AFTER: The Battle Has Just Begun

by R. J. Belle

  The capital was raised to lease and open the Freedom Station 12-unit housing complex over the course of several years. The property was selected partly for its location just minutes away from Naval Medical Center San Diego which would make it easier for warriors to receive the medical treatment that is so important to their physical and emotional recovery.

  The housing complex’s design was an equally significant factor. With four apartments and eight cottages all surrounding a central courtyard, Freedom Station was ideally set up to offer the camaraderie that is so crucial to veterans during the transition period. They are able to feel a true sense of community as they recover among their peers, share war stories and know they are supported by others who understand firsthand the harsh realities of war. They are also able to have privacy within their individual living quarters to process and deal with the many changes they are experiencing. Prior to opening the facility, Freedom Station invested a significant amount of capital into making necessary modifications, such as installing wheelchair-accessible ramps and converting several of the apartments to be ADA-compliant. Additionally, each unit was fully furnished and move-in ready, stocked with everything from cleaning supplies to place settings on each dining table. The idea was to shift the warriors from a “barracks mentality” to independent living by including the kinds of household items they would require in daily life.

  In addition to providing a home, Freedom Station realized that during this critical time, warriors would also face many decisions that would affect the rest of their lives. They needed help pursuing a career, choosing and enrolling in a college or vocational school, learning how to manage their finances, and locating or purchasing independent housing. Freedom Station provides assistance with and access to professionals and qualified volunteers who assist with educational and career guidance, and other issues relevant to transitioning to civilian life. These services are provided to residents because a helping hand at this point – between the military and the seemingly awesome task of returning to civilian life – is the best way to help solve some of the issues cause by wartime.

  While other military housing and transitional facilities exist in the country, there are two key ways in which Freedom Station differs which have ultimately led to its success. As such, the organization hopes to serve as a national model for similar developments. The first differentiator is that most military housing facilities are designed to work with service members after they have already been retired or discharged from the military. In many cases, these veterans may already be having trouble and experiencing “fish out of water” syndrome. Freedom Station understands that the transition needs to take place before a military member leaves the service, giving them the necessary time to acclimate. When a warrior finds out he’s no longer going to be able to be in the military, for the most part, it takes about a year to be discharged. Instead of allowing them to continue living in the barracks as if active-duty military, Freedom Station saw the value in providing a comforting and supportive environment that would prepare warriors for life outside the military. To not do so in the manner that Freedom Station has constructed would be very hard and stressful on service members; therefore, an average 11-month timeframe for residency is provided. The organization is also unique in that it works directly with Naval Medical Center San Diego, and other local military medical facilities, whose staff and medical personnel are uniquely qualified to identify those most in need of a transitional home.

  Secondly, Freedom Station is a hand up, not a hand out. The environment prepares residents for real-world civilian challenges. One of the most vital is having monthly expenses and taking care of those responsibilities. In addition to paying rent, they have utilities to manage, groceries and more. Many military transitional housing facilities are free and do not charge their residents any rent – an unrealistic preparation for real-world living. Although Freedom Station pays the lease on the property every month, residents pay a small amount of rent and are taught how to save and begin to move on.

  As evidenced by Freedom Station “graduates” and success stories, the existence of a supportive transitional environment for our military men and women can make all the difference as they begin a new journey outside the service. It is Freedom Station’s hope to open additional facilities in the San Diego area thereby expanding to meet the needs of more of our military heroes and ensuring their successful transition to self-sufficient, productive and contributing members of society.

  ~Sandy Moul

  CHAPTER 7

  The Stories

  Last year when I began interviewing combat injured men for this book, I had no idea what a drastic turn my life would take. I would have never imagined what I would learn from the research conducted for this project nor how that knowledge would alter my opinions on politics and of war.

  This project has been at the forefront of my thoughts and life for a solid year. I have carried the recounted versions of eight men’s deepest scars in my heart and have walked away from my computer more times than I can count. The responsibility of telling these stories in a way that honors the men who were open enough to share their stories with me is one of the heaviest weights I have ever carried.

  CHAPTER 8

  For those I love

  “The last thing I heard was,

  ‘Don’t step there,’ and then a loud boom.”

  “My tattoo, my tattoo,” he cried as he lay on the dirt. The corpsman tending to Timothy Read did not tell him that his leg was missing because they thought the tattoo in question was missing as well. Tim’s arm was torn to shreds with significant injury to his shoulder, elbow, wrist, and hand. At the time of the injury, there was so much blood covering his arm that the corpsman couldn’t see what lay on the one piece of flesh still fully intact. The tattoo read, For Those I Love, I Shall Sacrifice.

  Timothy Read joined the Marine Corps on a whim when a recruiter called him to inquire about his post-high school plans. He was seventeen when he enlisted. On his second combat deployment in 2010, he was shot in is his left thigh during a firefight. He refused to go home because he didn’t want to leave his brothers behind. Six weeks later, and five months after arriving, Tim stepped on an IED in Marjah, Afghanistan. He lost his left leg above the knee and his right leg was severely damaged. His chest, shoulder, elbow, and wrist were torn to shreds by shrapnel. He also sustained a traumatic brain injury (TBI) and suffers from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD).

