by Ray Wiss
I can understand the general’s motivation. He wants the soldiers to see him on the front lines, facing the same dangers. But I am not convinced that any positive effect on morale this might have is worth the life of a Canadian soldier.
Addendum, July 6—“Know thine enemy”: In his eulogy to Corporal Bulger, the general described IEDs as the “weapons of cowards.” I will grant that I am still upset about the death of Corporal Bulger and that perhaps this makes me more critical of the general than I otherwise would be, but that was a foolish thing to say.
We bomb the Taliban from planes that fly so high they cannot be seen or heard. Those bombs are guided onto groups of Taliban walking in the dark by sensors that turn night into day. We shell the Taliban with artillery that can reach dozens of kilometres. We track them with tanks that are invulnerable to any of their weapons. Does this make us cowards? Of course not. They are trying to kill us. We are trying to kill them. But we all keep showing up. That demonstrates there is bravery on both sides, and in abundant quantities.
In war, combatants will use every advantage they can to destroy their enemies. IEDs are the weapons of the weak. Whenever one side is outclassed in raw military power by the other, it will turn to these guerrilla war methods. If it did not, it would be destroyed.
The Taliban are many negative things: fanatical, bigoted, nihilistic and sociopathic, to list only a few. They are not cowards. I hope that the general was speaking out of his personal pain and that this does not reflect his true perceptions.
A much more insightful evaluation of the Taliban came from Major Arsenault on the morning of June 30, when he and his subordinates were discussing Operation Tora Arwa II over breakfast. The major described two things the Taliban had done that impressed him.
The first was an intricate attack the Taliban launched on the last day of the operation. This attack hit all three platoons of the combat team as well as the company headquarters group from six positions simultaneously, showing that the Taliban had been able to conduct a fairly detailed reconnaissance undetected. The attack, which was initiated with a large-calibre weapon, was well coordinated and pressed home with determination as the Taliban attempted to assault our positions at three different locations. It was broken up by an even more competent Canadian defence, and the Taliban withdrew with heavy losses. Nonetheless, when Major Arsenault spoke about the skill with which the attack was executed by the Taliban leader, it was with something approaching admiration, or at least the respect of one professional for another.
He also described how the Taliban would sprint towards the Canadian lines when our artillery would start to fall among them. The Taliban soldiers know that the closer they are to our guys, the less likely we are to bomb them, for fear of a shell hitting our own troops. So they gamble that they will be able to get under cover before the Canadian infantry can shoot them. Sometimes this tactic works, sometimes it doesn’t. Even if they are not gunned down as they run towards us, they are now in a close-range fight with our troops—a fight they almost always lose.
Foolish? Irrational? Deluded? Sociopathic? Perhaps. Possibly all four. Cowards? No.
We need to accept this if we are to defeat them.
JULY 5, MORNING | Blasting Off from Wilson
Last day at FOB Wilson. It started off with a bang, literally.
I had taken care of Warrant Officer Serge Comeau, the second-in-command of the FOB’s engineer detachment, when he had gotten a moderate case of heat exhaustion a few weeks ago. As a thank you, he invited me to perform a BIP, or blow in place, the controlled destruction of an enemy IED that has been detected and removed. The IED in question was the 155 mm artillery shell discussed in the June 24 entry. I enthusiastically accepted his invitation. What can I tell you? It’s fun to blow shit up!
Warrant Officer Comeau, Cinquième Régiment de Génie de Combat (5th Combat Engineer Regiment), is cut from the same cloth as Major Arsenault. He is a pleasant individual who is always upbeat and a master of his trade. After the major, he is probably the most respected man on the FOB. Here’s one example of why that is so.
Warrant Officer Serge Comeau,combat engineer leader
During the recent operation in Siah Choy, Warrant Comeau helped to set up and defend a CCP, or casualty collection point. The four men who were wounded on the third day of the operation were brought to him. Before being wounded, the men had been stopped on the edge of a field. Since they were not running, they undid their helmet straps, which chafe in the heat. When they were hit—simultaneously, from a single explosion—they fell to the ground and their helmets came off. Their comrades, in their rush to get the wounded to a safe place—the CCP—did not bother to pick up the helmets.
