by Bryan Wood
The guys had to force their way through the crowd, and people were yelling and spitting on me as I waited for the rest of the guys to get to us. Once we were all at the vehicles and accounted for, we loaded into both vehicles and started inching through the crowd. I wiped the spit from my face, as I could hear rocks hitting the vehicle. Once we broke past the crowd, we were back inside the compound within just a few minutes, and nobody was hurt except for that woman.
Today on Chicken Street was a perfect example of how quickly shit can fall apart here. You can go from calm and stable to completely out of control in a matter of seconds, and once it starts, there is no way of stopping it.
March 26, 2003:
Nothing happened today, and I am tired. Even if something had happened, I do not feel like writing. I am becoming very exhausted; I wish I could take a vacation.
March 27, 2003:
My life in Afghanistan can be summed up in one word: “misery.” My job here is to sit in a tiny wooden box, hoping that I don’t get shot or blown up. Then I go out on patrol in the city and hope I don’t get shot or blown up. Then I go out on missions to the middle of nowhere, hoping I don’t get shot or blown up.
It is starting to become like second nature, when a car slows down or stops near me on the street or under my OP at night, I take a breath and pray it does not explode.
Inside the Camp Eagle compound, it is dirty and old, but it is relatively nice. Sometimes it is just nice enough to let me forget where I am for a few minutes; however, one look into the street from the wall is all it takes to remind me exactly where I am. All I see is violence, poverty, and disgust on a daily basis.
Sexual assault on young boys is rampant here, and no one seems to care. Every morning, at the end of shift when the streets are busy, I see scores of young children walking alone in the streets. Some of them are just barely five years old. All too often I will see at least one car stop, with some degenerate getting out and grasping a child’s hand, and lead them back into the car. The guy will then drive off with the child, and we all know what is going to happen to them. We are strictly forbidden from interfering in “legal matters” in Afghanistan, and I am supposed to just pretend I do not see what is happening. Some child, practically still a baby, is being driven off to be raped by a pedophile, and I just have to say, “Hey look, it’s almost time for breakfast.”
This morning, a guy on a bicycle was struck by a car. The traffic was moving slowly, so the bicyclist was not hurt. It was not anything major, but of course it had to turn into a fight. This fight was over almost faster than it started. The bicyclist got off the ground, and stood in front of the car that struck him and began yelling at the driver. The driver got out, and what seemed to be without a second thought, he pointed a handgun at the bicyclist and started firing, with one round clearly striking him in the head. The bicyclist’s body dropped dead to the street. He did not go flying back like in the movies; in fact, he didn’t move forward or back at all. It looked almost as if his knees and legs just gave out from under him, and he fell straight down.
I raised my M249, and the driver looked up at me as he got back into his vehicle and drove away. I watched him drive off. This guy was shot dead, less than twenty feet in front of me, and all I could do was watch. Unless we are threatened directly, we cannot act. Afghans are allowed to do whatever they please to other Afghans, and as long as they do not pose a direct and immediate threat to us, we have to just watch.
The traffic began to back up as I was announcing the incident over the radio. Another driver got out of his own vehicle, dragged the dead body to the side of the road, and then returned to his vehicle to drive off as if nothing had happened. He dragged the body like it was a tree branch which had fallen, and he had seemingly little regard that it was actually a person who had just been killed.
I am really starting to wonder why I am even writing in this thing anymore. People keep journals to remember things, to relive and share cherished memories, but I do not want to remember any of this. I wish I had a delete button to just erase nearly everything I have seen here. I thought this was going to be something that I would want to keep and remember forever. For me, this experience has evolved itself into anything but that.
March 28, 2003:
Midnight to eight was another long, uneventful night. I spent most of the shift just looking out into the cold darkness and thinking. I was thinking about home, thinking about life, thinking about my dreams, and just thinking about any place but here. I think I wrote before that every day in this place seems to take away another piece of me. It is like I am a wall, and every day takes away another brick. I am starting to wonder how many bricks can be left. How long before one piece too many has been taken away?
I have been absolutely exhausted lately, and I have not slept in days. With the weather getting warmer each day, the temperatures are rising, and there are mice everywhere. Throughout the night in the OP, the mice are running across the floor and over my feet. Any time I try to sleep, they run across me as I lay in bed. I close my eyes and try intently to pretend they are not there, but before long, I will feel one on my pillow or walking across me. Whenever I eat, especially in the OPs, they come out in force. If I put my food down, even for a second, I have to wave my hand to shoo them away from my meal before I continue eating. They are everywhere.
All I did tonight was try to imagine being anywhere but here.
March 29, 2003:
I was at the north gate for the midnight to eight shift, and I got settled in for the night. I had just started eating the dinner I brought with me, and at around twelve thirty, I heard three rapid gunshots. The shots were extremely close. I dropped to the floor and heard another three shots, rapid fire from an automatic weapon. I grabbed my M249 and moved towards the barrier to return fire. As I got to the barrier, there were about fifteen to twenty more rounds fired, and I saw the OP just to my east returning fire.
