by Ray Wiss
Corporal Vallières struggled for a few moments as he tried to express how the encounters with these children had made him feel.
He finally summed them up by saying: “These kids did not ask to be born here.” But, in their way, these kids asked for him to be here. And that was a call he was happy to answer, a call he felt he had to answer.
There it is again. The gift of aggression, combined with empathy. The way of the warrior. The way of Chuck.
Addendum—The Picture: One of the enduring regrets Corporal Vallières has of this tour is that he did not manage to take a single photograph of all the men in his section before Chuck was wounded. Looking through all the pictures the section has, there are only three that show their lost brother. In one of these his face is turned; in the other he sits in darkness. The only one that shows him well is the top photograph on the next page. Chuck is in the middle. Someone who kept everybody under his wing would not stand anywhere else.
Addendum—The Ghost: Within days of returning to Canada, Corporal Vallières will travel to Edmundston, New Brunswick, to visit Chuck’s family. The tears will flow then, and the pain will take his breath away. Corporal Vallières will look around, still wishing that someone got it all wrong, a small part of him still convinced that Chuck will walk through the door, if only he waits for him just a second longer.
But Chuck won’t be coming. Only Chuck’s ghost will be there with him. Eventually, Corporal Vallières will make friends with the ghost, as he made friends with the man. The pain will come less often then.
But it will never go away.
Addendum—Remembrance Day: Nearly every member of Third Platoon went to Edmundston on November 11 to pay tribute to Chuck, a gesture that was greatly appreciated by Chuck’s family.
The only good picture we have of Chuck in Afghanistan. Left to right: Warrant Officer Jean-François Bastien, Private François Larose, Private Steve Bernier, Private Pierre-Luc Rossignol, Chuck, an unidentified American visitor, Private Michael Brisson-Hovington, Corporal Pierre-Luc Vallières
Section 3-Charlie and their ghost. Standing, left to right: Private Guillaume Dubuc, Private Michael Brisson-Hovington, Private Mathieu Grégoire, Private Pierre-Luc Rossignol, Private Mathieu Rivard-Lemieux; Kneeling, left to right: Sergeant Jim Auger, Corporal Pierre-Luc Vallières
SEPTEMBER 2 | The Mobile Unit Light Logistics Element
In the August 29 entry, I briefly introduced the final member of the Combat Team Cobra leadership group, Captain Hugo Dallaire. As second-in-command, Captain Dallaire must be ready at any time to replace Major Jourdain. This happens for a predictable amount of time during the major’s leave. But this is war; the unpleasant reality is that Captain Dallaire must be physically, intellectually and emotionally ready to step in as combat team commander for the remainder of the tour at a moment’s notice.
After his seventeen years in the army, there is little doubt that he can do this. He entered military college at sixteen and went into the infantry after that. He served as a platoon commander for several years, and then was posted as an instructor to the Infantry School of the Combat Training Centre, CFB Gagetown.
After spending a couple of years teaching the next generation of infantry officers, Captain Dallaire was ready for a break. He had always wanted to live out west, so he took up a post in a recruitment centre in Vancouver. His existence there must have been as distinct from what he had lived at the Infantry School as it was possible to be while remaining in uniform. It was a good time . . . but it did not take long before he started looking for a way to get back into a front-line infantry battalion.
As Company Sergeant-Major Lapierre had done, Captain Dallaire tried unsuccessfully to come to Afghanistan with Roto 4. And as with the sergeant-major, the men of Roto 7 are fortunate he had to wait.
It has worked out for Captain Dallaire as well. He led the combat team for a full month during Major Jourdain’s absence, conducting two major operations. Both of these operations were helicopter-borne attacks. Helicopters are a pleasure to ride in, but they disgorge a combat team over a large battlefield in a matter of seconds. The problems of command and control are far more arduous than those encountered in a land operation.
Captain Hugo Dallaire, combat team second-in-command
As a warrior, Captain Dallaire has also benefited from the major’s “everybody fights” policy. Captain Dallaire routinely goes on combat operations and has been in more than his fair share of firefights. Tragicomically, the bullets that have come closest to him (missing by a few centimetres) have been fired at him by confused ANA soldiers. This has left Captain Dallaire with a little less tolerance for the failings and foibles of our allies.
When he is not fighting, Captain Dallaire’s job is an administrative one. Hearing him talk about the joys of these tasks is reminiscent of John Nance Garner, who, as vice-president under U.S. President Franklin D. Roosevelt, famously described the office he held as “not worth a bucket of warm piss.”
For men of action like Captain Dallaire, administrative tasks are barely tolerable. One of these tasks, however, at least had the benefit of comic relief. This occurred when Captain Dallaire was put in charge of the Mobile Unit Light Logistics Element, or MULLE program. In an army filled with arcane acronyms, this one at least had the benefit of being wonderfully and accurately evocative.
There are few things more terrifying to a front-line soldier than to hear that somebody higher up has an “idea” that will improve things in their combat unit. The probability that the idea will involve extra work or increased danger for little or no benefit is over 99 per cent. The MULLE program would not prove to be an exception to the rule.