When the wounded arrived, there was still quite a bit of shelling going on and shrapnel fragments were landing all over the place. Warrant Comeau spontaneously removed his own helmet and placed it on one wounded man’s head. That illustrates his courage, but what he did a couple of days later shows you the kind of leader he is.
He ordered every one of his men to bring a picture of a wife or a lover or of their parents and children, and then asked them to say a bit about the people in the pictures. Once everyone had finished, he asked them to reflect on how important these people were to them and how much these people wanted them to come home safely. Then he asked them to make sure they kept their helmet straps done up at all times.
Military training manuals define leadership as “the art of influencing people to do your bidding.” Poor military leaders yell and scream and threaten. Average leaders give orders without explanation. The better ones explain the reasons for their decisions. With the best leaders, followers make good decisions for their own reasons. They are barely aware they are following orders.
I have one last remarkable example of Warrant Comeau’s internal moral compass. At thirty-four years of age, he is quite young to have achieved the rank he holds. The CF has big plans for him—or rather, it had plans. Warrant Comeau has announced his intention to retire. He does not have twenty years in, so he will not qualify for a full pension. He still enjoys being a combat engineer, but he is giving it all up to be closer to his wife and young children.
JULY 5, AFTERNOON | Return to FOB Ma’Sum Ghar
It was with sadness that I bade farewell to Major Arsenault, Warrant Comeau, Dominic the Medic and the rest of the FOB Wilson team. Although it is “one FOB down, two to go” and a milestone in my progress towards going home, I have become attached to the people here and it is hard to leave them. It would be preferable for the departure to be quick. That would not be the case today.
The convoy I was booked on was delayed. After several hours it became evident that they would not arrive in time to take me to my next FOB, Ma’Sum Ghar. This would leave the FOB without medical coverage for a day or more; a lot can go wrong in that time, so I scrambled to see if I could hitch a ride with anybody else.
Going down the roads of Zhari-Panjwayi, as I have mentioned in the past, is not something one does lightly. So it was with some trepidation that I got on the only other convoy headed my way that day: an American mine-clearing unit tasked to perform a sweep of one of the Wilson-to-Ma’Sum Ghar roads. Since this unit was made up of eight vehicles, my arrival at FOB Ma’Sum Ghar had all the subtlety of a royal wedding. The man I am replacing, Petty Officer Martin Bédard, was duly impressed. also one of the three soldiers I had trained in advanced ultrasound techniques.
I was thrilled to see “Bed” again. He had taken my introductory ultrasound course and had been sharp and enthusiastic. He was
Looking northeast from Hilltop OP
(Photo courtesy Master Corporal Julien Ricard)
It was great to be back at FOB Ma’Sum Ghar as well. It was familiar ground and aesthetically pleasing. FOB Wilson had marvellous creature comforts (though Ma’Sum Ghar comes close), but its topography left something to be desired: it was affectionately known as “FOB Flat.” FOB Ma’Sum Ghar is built on a hill, which gives the UMS staff a
spectacular view.
I was less pleased to learn that Ma’Sum Ghar was still Rocket Central, as it had been on Roto 4. Life here will be a lot more dangerous than it was at FOB Wilson. Everyone wears their full PPE (personal protective equipment: helmets, ballistic glasses and frag vests) anytime they are outside the protective walls of their bunker. The big hill we are on is an easy target for the Taliban rocket men. Being an eternal optimist, I chose to focus on the lower number of rockets hitting Ma’Sum Ghar (when compared with my last tour) as being a sign of progress. The other side was still lobbing more high explosive at this FOB than at any other . . . but less so. In a war zone, you cling to things like this.
