by Joshua Welle
As soon as we entered the village of Masabulahun, we were greeted by young, cheering Liberians. I had pens, pencils, and candy for them. The flag on my uniform instantly put people at ease and let them know that I was there to help. The children truly enjoyed seeing a tubabu (white man) and wanted to pose for pictures. When the excitement died down, several women and children took us to see the town chief. He was the only man in the village at the time since all the others were out working the fields.
We sat down in a palava hut, the town meeting place, and started discussing conditions in the village. We covered some heavy issues, including security, education, human rights, and the treatment of women and ex-combatants. The town chief asked for more resources. It was a town with no running water or electricity, but he wanted computers. It was a town miles away from an economic hub, but he wanted machinery to process grain and corn. Even though I felt they were ridiculous requests, I wrote them all down as “needs” in my notebook. I didn’t know what else to do. Then my Nigerian teammate sat down and began asking questions. He asked when the town had last pooled its resources to earn extra income for a processor. Did they hold a meeting with the young men about their work ethic and their contribution to the town’s food supply? Why hadn’t they developed a program for the girls to help in the fields?
My teammate was African, and he was trying to impart a sense of responsibility to the villagers. It was an awkward feeling for me. I felt bad for the locals. Their huts were made of clay, the children had mismatched shoes, and their food was served out of unsanitary pots. One potential drawback of international peace operations is that the host nation can become dependent on the United Nations and non-governmental organizations for food, security, and a myriad of other services. Instead of perpetuating this dependency, it is better to teach the villagers the skills to sustain UN and NGO efforts long after these organizations leave. It is a painful but necessary lesson for them to learn.
Not every village was the same. Some made the best of the United Nations and NGOs operating in their country. They took pride in their villages and were excited to show the progress they had made. Whether it was a clean-water initiative or some other community health measure, survival was only possible with hard work and collaboration among the tribal leaders—often a town chief, a women’s leader, and a youth leader. When there was a rule of law dispute, the community of elders made a decision and a ruling. It was a defined structure based on norms, not laws.
Although the overwhelming majority of developments in northern Liberia were positive, we did experience a serious problem during my time there. World food prices skyrocketed in the spring of 2008, and the effects of this could be seen in the local markets. Many people in northern Liberia traveled across the border to Guinea and Sierra Leone in search of cheaper food prices. Families dramatically cut back on their food consumption, and there were concerns that many young children would begin to starve. Ultimately, the World Food Program intervened and distributed rice and other goods to help stabilize prices. It was certainly a tense period during my tenure in Voinjama; the worst of the food shortage seemed to be over by the time I left.
My deployment went far beyond patrolling villages in the Liberian countryside. It also gave me the opportunity to live and work with people from all over the world. I lived with a team of international military officers from more than fifteen different countries. I was the only native English speaker, and thus I felt an obligation to help my teammates gain proficiency with the language. I knew I was having an impact when I heard my Ukrainian teammate using slang and curse words he had picked up from me after hours on patrol together. In addition to the time spent with my teammates, I had the opportunity to work with numerous UN agencies, such as the UN Development Programme, UN High Commissioner for Refugees, and UN Police, as well as several NGOs, including the International Committee of the Red Cross, International Rescue Committee, and the Right to Play. Collectively, the UN agencies, NGOs, and military units saw tangible results in northern Liberia. Improved roads, new government facilities, and a new hospital are just a few of the projects completed while I lived there.
In addition to living and working with international officers and NGO workers, I also spent a great deal of time with a Pakistani infantry battalion (Pak Bat) providing security throughout my area of responsibility. As military observers we were unarmed to provide governance and structure, but the Pak Bat provided the consistent physical security in the region. The Pakistanis also provided our team with food, clean drinking water, and fuel.
Pak Bat was a gracious host and helped make my stay in Liberia enjoyable. The Pakistani commander frequently hosted formal lunches and dinners for our team; his contingent served the most delicious chicken, rice, chapati (a type of pita bread), paneer, and sanagalu (chickpeas) I’ve ever had. I developed a good working rapport with the Pakistani soldiers and was constantly impressed by their knowledge of U.S. current events. The presidential primary campaigns of 2008 were in full swing while I was in Liberia, and the Pakistani officers were familiar with all the main issues. Each day I joined them for lunch, they wanted me to explain something about how the American system of government works and how we elect the president. I was impressed by their knowledge of our government and their desire to learn more about our democracy. It certainly made me feel good knowing that other countries were impressed and respectful of our government even at a time when many Americans seemed frustrated by it. Some headlines indicated that the Pakistani military could not be trusted and claimed that there was evidence that the Inter-Services Intelligence directorate was collaborating with the Taliban. To me, however, these men were my only protection, and we became great friends.