“Logistics” is another term for “supply”: the provision of all the items needed by a unit in the field. The “mobile unit” in question was an infantry platoon of the combat team. Once dismounted from their L AVs, these men would revert to being “light infantry.” Much of the fighting in Zhari-Panjwayi needs to be done in this mode: the underdeveloped and agricultural nature of the terrain makes it impossible to reach most areas by road.
Obliged to carry all their weapons, supplies and ammunition on their backs, foot-borne infantry can only cover a limited distance. This is particularly true in summer, when the men have to carry a phenomenal amount of water as well. If there was a way to lighten their loads, they could patrol further and pursue the insurgents more effectively.
What to do? Well, someone with a historical bent remembered that during the Afghan resistance against the Russian invasion, the CIA had provided the mujahedeen with several thousand Tennessee mules. These were used to ferry supplies over mountain passes from Pakistan into Afghanistan. Could the same thing not be done again?
Well, no. The CIA mules had been used along well-worn mountain trails that had existed since the time of Alexander the Great. The terrain in Zhari-Panjwayi could not be more different. Our patrols must negotiate horribly broken terrain, vine-choked grape fields and deep, narrow irrigation ditches. Whoever came up with this idea had never tried to patrol Zhari-Panjwayi on foot. At times the terrain can be impassable for even two-legged animals, much less four-legged ones. But the idea had come down from on high, and it was up to Captain Dallaire to implement it.
In all his infantry training, nothing had prepared Captain Dal-laire for the job at hand. In short order, he was required to learn about horseshoes, saddles and mule medicine, among other things. One of the company’s NCOs, Sergeant Martin Germain, had experience with horses and took over much of the preparation and training of the animals. There was much to do, because six of the ten mules deployed to the FOB were so malnourished that they were not healthy enough to carry a load.
The only redeeming feature of having so many tasks added to his workload was that Captain Dallaire was able to send a message to KAF asking for an emergency resupply of mule food. The consternation this caused in the chain of command was almost worth the aggravation. Almost.
Being soldiers, the members of C
ombat Team Cobra gave it their best shot and took the mules out on two patrols. The mules had no trouble . . . until they got into broken terrain.
To describe what happened next, I quote from Major Jourdain’s formal assessment: “Mules are well known for their stubbornness, and our experience with them proved that a mule that decided it would not move could not be moved.”
It wasn’t that they didn’t try; Major Jourdain’s report goes on to say: “The six infantrymen that were in charge of them tried all feasible means to move the animals.”
I doubt that any other phrase composed in any other report written during this war conjures up a funnier image than that one.
On both patrols, the mules ended up as gifts to the nearest local farmer. You can imagine the scene: “Excuse me, sir, can I interest you in a used mule? We only need to unload the machine gun ammunition on his back and he is yours. Please note that this item is non-returnable.”
Major Jourdain concluded his assessment by writing: “Mules are not a viable logistical option for Canadian soldiers operating in our present settings.”
“You’re fired!”
The MULLE Program. March 2009–June 2009. R.I.P.
Addendum, September 3: Scooped! Although I wrote this yesterday, I’ve been beaten to the publication punch. The story of the Panjwayi mules appeared in a Canadian Press story today, albeit with fewer colourful details.
SEPTEMBER 3 | First Day of School
This was Michelle’s first day of school. Yet another milestone in her life that I will have missed. At times like this, I cannot help but ruminate on the cost my family is paying to prosecute this war.
I have done my best to minimize the impact of my absence on my daughter. With three exceptions, I have kept my promise to call Michelle every day. This was true even on those days she refused to speak to me. I would ask Claude or whoever was looking after Michelle to put the phone to her ear so that she could hear me say that I loved her. That seems to have helped. Since I always call at the same time of day, Michelle will either answer the call herself (when did she learn to do that?) or yell “Daddy!” when her mother picks up the phone.
The videos I had mentioned in the first entry have also been a big hit. These have been augmented by videos I have made here. She seems to like these best of all. Claude thinks that is because these videos give Michelle a sense of where I am and what I am doing. Michelle now knows the difference between Ma’Sum Ghar and Sperwan Ghar. And she knows Sperwan Ghar is my last stop before coming home.
Her language skills have skyrocketed during my absence, and she now describes her actions and emotions quite eloquently. Her development in this area has filled me with pride and happiness. This has only made the pain of not being able to be there to witness it even more heart-wrenching.
Her mathematical ability has also improved. When I left, counting from twelve to twenty was a bit of a haphazard affair. Now she rattles the numbers off with confidence. So much so that, when I told her yesterday that I would be home in “twenty days,” she corrected me. “No, Daddy. It will be twenty-three days.”
More pride, more pain.
SEPTEMBER 4 | Pit Bull
To get the full impact of this entry, it is essential that the reader not look ahead at the next photograph.
One of the real characters on my various medical teams has been Master Corporal Sylvain “Pops” Vilandré, the crew commander of one of the Bison ambulances at FOB Ma’Sum Ghar.