  We were sitting in a San Diego coffee shop for our second interview. About half way through I became painfully aware that the young man had been forever changed by his combat experiences. It wasn’t his missing limb or scars that brought that observation so clearly into focus. It was his shaking body, shifty eyes, anxious jumping at every noise and inability to answer a question without taking it somewhere far away from the question I was asking. He was fragile and seemed to have a sense of fearfulness that I have only seen in a few others. His smile appeared forced and his thoughts jumbled.

  Tim shared that he had been having a rough time with his transition out of the Marine Corps. His demons had taken over and he had started abusing drugs and alcohol to numb the pain. It’s a scenario that is far too common for our troops returning from war. Tim had just returned to Freedom Station after a short stay at a VA facility to detox and stabilize enough emotionally that he no longer posed a threat to himself. He was highly medicated during that interview which accounted for a portion of the change in behavior – but not all of it. It was hard to believe I was sitting across from the same man that I had sat with on a previous occasion – his whole demeanor was different.

  Tim’s recovery has been long and difficult. Plagued by depression, he turned to drugs and alcohol to ease the physical and emotional pain of his war wounds and demons. The last year has been especially difficult for Tim and his family who often visit to show their support and lift Tim’s spirit. Fortunately for Tim, after leaving Balboa Naval Medical Center, he was able to move into a cottage
at Freedom Station. Being there has made all the difference in his recovery efforts. Being in a close-knit community of other injured veterans makes it nearly impossible to disguise a setback. Having on-site volunteers who monitor the resident veterans and keep an eye out for trouble also increases the likelihood of early intervention.

  During the time spent conducting interviews for this book, I met with Tim on several occasions. His story is important because without the care, assistance and intervention he received as well as the many people who walked through his dark times with him – Tim might be a statistic today. I know people who lost a lot of sleep worrying about and praying for this young man. I watched Tim grow and move forward beautifully over the past year. His one-eighty transformation was made possible, in part, by Freedom Station. Tim married a lovely young lady he met while receiving prosthetic care in Florida. They engaged in a long distance relationship for two years while Tim was in San Diego for rehabilitation and transitioning to civilian life. Tim recently moved to Florida to be with the love of his life; she had a big part in his healing and transformation too.

  I chose not to include Tim’s full story; he isn’t ready to tell it, and I respect that. Tim touched my heart deeply with his goofy expressions and caring personality; both are priceless treasures that I will carry with me for the rest of my days.

  CHAPTER 9

  The Scientist

  At first glance, the average person wouldn’t know David Smith is a combat injured Marine Corps veteran. His wounds aren’t obvious. David is extremely articulate with an outgoing personality and ‘the boy-next-door’ good looks. One of the reasons his story is important to share is because he is just that – the boy-next-door. He could be your neighbor.

  Raised in Colorado and Texas, he claims Colorado as his home because it’s the place he enjoyed the most growing up and he doesn’t want to be labeled a Texan. David considers his childhood that of a typical upper-middle class household. Despite his parents’ divorce when he was young, he maintained a close loving relationship with both his mom and dad, and spent a great deal of time with both of them.

  He grew up playing toy soldiers like many children but joining the military wasn’t part of his plan. After high school, David attended New Mexico State University and served as a firefighter on campus. Working side by side with many former Marines that had been to Iraq and Afghanistan in the early years of the war gave him some insight into the realities of being over there. But it wasn’t until video of the Nicholas Berg beheading was released that he felt called to join. He couldn’t believe that could happen and he wanted to be a part of the organization that put an end to that type of terror.

  After three semesters in college, David failed out. His heart wasn’t in it – he wanted to be in Iraq. At the age of twenty-one, he joined the United States Marine Corps. Fourteen months after he signed, he was deployed. It would be his first and only deployment.

  In David’s Words

  “One morning I found myself in a recruiter’s office. I told him I wanted to join the Marine Corps; I wanted infantry, and I wanted to go to Iraq. I got infantry and was with the 3rd Battalion, 7th Marines.

  My dad was all for me joining, but my mom was completely, one hundred and fifty percent against it – so I had that to deal with. My grandfather didn’t want me to go to Afghanistan; he knew a lot of guys who had died in Korea and Vietnam. But everyone was supportive right before I deployed.

  Boot camp was fun, and school of infantry (SOI) was okay. The fleet sucked. For the first six months I was a new ‘boot’ Marine, so I got picked on a lot. We had a Sergeant come in who had quite a bit of experience – everyone was a junior Marine compared to him, so nobody overstepped boundaries after he came. Him being there squashed the nonsense.

  I didn’t get to go to Iraq. I got sent to Afghanistan, which was initially disappointing because I thought it would be boring. I did not hear much about Afghanistan on the news so I assumed not much combat was happening. As we got closer to deploying I learned that there would likely be plenty of excitement. I figured I was prepared for the rigors of combat. The thought never crossed my mind that people I knew were going to die. I thought we were going to go over there, kill some bad guys, and we were all going to come home together. I had a good mindset going in; I knew what I had signed up for. I didn’t know what it was going to be like until we got over there – I don’t think any of us knew. But I was mentally prepared and physically very prepared. We had a great commanding officer and incredible small unit leaders – they trained us well. We were ready to go.