Dave Augustin with Liberian partners. (Courtesy Dave Augustin)
I spent a great deal of time working with the Pakistani officers coordinating air and ground patrols and documenting the disposal of unexploded ordnance (UXO). The area saw a great deal of fighting during Liberia’s fifteen-year civil war, and remnants of the hostilities constantly turned up in villages. UXO was the biggest problem in the country; each week my team accompanied the Pakistani explosive ordnance disposal detachment to a new village to destroy weapons. Rocket-propelled and hand grenades accounted for the vast majority of UXOs discovered, but occasionally villagers found buried automatic weapons and ammunition. During the construction of a hospital right next to my team’s residence, a worker unexpectedly detonated a UXO while burning some trash. Fortunately, he was unharmed, but it reinforced that UXOs were all over the country.
I was never more proud to be an American than while serving in Liberia. Seeing the joy on the faces of Liberian children when I entered a town, teaching my teammates English while on long patrols, and discussing politics with the Pakistani wardroom reinforced my belief that the United States is widely respected around the world. At a time when negative media coverage of U.S. operations in Iraq and Afghanistan had many Americans questioning our role in the world community, my experience proved that Americans still had a responsibility to lead.
When it came time for me to leave Voinjama, I felt conflicting emotions. I was excited to go home and see my wife and family, but I knew there was so much more that could be done if I were to stay there longer. When I boarded the Ukrainian Mi-8 helicopter for my last trip back to the capital, Monrovia, I looked out the window at the pristine, unmolested forests that cover the beautiful Liberian countryside and thought about what a unique opportunity I’d been given to represent my country and the United Nations. My time in Liberia left a lasting impression on me, and I will never stop hoping and praying for lasting peace and prosperity for that country and its people.
Casey vs. the Volcano
Casey Bruce
“Navy Rescue Two, Portland approach.”
“Go ahead for Rescue Two.”
“Yeah, Rescue Two, understand you want flight following?”
“That’s affirmative for Rescue Two.”
“We can provide
that for the next one-five miles or so. Then we’re going to lose you.”
“Roger. We’ll take it as long as we can get it, Portland”“
“Rescue Two, understand you intend to fly inside the Mount St. Helens crater?”
“Portland Approach, Navy Rescue Two, that’s affirmative. We’ll call you when we are out”
In the wilderness, there’s a threshold where communications between home base and rescue crew fail—the signature falls off the radar, there’s silence on both ends of the radio, and the crew is reminded that the mission is theirs alone. Past that point, if mistakes are made and they need help, it could take hours for someone to notice. And so I was taught not to make mistakes, as were the members of my search and rescue (SAR) crew. Like so many others at the Naval Academy, I had yearned to be part of something great for a long time. I could not have known at the time that a flight into the crater of a volcano would play a pivotal role in defining my career for me.
I grew up an all-American boy who was powerfully drawn to the military. I thrived on discipline and learned at a young age that hard work wields the greatest and most enjoyable returns in life. I couldn’t picture myself sitting in an office all day. During my years at the Naval Academy, I drew strength from the litany of stories about the heroism and sacrifice of the grads who had come before me, and I made it through. The Academy was not a normal college, and I knew after five minutes of standing in long lines, all the while getting yelled at for no apparent reason, that it was not a stepping stone to a normal, average life.
I was getting ready for a career in aviation when the United States went to war in Afghanistan in 2001 and Iraq in 2003. I assumed my path to something great would include flying in combat. I finally got my wings in the spring of 2004 and headed to San Diego to be a helicopter pilot. I made two deployments to the Persian Gulf in three years, flying mostly logistics missions or search and rescue. Although I loved flying and was proud of my accomplishments, I was disappointed that I’d never flown a single combat mission. Hell, I’d never even been in the combat zone. Near, but never in; never close enough to feel any real danger. I knew that this was nothing to be ashamed of, but I still felt like I was getting off easy. I began to weigh the merits of my contribution against the other sacrifices I was making in my life.
I thought about how I had spent seventeen out of the first twenty-four months of my marriage at sea and forever lost that precious period with my bride, Amy. At the time, I could see only two options: Do something in this war to validate my name and my education or return home to be with my family. I made the decision to do something for my family and took orders to my home state of Washington to fly as a SAR helicopter pilot. Everyone warned that this would kill my career, but I was beyond caring. It sounded like a fulfilling job in an awesome place. If I was going to coast through my navy career, at least I could do so with family nearby.
Back in Washington, February 16, 2010, was like any other day to me. I was up before the sun cracked the timberline, readying for my day of SAR duty and savoring another breakfast in a string of great breakfasts with my wife and little girl. I was half listening to the TV in the background when a news story caught my attention. The day before, a hiker at the summit of Mount St. Helens had been standing on an ice cornice when it broke, sending him into a 1,500-foot free-fall into the snowy crater below. Rescue crews spent the afternoon attempting to get to him via helicopter, but poor weather and harsh conditions had hindered progress. The report said that rescue efforts were to continue at first light.