“Pops” would put himself through a punishing workout every day. Many of us cannot find the discipline to do that in the kind of heat we have been subjected to. I go running every morning, but I am barely on speaking terms with the weight room.
While we were together, Pops had come to me to put his affairs in order. If a soldier wishes, he or she can pre-select their pallbearers and also one special individual who will accompany the remains back to Canada. This is a job one gives to the closest friend one has in the theatre of operations. Given the importance of physical exercise in his life, “Pops” chose the person who had been his workout partner during pre-deployment training, a woman serving in the artillery.
Pops told me that this woman was one of the few people he had ever seen who pushed themselves as hard as he did. He had enormous respect for her, and she was one of his best friends. A few days ago, I bumped into her.
Twenty-one-year-old Bombardier Kina Lord is someone you can’t help but like as soon as you meet her. Her thousand-megawatt smile is permanently turned on, making everyone around her happier. She has only been in the reserves for three years, although she was in the cadets for six years before that. She thinks she has found her niche in the artillery, to the point that she will likely join the regular force at the end of this tour. She enjoys pushing herself physically, and the army has given her the kind of challenging work she wanted.
While this tour is Bombardier Lord’s first trip out of Canada, her return will not be her first trip into Canada. Like Michelle, she was adopted, in her case at age five, from Bulgaria. It is heartening to hear her speak perfect Québécois French. She has been a Canadian, in every sense of the word, for some time now.
I spoke to her sergeant, who confirmed what was blatantly obvious: Bombardier Lord is the hardest-working member of her unit. She has a job that requires her to get up earlier than anyone else, and she does this without objection. The only problem her sergeant has ever had with her has been to convince her to take it easy when she is hurt.
I have no trouble believing that. I was watching her gun crew fire some practice rounds into the desert two days ago. She had sprained her back and was banned from lifting the shells. When a call came from the command post for someone to help with a routine task, the sergeant assigned Bombardier Lord to the duty. She sprinted off to the post. The sergeant told her to take it easy, but it was pointless. She was gone.
Although she regularly helps carry the heavy artillery shells, her official job is to drive an armoured vehicle. The vehicle in question is a variant of the M113 armoured personnel carrier. I think we can all agree there is something sexy about a woman who can control twelve tonnes of weaponized heavy machinery.
Then Bombardier Lord steps out of her vehicle, and you can see how hard she has had to work to earn the respect she has gained in this masculine world of war. This kid has so much heart, it must take up all the space in her chest.
Bombardier Kina Lord, 4’ 11” (“and a half!”)
SEPTEMBER 5 | RIP Out (Relief in Place—Out)
I learned today that in another twelve days, I will be out of the FOB. A few days after that, I will be on my way to Third Location Decompression, the mandatory “cooling off” period for Canadian soldiers coming back from the war zone. And then I will be on a plane home. It is getting close enough to taste.
The same is true of everybody here. The first troopers to go home from this tour will leave ten days after me. A couple of factors are at play here. The first has to do with what the troops see when they look back at what they have already been through. The lion’s share of their tour is over. Having survived so much danger already, the troops have “downregulated” (see the June 17 entry) their perception of risk. Getting shot at no longer gets much of a rise out of them, unless the fire is very close or accompanied by high-explosive projectiles. Machine gun fire within a kilometre of the FOB but aimed in another direction will barely elicit a comment; in the middle of a poker game, a couple of heads will turn towards the sound, and an eyebrow may be lifted. Life, as they have come to know it, goes on.
The demeanour of the troops is very different from what it was a few months ago. Much of the fear and uncertainty they felt at the beginning of the tour has been replaced by confidence. This is partly the self-assurance of the seasoned combat veteran, which is well earned. The rest is the feeling of immortality that is the birthright of the young. This feeling asserts itself even when confronted with undeniable evidence to the contrary, as has been the case here.
The m
embers of the combat team have already come through more than four-fifths of the dangerous missions they will be asked to execute. To them, it seems reasonable to deduce that they will come through the remaining operations unscathed. Reasonable, but erroneous. The danger of dying on any particular day in Zhari-Panjwayi is always the same. Statistically speaking, the last day is as dangerous as the first.
Those of us who have been here before must convince the younger soldiers of this. This brings the second factor to the fore: what comes “after.” For all the camaraderie and excitement of life here, very few soldiers are not eager to go home. For most, home means family, friends and familiar surroundings—all the things that give us pleasure, all the things that give our lives meaning. To paraphrase Yoda, we are all thinking much more about where we are going and much less about where we are.
This is a dangerous time. Sergeant-Major Lapierre is more aware of this than most. We had a meeting for the various section commanders last night at which he emphasized the need to remain vigilant. The threat level is unchanged; the enemy is still out there; this is not the time to let our guard down.
One way to keep soldiers focused on the present is to require the routines of military life to be performed in an exemplary fashion. The sergeant-major directed that all section commanders not allow “dress and deportment” to slip. This starts with the small things: shaving, haircuts and the cleanliness of quarters. It goes on with the not-so-small things: making sure our weapons are clean and our equipment is fully operational.