  We flew to Camp Leatherneck and from there went to Delaram to take over for the 3rd Battalion 4th Marines. Nothing happened for a solid three or four weeks – absolutely nothing. For me, that was devastating because I wanted something to happen, y’know? We sat around on base and did patrol missions. We would go out, and the only thing that would happen is we would run over or hit IED’s. We knew we were being watched all the time – you just knew – there was this overwhelming sense of being watched. We knew the Taliban drove white vans and motorcycles, so everywhere we went we would see white vans and motorcycles going around our convoys – around us. That was kind of weird. We did over-watch positions in a place that was supposed to be really bad, Buji Bhast Pass, and nothing happened there either.

  At the beginning of April, we got to a place called Washir in Northwest Helmand Province. That’s when things got a little bit hairy. We set up an observation post in Washir – a village area where a lot of opium is grown. Once there, we started hitting IED’s regularly. The outpost the company set up was attacked with small arms fire (SAF), a couple recoilless rifles and we were mortared. I thought this was incredibly fun. This was until Bravo one hit an IED and one of my best friends had the gun turret smash into his face. I began to realize that IED’s were a real threat, and we were not invincible. After he was medevaced, we found seven IED’s in the 100-meter radius surrounding us. Over the next few days, we began hitting IED’s every day or two and started to get tired and a bit concerned. The battalion wanted to know why we were hitting so many IED’s. It turns out that this place was a minefield to stop us before we reached the Musa Qala River Valley adjacent to the Sangin district.

  There is a Musa Qala City and a Musa Qala River Valley. We were south of the city in the Musa Qala River Valley, technically part of Sangin, that’s where we first met up with guys that wanted to fight us. We had already been shot at in Washir, but nobody stuck around. It was like they were just testing our tactics.

  When we went into Musa Qala the first time, we kind of got it handed to us. We only had half a company of guys, and there were an estimated 200-300 hardened Taliban fighters in the area. We were going through this little valley, and every time we moved we would get shot at. We started to find tactical things that we didn’t expect; sand models of the area, medical stations, and an elaborate tunnel system. For the first time – for me – we were getting some. It wasn’t like little pop-shots here and there; we were actually taking some fire. It was kind of weird for me. That all happened in Musa Qala one.

  We all came back and re-grouped. We knew where the enemy was now, and we knew they were in the town of Regay in the valley. So we went in as a full company and in the first thirty minutes of being there one of the combat replacements in CAAT white was killed. When that happened – it was completely surreal. I was watching them through the tow missile system and then all of the sudden this guy; he fell. A few minutes later when they came back the corpsman got out of the truck, silent, covered in blood.

  I never processed that until after I got home. I just sat there, and I knew that it had happened but at the time it just didn’t feel real. That night was a solemn night. No one talked to each other. It woke us all up. Before that we had just been screwing up the Taliban. But now, it was like, oh – we died here – like you can die here. That first time in Musa Qala we killed like sixty of them. We were really getting some, and now it was their turn. This guy, our gu
y, had just died. The next morning our company call sign was changed to vengeance, and we were all told that we were to kill as many of these guys as we could.

  The next morning I had my little claim to fame. I was a Tow Gunner by trade, and so I was watching the hill where the platoon had taken fire from when the guy had gotten killed the day before. There was a group of men up there. I started watching them at six in the morning. I could not engage them until they had weapons. Another one of our platoons and some scout snipers pushed out towards that area around seven and started getting close to the hill around eight. The groups of men were being directed around the area by a guy in a white man dress. I could see they were wearing some type of vests but could not see any weapons. When our guys started getting close these guys split into two big groups and started running toward a van, pulling weapons out and setting a mortar up. When that happened, I asked for clearance and the captain told me to smoke them. I took the shot and killed at least eight of them although I only ended up finding four torsos. The hit was at 3967 meters; I engaged them right at the range limit of where it’s even possible to shoot. I had a direct hit. It was the best feeling I had ever had to this point in my life. I know at least a couple of them had been involved in killing the guy the day before, so I felt all right. We started taking machine gun fire immediately after from an adjacent tree line and a couple minutes later so my excitement didn’t go away.

  The next couple of days the sound of combat was constant, we were really giving it to them, very high kill counts. We all did our jobs and made our commanders proud. About a week later we came back from a hellacious patrol where we were harassed constantly. On the way back to the makeshift outpost though I don’t think we even got shot at – we were exhausted. They were bringing a cold water truck in with an ammo resupply. The first thing I remember, coming back to the command post, is there were four or five trucks that had hit IED’s. We found out that the area we had set up on was covered in IED’s. I remember getting back up there, and that was real weird – there were blown up pieces of trucks everywhere. Injured guys sitting in the blown up trucks and the radio was constantly chattering. Troops in contact everywhere.