AFTER: The Battle Has Just Begun

by R. J. Belle

  Povas began to shake a bit, and I could see the color drain from his face. I knew this was an area he didn’t feel comfortable talking about, and we took a break and moved from the coffee house we had begun our interview in to a quiet, grassy area overlooking the San Diego Marina. After some small talk, Povas said he was ready to continue.

  “When we did our official changeover, our team got split up and spread across the AO (Area of Operation) that 3/4 was operating in. 3/4 wasn’t just in Nowzad; they were also in Sangin and a few other provinces. I think we had three or four teams, each team consisting of four guys. We were put on the QRF (Quick Reaction Force) basically for the infantrymen of Lima Company. Initially, we weren’t officially doing any reconnaissance missions.

  Usually, it would start off with an IED while guys were out on patrol. They would hit an IED then all of the sudden a complex ambush of machine gun fire and mortars came from everywhere. So we got guys with a broken truck stuck out there. When that happened we would get called over and got there quick. We would set up and gain back control of the situation, laying down some aggressive fire for the squad that was under ambush. That would happen a few times a week. It was insane getting mortars dropped on you or coming around a corner and just barely missing an RPG. It’s close fire that training can only scratch the surface of. It’s not normal for humans to run towards danger, but we did regularly, and it’s like ‘Holy shit, I can die any moment right now.’

  Eventually, our command started pushing us out into other parts of the city. We were doing reconnaissance in areas that the U.S. hadn’t seen since the beginning of the war because the Taliban were so strong in those areas. The enemy had pushed back every unit that was there before us. The area was surrounded by mountains and when things got too hot in the city the Taliban would retreat to the mountains.

  We went out one night to a part of the city that hadn’t been explored since the beginning of the war in Afghanistan. We went foot mobile because that’s the only way to sneak out there. If we were on a truck, the Taliban would see us coming. We set up in a house for observation. We had an engineer with us which was annoying because we could have swept for mines ourselves; we knew how to do that. That night the engineer said he was glad to be out with us because if anything happened we could put the shit down and he would be safe. That pissed me off. I told him that we could all die at any time and he couldn’t let his guard down. Inside I was thinking – shit this guy is too complacent, he thinks he is okay because he is with us.

  I was one of the senior members for our Op that night. Our Team Leader realized that we didn’t have eyes on the right objective, and he calls it in. We decide to move locations first thing the next morning. We were moving just a couple of houses down and we used an alley to get there. We are walking through the alley and there’s a hole into this courtyard. We crawl through it and go to the back door of the house under an awning we’re setting up to enter the building. Like a typical American house, there’s a patio area with stone pillars holding up a wooden trellis over the little back patio area. Our engineer sweeps the door to make sure it is not booby-trapped (I only see this out of the corner of my eye). The one thing that bothered me during training to sweep for mines was that the engineers training us told us not to turn the sweeper up to its highest sensitivity. They said if it was all the way up it would detect a paper clip and we would spend all day walking around paperclips. I was like, ‘Hey, turn it up; I will walk around paperclips all day. I mean, I will take a twenty-mile detour if it means not getting my legs blown off.’

  Our engineer sweeps the door and says it’s clear. I’m standing under that trellis in the back patio near the middle pillar looking back at the courtyard near the hole we came through just keeping security watch. My buddy, Josh Sweeny, kicks the door in and takes one step in, and there’s an IED in the floor. It goes off, and I’m right there in the midst of this vast explosion.

