of solace with one simple statement, "You know man, that's just the way it is. Things will never be the same."

  I'm not sure why that was so comforting but it was. It made me feel like I wasn't alone in my pain. Matt was always a good friend but never much of a philosopher so his words caught me by surprise a little.

  Before going to bed Matt asks me if I want to go to a Notre Dame game the following weekend.

  "We can fly into Chicago and catch a ride to South Bend with a friend of mine. My parents have season tickets. You have a four day weekend next week right?"

  "Yeah. That sounds perfect bud, let's make that happen." I stay up and finish the case of beer. When Matt wakes up he realizes that I hadn't gone to sleep at all. My mind was a tornado, spinning with debris.