With virtually no artificial lighting outside of the compound, it was nearly impossible to see more than twenty or thirty feet past the wall. Being in the middle of a city, it is hard to just blindly shoot back. Within seconds of the last rounds being fired by the shooter, a vehicle was revving its engine about a block to the north, and I could just see it for a second as it drove west and out of sight. Approval to exit the compound was initially denied, until about fifteen minutes after the shooter, or shooters, fled the area.
Just after sunrise, a few of us went to look around the area for any signs of where the shooter was. About seventy-five yards north and east of the compound, one of the guys found a pile of 7.62mm shell casings in a narrow alley. These are shell casings from the type of rounds fired by a standard AK47 rifle. The alley runs north and south, and the south end, where the casings were found, has a clear view of the compound. The north end of this same alley is the area from which the vehicle fled. This sounds like useless information to have now that it is over, but whoever is positioned along the north wall will know where to shoot back if the shooter returns.
After shift, there were no missions or patrols today, so I got to go to the gym and relax for a little while. Relaxing here is more of a matter of finding a way to hide and stay out of view. It seems like every time we try to have any kind of fun, such as play volleyball or wiffle ball, someone in charge will feel as though we have “too much time on our hands,” and they will find something for us to do. When I do find myself with a little free time, I always try to squirrel away and stay out of sight. If I can stay out of sight, then I am out of mind.
I received a care package from home today and wouldn’t you know, still no backpack. I was expecting it in this package, but it was not there. I sent my wife an email to see if she sent it, and I received a reply while I was still at the computer. It said, “No, I sent you a package about a week ago, but I forgot to put the backpack in it. Not to worry, it will be in the next one.” What the hell? I need that thing, and it is like pulling teeth trying to get it. I suppose it is not reall
y that important; I am just venting. My day is done, and I’m going to sleep. Midnight will be here again before I know it.
March 30, 2003:
Last night at around ten o’clock, the lights were still off in the room, and all the guys were sleeping. I was half asleep and half awake from a frigging mouse that kept getting in my sleeping bag. I just started to doze back to sleep when I heard an explosion. It was loud and so powerful that it shook my bunk all the way down in the basement of our building. The whole squad jumped out of bed and ran for their gear.
I could hear the other squads coming from their rooms, when someone from upstairs yelled, “Everyone move. South gate just got bombed.”
As I was running up the stairs, I heard a second explosion, and it was just as strong as the first. It seemed like everyone simultaneously paused in the stairway, with none of us knowing exactly what we were running into. The pause lasted for only a second, and we kept moving.
I was assigned to an OP along the north wall tonight, so I started running towards my OP. I wasn’t even half way there, and there was a third explosion so powerful I felt the ground shake. At this point, it was obvious; the compound was under a rocket attack. I ran to the wall, to try to keep from being exposed as much as possible. During a rocket attack, there is no “safe place,” just a safer place. I crouched down and forced myself into the corner of where the wall met the ground, trying to limit the amount of my body which was exposed. We call it, “leaving less meat for the bomb to eat.” I was in this position for no more than twenty or thirty seconds when a fourth rocket exploded. I stayed in this spot for about thirty more seconds, and then I ran again to my assigned OP.
Once I got there, everyone in the compound was out and the wall was covered by every type of weapon we had. Everyone was vigilantly watching the streets and the sky, all waiting for another rocket to come in. After a few minutes passed, we realized that was the end of it. Everyone was ordered to stay on duty until around three o’clock in the morning, when the commander gave the all clear to stand down. Everyone went back inside, except for the midnight squad and evening squad, leaving three people at each OP. I set my gear up in the OP and settled in for the rest of the night, and it went by fast having people to talk to. Although the rocket attack was long over, I could not help but stay extremely alert for the rest of the night.
These shootings and rocket attacks always happen at night so the attackers can hide under the cover of darkness. During the day, there are far too many people and security patrols around, and there is always too much going on for them to hide. At night, it is a whole different world here. Security patrols are extremely dangerous at night, and accordingly, they are very rare. There are very few people out at night, and it is much easier to hit and run.
Once daylight came, I found out exactly what had been hit by the rockets. The first rocket hit a large wall directly across from the south gate, ripping a huge hole into the ground. The second rocket hit the German ISAF compound next door. The third and fourth rockets both hit the grounds of an all-girls school that borders the west side of our compound. A storage building on the school’s grounds was blasted to shit, and part of the wall that separates the school’s yard from our compound was damaged.
Just a few minutes ago, I found out that Intel heard the attack was carried out by the HIG, one of the insurgent groups in the area. The rumor is that this was the first of several attacks planned over the next few weeks; all are going to be aimed at American, German, Italian, and A.N.A. targets in Kabul.
After shift, the squad went on a foot patrol in the streets around the compound. The normal crowds were out, but it was very quiet otherwise. I think last night’s attacks even have the civilians on edge. They all live in this area, and I am sure they have to be worried that a poorly aimed rocket could hit their home just as easily as it could hit us. I think it is amazing that these poor people have had to live through this kind of a life for so long. First they had to endure the Soviets, then the Taliban, and now this war. It must seem never-ending for them. I cannot imagine having to live my entire life like this. I cannot even begin imagine it, nor do I want to.