  The next thing I remember is seeing shit fly everywhere and being on the ground. I regain consciousness and look around, and people are fucking crying everywhere, it’s shitty to hear them tore up. I get up and realize I can’t talk, and I’m wondering why the fuck I can’t talk. I feel my face and there’s blood all over. I shove some gauze in real quick and get over to my buddy, Sweeny, and his legs are fucking gone. A couple of teammates are putting tourniquets on Sweeny to keep him from bleeding out; they were able to get him stable. I assist in making sure everything is tight and that he’s not bleeding anywhere else. I finish wrapping up my face as I run over to assist my injured teammates, not as serious as Sweeny, but they have huge chunks missing out of their arms and legs. We get to them, apply pressure dressings and help fix them up then we immediately radio in. I was the second radio operator but couldn’t call anything because my mouth didn’t work. Our primary was radioing in trying to get our QRF to get us out of there. There is a lot of yelling and chaos – radio asking if QRF is coming. In the meantime, I’m posting up security and going from guy to guy making sure to keep them conscious because you have to treat for shock. Even though you’ve stopped the bleeding, you have to make sure they want to keep fighting for their lives. If you let them just sit there with their thoughts, they can die.

  Then our engineer disappears; I didn’t know where the fuck he went at the time. One of the guys in our platoon who wasn’t hurt was curled up in a ball crying and shaking; looking around at the devastation was surreal. I found out that our engineer had run out to the street to wave in our QRF so they knew where we were at – but they already knew (“he’s fucking dumb”), they had our grid coordinates. You aren’t supposed to go out on your own because you can cause another casualty; he wasn’t thinking – he was caught up in the moment. So, we’re waiting for our QRF and the radio operator said they were right around the corner and all of a sudden we hear an explosion and see body parts; there’s a fucking leg in the air. They hit an IED trying to get to us.

  Over the top we have Air Force and we are talking to them on the radio trying to get PJ’s (para jumpers) to jump in. They are trying to clear it but can’t because the area is so hot – it was two hours before QRF got to us. Luckily we kept everyone left in our compound alive. Finally, once the QRF’s got to us, I grabbed Sweeny’s stretcher. I was carrying him out asking where the other QRF was hit and look around and just see fucking blood and body parts splattered everywhere. We are getting our casualties loaded up in the vehicles and they see I’m fucked-up too. They’re like, ‘Are you okay? You been treated?’ They put me on a stretcher and we got driven to an evacuation point because the helicopters couldn’t get to where we were hit at. Our convoy struck more IED’s on the way out. From there the Brit’s pick us up. In the helicopter, I hear everything. They are working on Sweeny, Gritter, and Harrison, trying to fix them. Periodically they come to me asking if I’m okay. One Brit asks, ‘hey mate you had any morphine yet?’ Finally I accept because they have plenty and I know it doesn’t need to be rationed for my teammates. We get to Camp Leatherneck and they land and take us in. The corpsmen are looking at me, and I’m motioning to them that I want a picture, a mirror because I don’t know what my face looks like. I want to see what happened. They can’t find a mirror, so they take a camera from one of my buddy’s flak vests and they show it to me, and I was like, ‘Holy shit!’ But I’m happy because I’m alive and I’m half smiling in that picture; partially because I’m high on morphine but mostly because I’m just happy to be alive. I was being wheeled into surgery, and I’m high-fiving everyone on my way down the hallway because I am so happy. Then a nurse comes over to me and tells me I am going to feel a sharp pain in my neck and to count backward. I counted two seconds and I was out. When I woke up there was a cute Danish nurse giving me a sponge bath and I thought I might be in heaven. I fell in love; the sponge bath was the gentlest thing that had ever happened to me in my entire life.

  They did what they could to me and all I wanted to know was how my buddies were. They all made it through but they s
till…”

  Povas took another break at this point in the story. He was shivering uncontrollably on an unusually warm spring afternoon. Unsure of how to comfort him and ready to end the interview, I put my hand on his and asked if he wanted to stop. He looked up at me and the pain in his eyes was palpable. He said he wanted to continue – he took a deep breath in and returned to his story.

  “Josh Sweeny, the guy who lost both legs, was still in critical condition. They couldn’t move him until they had him stabilized. I don’t remember many details; I was too drugged. I think they moved us out first. I got flown to a facial expert in Afghanistan and then to Germany.