I listened to news radio as I dashed to work, hoping for updates and knowing where our entire outfit would be spending its resources that day. As soon as I stepped foot in my office, I got a call from my boss. He briefed me on the situation and the previous attempts our unit had made. The night SAR crew had flown down the previous evening but couldn’t get within three miles of the stranded man’s position because of the bad weather. All the news networks were reporting that the search had been suspended the previous afternoon, so I was encouraged to learn my unit had pushed forward, working through the night to continue the rescue effort. My boss asked me bluntly, “Do you think this is something you can do?” “Yes, Sir, absolutely,” I responded without even thinking. “I know exactly where it is. I’ve climbed that mountain twice before. My crew is briefed, and we’re ready to fly” “Ok,” he said, “I’ll get approval again from the Air Force Rescue Center, but we’ll get you guys a new mission number and get you headed down there.”
I hung up the phone and thought to myself, Holy shit, I’m about to fly inside Mount St. Helens. I immediately began to think about everything needed to make this a safe, successful day when my phone rang again and interrupted my thoughts.
“Hello”
“Is this Lieutenant Bruce?”
“It is.”
“Lieutenant, I’m Sheriff Brown with the Skamania County Sheriff’s office. I wanted to cover a couple things before you head down this way.”
“Good morning, Sheriff. No problem. What’s up?”
“Well, lieutenant, I’m sure you know what the situation is. If you get down there and find a dead body, I just want to have a plan in place. News reporters swarm around these stories, and I don’t want that information to get out through the wrong channels”
I casually sent the conversation back to him, thinking he was going to want to brief me on the working frequencies, location of the victim, and details about ground support as in a typical rescue call. This guy was all business. He continued, “I’ve got a lat/long where we’d like him dropped if he is deceased,” he pressed on. “You got a pen? You ready to write?”
I need another cup of coffee, was the only thing going through my mind as I jotted down the coordinates. It wasn’t even eight o’clock in the morning. Before the conversation wrapped up, I asked, “Sheriff, what are the odds this guy is alive?” He answered, “This man fell 1,500 feet and spent the night in the freezing cold. Probably not good.”
There was a cold wind gusting in from Puget Sound that morning and a blanket of gray clouds as far as the eye could see. My copilot recommended we try to climb through the clouds to hopefully “pop out” on top. Our victim was at a relatively high altitude, and arriving at his position from above the clouds would likely be our only chance for a successful rescue. I took his advice and climbed, emerging into sunny skies over a broken layer of moisture-laden clouds. Scanning south, I saw the snow-covered tops of Mt. Hood in Oregon, Mt. Adams in Southwest Washington, and finally my bull’s-eye. The jagged, snow-covered top of Mount St. Helens barely emerged above the layer of winter weather. My copilot and I both knew immediately that the only way we were getting into the rescue zone was from the top down.
This massive volcano stands 8,365 feet with a horseshoe-shaped crater a mile wide in its center. The crater floor lies at about 7,100 feet, opening to the north a massive area of desolation that thirty years ago had been the blast path of the most memorable eruption to shake the Pacific Northwest. At almost the exact center of the crater floor lay a massive dome of igneous rock. The dome, at three hundred feet tall, is the telltale sign that this behemoth is still alive and churning with fire and magma far beneath the surface.
Arriving from the north, we found ourselves flying directly toward the mouth of the open crater, like fishermen drifting out to sea directly into the open jaws of a great white. The weather gods were cooperating, appearing to allow us a way in, but I wasn’t sure we would be allowed a way out by such kind fortune. The cloud tops led right into the crater, but another small patch of clouds and fog loomed just above the lava dome, which meant we’d be sandwiched inside the crater, unable to make a rapid ascent or descent. Although our search area would be small and well defined, I knew we would be extremely limited in our ability to safely maneuver. This mission would be the practical exam on everything I had learned in my career and how well I could fly this aircraft.
I read my instruments to check winds and saw 30-35 k
nots from the southwest. I remembered reading that a flight should not be conducted in mountainous terrain if winds of 30 knots or more exist because of possible severe instability, turbulence, and extreme down-flowing winds. I knew we’d be able to pull it off if we did everything perfectly, but we were flirting with danger. Prior to entering the crater, my copilot and I briefed our search patterns, checked our available power, and determined the exact routes we’d use if we had to execute a quick escape. Once my preliminary terrain readings were complete and assessed, I made orbital passes one hundred feet above the crater’s floor. With our cabin doors and windows open for visibility, the blowing snow and crystalline ice ripped its way into the helicopter, collecting in our noses, mouths, and every crevice in the plane. There was great temptation to turn on the heat for the cabin, but the risk of it robbing the engines of power could mean the difference between flying and crashing.
The sloping terrain below revealed hundreds of snow fractures, enormous slabs of snowpack that can break off and start an avalanche from essentially any direction inside the crater. The fractured land inside the volcano was the most desolate and unforgiving I’d ever seen and revealed nothing conducive to supporting current or future life. The helicopter bucked and strained against the high winds but was steady enough to keep going. Its jerky movements indicated that it wanted to go into the caldera even less than we did.