March 31, 2003:
Everyone was nervous going on shift tonight. After what happened the other night, I guess it is to be expected. We were told to remain vigilant, but not to worry too much as it is very unlikely for them to strike two nights in a row. Supposedly, they will wait at least a few nights before their next attack, and they are also likely to target a different location next time.
That information turned out to be completely accurate, and it was a very quiet night. After shift, I was checking my email, and it turns out that the rocket attacks made the news back home. Our families are all worried, so I sent out a few emails to let everyone know I was ok. Once I finished my emails, I cleaned my machinegun and sorted out all of my ammunition.
Sometime around nine o’clock in the morning, we loaded up and took off for the day. The squad went to a firing range outside of the city, and we brought enough weapons, ammunition, and grenades to have fun all day. We got back to the compound around four o’clock in the afternoon, and here I am now. It was not a bad day; it was actually a lot of fun, but now I am tired. Tomorrow after shift, we are scheduled for a mission. It is supposed to be within Kabul, so hopefully it will not be bad.
April 1, 2003:
Goodbye, March and hello, April. It was a very typical night on shift, and nothing eventful took place. I heard a few random gunshots throughout the night, but they were nothing for us to be concerned about. We are all getting really good at estimating the distance and direction of gunshots. In the beginning, we would hear a gunshot, then I would hear one guy saying it came from the west, one guy from the north, one guy saying it was a mile away, and another guy saying it was five hundred feet. Now when we here them, the directions are all reported the same and the distance reports are usually very similar.
I also notice that gunshots do not really seem to worry me anymore. In the beginning, I would hear gunshots and worry about them, but not so much now. I guess anything can become “normal” if it becomes routine.
After shift we went out on a mission, but it was an easy one today. A supply truck needed to go from Bagram to Kabul, and all we had to do was drive out to Bagram and escort them back to Kabul. They usually go this route alone, but yesterday someone shot at an America convoy on the same road. We are better off being safe than sorry, I suppose.
We got out to Bagram to find the supply truck was already waiting for us, so we were back on the road in almost no time. The ride back to Kabul was long and bumpy, but completely uneventful. We were back in Kabul and done by eleven o’clock. It left plenty of time for a good workout in the gym, a decent shower, and time for a good sleep. The mice are still everywhere, but I am getting somewhat used to them. Once I fall asleep, I can sleep through the mice without much bother. That is it for today. It can become very repetitive when each day is almost identical to the last. Maybe, in its own way, that is actually a good thing.
April 2, 2003:
Shift was very quiet again. There are only a few more days before my squad will change shifts. We will be going from the midnight to eight o’clock shift over to the four o’clock in the afternoon to midnight shift. I think that is going to be a lot better for me. There are very rarely missions at night, and I will get to sleep every night after shift. The squad will spend six weeks on that shift before we switch back to midnights for six weeks again. Anything to break up the monotony will be very welcomed.
Sometime in June, this compound is supposed to close, and exactly what that means for us is anybody’s guess. We could end up assigned to another compound in Kabul, be transferred to Bagram, or go to another part of Afghanistan all together. There is also the remote possibility we will go home. I doubt that last one will be the case, but I can hope.
Around seven-thirty in the morning, as the end of shift was approaching, an Afghan man walked up to the north gate while carrying
a young child in his arms. The boy was maybe seven or eight years old, and he did not look well at all. The child was completely unresponsive, and his ankle was bruised and swollen to the size of a grapefruit. We figured it was broken, and the Afghan guard at our gate told the father we could not help him. A Sergeant with me told the guard to tell the father to take the boy to the Kabul Medical Center.
The Kabul Medical Center is very disappointing for most people. They see well over three hundred visitors per day, and with enough staff, medicine, and supplies to treat only the sickest and most injured, many are turned away without being cared for.
As the Afghan guard was talking to the father, the boy began to vomit and have a seizure, and the father said something to the guard. The guard, who speaks decent English, looked at us and said, “He was stung by a scorpion.”
Our compound has limited medical supplies, and although we are not a medical center by any means, we do have a number of doctors on the compound. Camp Eagle serves a lot of purposes and one such purpose is to provide a safe residence for various Americans. We have a few military and non-military doctors, who work at area medical centers during the day, living on the compound.
The Sergeant made the decision to let the boy in, but the father was told to stay outside and just beyond the gate. We radioed to have medics meet us at the gate, and two of the doctors came rushing out. Within seconds, their tone changed, and their actions became frantic. One doctor said the boy was close to death and needed to get to Bagram immediately. The Sergeant grabbed four guys off the wall and told them to get SUVs ready. About ten minutes later, the two SUVs rolled out, with two troops in each truck and both doctors and the child in the lead SUV.
Another doctor who had come out at some point and stayed behind said the child had been stung at least an hour before. He said the child was showing signs of severe anaphylaxis, and his likelihood of survival was very slim.