  In Germany, they started doing a bunch of tests on me. They asked me if I was okay, what happened, how my mental status was, how my hearing was. I just kept saying I was fine. I wanted back in the fight. I ended up here in San Diego and once I got here I started telling the doctors here that ‘I’m fine’. I don’t think anyone had any intention of sending me back. I go through the whole process, and surgeries and then the 3/4 returned from Afghanistan. I realized then that I wasn’t going back to my unit anytime soon.

  I totally denied any sort of emotional problems the whole time until I sat with Marla Knox one day. I was in her office, and she was asking me all kinds of questions while she was helping me prepare for a skiing trip. She asked too many questions and I started crying there in her office. She told me I needed to see a therapist and talk about the things I had held inside.

  It sunk in that I wasn’t going to be able to stay in the Marine Corps and do the only job I wanted to do (Scout Sniper), and I was medically retired in 2012. During that time, I moved to Freedom Station. It was more than a place to live. Sandy helped me smooth things out in my life; she helped me with the transition and helped me get into school. I wanted to give back, so I started fixing things here and there. That turned into Sandy asking if I wanted to be the property manager and I took her up on the offer. I will stay here while I’m in school working on my Finance degree. My goal is to get my degree and go into medical sales. I’m comfortable here, and I’m thankful that I was able to come here through my transition time, and I’m still in transition. I will be for a while.”

  I thoroughly enjoyed my time getting to know Povas. He was a pleasure to interview and exceptionally articulate. To watch him fall apart in front of me during parts of the interview was an experience I will never forget. I don’t know that I will ever get over watching the pain shown on his face, in his eyes or the way his body language changed to that of a small, scared child during parts of his story.

  For Povas, Freedom Station has been a place of safety and healing. He is one of the front-men that Sandy relies on to keep an eye out for the others who reside there. It is often said that things happen for a reason and in some cases I believe that to be true. I know Sandy and Freedom Station have helped Povas significantly through his transition. But Povas has helped countless other wounded guys who have entered the gates of Freedom Station and I believe he was placed there for that reason.

  CHAPTER 12

  What Level Are You?

  The dull click-clack sound of metal hitting asphalt mixed with something mimicking that of a semi-violent struggle caused me to turn my head slightly in its direction. I noticed a black BMW had backed into a handicap parking space directly in front of the entrance to Freedom Station. I stood there to the right of the code secured entry gate moving nervously back and forth from one foot to the other while staring at the screen on my phone, hoping the director would return my call and let me inside the gates for our scheduled meeting. I watched him walk toward the gated entrance from behind the cover of my dark sunglasses, and I knew he had to be one of Freedom Station’s warriors. He never looked in my direction focused on the seemingly difficult task at hand. Walking.

  Beads of sweat covered his slick, bald, head and as Toran walked through the gate I could see the back of his shirt was wet with perspiration from the fifty-step workout he had just endured. Having the opportunity to keep my gaze on him from the back, I realized that I had no idea where I was or what Freedom Station was all about. I also realized I had just witnessed my first glimpse of what the human side of war looked like. Completely caught up in the moment I almost missed her call.

  “Hello, dear. Are you here?” Sandy asked.

  “Yes, I am right in front of the gate.”

  “Wonderful. I will send one of my guys down to let you in.”

  I stared down at the phone in my hand, praying it wouldn’t be him that she sent. But, a few minutes later he reappeared, this time in a wheelchair. He stared at me as the gate opened, an angry expression on his face, and his broad shoulders slumped forward.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were waiting to get in?” he asked in a sharp tone.

  “I didn’t want to bother you,” I answered, feeling like an idiot as the words left my mouth.

  “It was more of a bother to come back down here and let your ass in.”

  He turned his chair and quickly wheeled away. I felt like a jerk. I’m uncertain as to why I didn’t tell him I was waiting to get in the gate. I still don’t know. I felt an odd mixture of fear, embarrassment and nervousness. I didn’t know what to say to him. I didn’t want him to think I was staring at him – even though I was. Not wanting to treat him differently than I would anyone else, I feared that upon opening my mouth, I might do just that. So I had pretended he wasn’t there. That was my first introduction to Toran Gaal.