Bed took me to see the UMS, which is vastly improved. Lieutenant Colonel Ron Wojtyk, my friend who is the senior doctor in the task force, told me this morning that the Ma’Sum Ghar UMS is the busiest one in our area of operations. The statistics Bed showed me explained why this was so: in this intimate little war, moving a few kilometres from Wilson to Ma’Sum Ghar changes the types of wounds we see.
The treatment area of the UMS
The room I share with the UMS medic
The injuries at FOB Wilson were mostly gunshot and shrapnel wounds from attacks on convoys on Ring Road South. As penetrating trauma goes, these wounds are relatively straightforward. The UMS here sees far more IED victims. The devastating injuries caused by these weapons are much more challenging to deal with. July will be hot in more ways than one.
An air-conditioned staff lounge is attached to the UMS. This place has everything the FOB Wilson “goodie wall” did, but here we have an area in which to sit and eat as well. To say that this is better than the old tent, when it is 50°C outside, is the understatement of the year.
The bunker we sleep in, which was one big room during Roto 4, is now subdivided into three rooms and a lounge, complete with TV. The TV is used to play video games far more than to watch the single available channel (CFTV—Canadian Forces TV). “Guitar Hero” and an amazingly realistic hockey game dominate.
Ghar means “mountain” in Pashto, and ma’sum means “quiet.” So Ma’Sum Ghar means Quiet Mountain. This war has its ironic moments.
THE FOB MA’SUM GHAR MEDICAL GANG
The medic assigned to the UMS itself is Master Corporal Julien “Red” Ricard. Red is a veteran, having been in Kandahar Province for Roto 3. Red’s older brother, Sergeant Georges Ricard, also a combat medic, was on Roto 2. They spent a week in the country at the same time, Georges leaving while Red was settling in.
Red was assigned to the provincial reconstruction team and spent the tour wandering around Zhari-Panjwayi. He travelled extensively and spent a lot of time on foot. This means that he was exposed to a considerable amount of risk.
Red made it through the tour without a scratch . . . until the last week. Seven days before he was to go home, he was riding in a vehicle called a Nyala. Soldiers like this vehicle because it rides high and has a V-shaped hull, designed to deflect the energy of an IED blast away from the crew compartment.
Red Ricard, Roto 3 combat medic
(Photo courtesy Master Corporal Julien Ricard)
Red’s vehicle was leading a convoy from FOB Ma’Sum Ghar back to KAF. He was the only Roto 3 soldier on board. The rest of the crew were all the members of the recently arrived Roto 4. Red had been kept back to help with the RIP.
They left shortly after midnight and had gone only a short distance when there was a bright flash of light and a loud explosion in front of the vehicle. Everyone was startled but quickly regained their composure. No one was hurt, and the vehicle was still running straight and true. The consensus was that an RPG round had barely missed the Nyala and had detonated on the road a few metres ahead of them.
As Red describes it, the soldiers in the vehicle experienced the same feeling of exhilaration I described earlier, in the addendum to the June 29 entry. They were all laughing, slapping each other on the back and giving the thumbs-up. As Churchill had said: “No better feeling than to be fired upon without any effect.”
Then their vehicle hit the IED.
When a human being is that close to an explosion that powerful, there is no sound to be heard. It feels instead like the hand of a malevolent god has reached down and snatched you upwards. For several seconds the hand has you in its grip, shaking you in a way and with a force that is terrifyingly unnatural. Then the immutable laws of nature take over and you come slamming back to earth.
The blast had been so massive that the engine block was ripped out of the vehicle and projected several metres away. The Nyala planted itself in the ground like a lawn dart. After having been thrown upwards, the crew was now slammed towards the front of the vehicle.
In what has to be the definition of a bad day, the second vehicle in the convoy then smashed into the Nyala from behind. Red and the other soldiers were now thrown backwards by the violent rear-end collision. Finally, the Nyala stopped moving. The total time from IED detonation to vehicle immobility was less than ten seconds, the longest ten seconds of Red’s life.