  By all accounts, Toran Gaal had a rough start in life. Adopted as an infant from India, he was brought to the United States before his first birthday and raised primarily by his adoptive grandparents. He grew up in a small town outside of Yosemite National Park in California. He had found his place in the world when he picked up a basketball for the first time as a youngster.

  Toran was a natural athlete and grew from the malnourished infant into a 6’3” powerhouse. Putting in time on the court paid off big. At seventeen, he earned a full-ride scholarship to a Division I college. He left California in pursuit of his dream; however, it wasn’t long before that dream, and his calling, changed. After his second college basketball season in early 2006, he followed in his older brother’s footsteps and in a matter of days made the decision to leave college for the Marine Corps.

  “I felt a duty to serve, honorably, the country that had saved my life. I wanted to leave my mark and make a difference,” Toran said of his decision to join the Corps.

  Toran chose the Marine Corps because he knew his brother, Dominic, would tease him if he chose any other branch. As most Marines will tell you, there is only one branch – The Marine Corps. He entered as an infantryman. His first unit was out of Camp Lejeune in North Carolina. Being sent to the East Coast didn’t make the California kid happy but being in the Corps came with sacrifices – Toran understood that early on. After six short months in he deployed for a seven-month tour in Iraq. “It wasn’t bad. We didn’t take much fire,” he recalls.

  Soon after returning from Iraq, he was called to the White House for Presidential Guard Detail. A high honor for any Marine but for Toran it was way outside of his comfort zone. “There I was – coming from Iraq to a place where I had to be polished and in the spotlight. I didn’t know how to do that. I hated White House detail. Meeting the President was a huge honor, but this wasn’t why I joined the Corps.”

  He made a decision immediately after learning he would be spending time stateside. Education was important to him, and he chose to spend his off-duty time wisely by finishing his college courses and earning a BA in Business Administration from Georgetown University.

  After six months at the White House Toran got what he wanted. “I got orders back to my original unit but they were looking for combat replacements for another unit. I jumped on that. I knew I would get to go back over there and that’s what I wanted.”

  Toran deployed to Marjah, Afghanistan in 2009. His experience there was “totally different” than Iraq. After five
months, he came back to the states.

  In Toran’s Words

  “When I returned from (that) deployment, I only had seven months left in the Corps. I finally got orders for the West Coast at Camp Pendleton. I went to the 1st Battalion, 5th Marines.

  They had just returned from Afghanistan, so they weren’t going back and that was a bummer. Then something strange happened and we were going to deploy. I found out I would have to re-enlist if I wanted to go on the deployment. After dragging it out for a few weeks, I was able to extend for the duration of the upcoming deployment. I knew though that I was staying in before we left for that deployment.

  We deployed in March of 2011 to Sangin, Afghanistan. On June 26, 2011, my life took a drastic turn. I don’t remember much, but several people who were there have given me the story through their eyes. I remember submitting my paperwork to re-enlist the day before, requesting a lateral move to EOD. Infantry wasn’t enough of a thrill for me anymore; I wanted something bigger. I knew if I was going to die in a war I wanted to die doing something big. Gunny Pate died the same day I was injured. He was EOD and was the one who had inspired me to want to make that change. He was the best.

  We went on patrol to make a raid on a compound. To cut the distance and get there by dawn, we headed out at night which we didn’t usually do because the IED threat was so high. We shacked up in an empty compound to get some sleep. Our sweeper cleared the area, and we settled in – setting up posts for some to hold watch while others slept. I was asleep on a ledge maybe three inches off the ground and rose at approximately four-fifty in the morning to wake up my guys. I remember waking up and stepping off of the ledge. I stepped directly on a twelve-pound pressure plate IED. My Marines told me they thought our compound got hit.

  The blast propelled me into a metal wall that served as the door to the compound crushing the entire left side of my face. My skull was open exposing my brain, and my eye was out of its socket. My left leg was blown off completely above the knee, and my right leg was mangled, intact by only threads. I was the first casualty of the day; Gunny Pate was the last.”