As he started to get his bearings, Red became aware that his right leg hurt like hell. A quick “wet check” did not detect any bleeding and he was still able to walk, so he ignored the pain and moved on. Surveying the wrecked interior of the vehicle, he could see that the driver and front-seat passenger were extricating themselves from their seats. This told him that they would be able to administer basic first aid to each other, should that be required. That was a relief to Red, because it would have been difficult for him to reach them. There were two other passengers in the rear of the vehicle. One of them was unconscious.
Over the next several minutes, Red organized the evacuation of the vehicle and the extrication of the unconscious casualty, and assessed everyone who had been aboard. He was astounded that the sum total of the injuries in his group was a fractured jaw, multiple contusions and his own hairline-fractured leg.
The wrecked Nyala
When the rest of the soldiers in the convoy had secured the area, they withdrew back to FOB Ma’Sum Ghar. Pack up, turn around and go home. That sounds simple, doesn’t it? It wasn’t.
It was the middle of the night. It was pitch black outside, with no illumination coming from streetlights or nearby dwellings. A convoy of a dozen vehicles had undergone not one, but two attacks. The second attack had destroyed one of their vehicles, damaged another and wounded five of their comrades. As bad as that was, the first attack was foremost on everybody’s mind because it was a “direct fire” attack. Enemy soldiers had had the convoy in their sights when they fired the RPG. They could still be lurking in the dark, waiting to fire more grenades into the now immobile and far more vulnerable convoy.
The first priority was to set up a security cordon so that the convoy would be able to defend itself if it came under attack once more. Only then could the wounded be attended to and the damage to the vehicles assessed. As it turned out, the vehicle that rear-ended the Nyala hit so hard that it was a “mobility kill” (in other words, a total writeoff).
It took four hours for the remaining vehicles and their crews to make it back to FOB Ma’Sum Ghar. Throughout this time, Red cared for the wounded. He had everybody conscious and mobile by the time they rolled into the FOB.
Red is not one of those laugh-in-the-face-of-death idiots who try to pretend that events like this do not affect them. He has no trouble telling you that the tears flowed that morning. He was given the choice of returning to KAF by road or waiting a little longer to go by helicopter. He chose the latter. Statistically, that was the safer choice, but it did not seem so a couple of hours later. Still shaking from his brush with death, Red experienced the FOB Ma’Sum Ghar specialty: a rocket attack.
In the end, waiting longer and sweating through a rocket attack made no difference. A dust storm blew up, which grounded the choppers. Red ended up going back to KAF by road anyway, in the back of a Bison ambulance. He slept all the way, not because he was fearless but because he was stil
l very frightened. “The way my mind was working then,” he says, “I thought that it would not feel as bad to be killed while I was sleeping.” Like I said, it was a Bad Day.
Despite all that, Red signed up for a second tour. He has chosen a soldier’s life and a medic’s career. It is here that he can best follow his vocation and support his comrades. In doing do, he has demonstrated true courage: doing something that frightens him and overcoming that fear.
As the UMS medic, he is formally my second-in-command. That designation does not do him justice. The decisions that officers make are only as good as the implementation managed by the non-commissioned officers who are their partners in leadership. If an officer is doing a good job, it is often because he or she has an excellent second-in-command.
If all Red did was take my suggestions and turn them into realities, that would be enough. He goes well beyond that. He has that quality the military looks for in a future leader: he is a self-starter. Red is always looking for ways to improve the functioning of the UMS. While the rest of us are enjoying the down times, he often starts on some project or other on his own initiative. He has improved the storage space of the UMS, wired additional lighting and (my personal favourite) created a “Wall of Remembrance” where the pictures of fallen combat medics are displayed. He does all this with such quiet efficiency that I am barely aware the tasks are being done. I could not ask for a better man to have at my side.
Finally, Red is a professional-calibre photographer. Many of the images you will see from here on will be his handiwork.