As I approached the wall, I saw a man trying to scale another wall. Shots were fired at him as he disappeared over the wall. I knew that he was hit because of the way he reeled over the wall. When I reached the other side of the wall, he was gone, but there were traces of blood where he had hit the ground. There were several other enemies doing this as well. They had become disorganized and seemed to be in a panic. They were used to a quick shoot-and-hide, they did not anticipate us, and we literally ran them down. They were running now holding their AKs with one hand, shooting randomly in our direction as we moved forward with controlled fire.
I was not sure how far I had run, but I was amazed that we were all still together. Shooting now began to be heard in front of us and to our sides as the enemy was trying to disperse fire to find a way out. We pressed hard now running as fast as we could, we did not want to lose them at the river. I remember feeling the adrenaline rush, thinking I wanted to catch them so I could kill them.
As I passed by a building, the enemy was less than fifty yards to my right and opened fire on my Afghan soldiers and me. I turned my rifle in that direction and fired reflexively, as did my Afghans. There were two enemies directly in front of us. The closest man was hit with a three round burst from an ANA soldier, and I saw a spray of blood behind him as he went down. The other appeared to be wounded as he disappeared into the woods.
As I approached the downed enemy, he looked like a gutted deer. I didn’t hesitate at that site as I was too far into the zone; it wasn’t until later that that memory began to haunt me. We pursued the last man into the woods until we came to the river. We followed his blood trail, for a hundred yards until it disappeared into the water. We were getting too far away from the main element and could find ourselves in a bad way if we did not regroup soon. We made our way back to the village without further action.
The area was finally secured and medivac had been called for the wounded. We regrouped back at our base for an AAR. The Afghan commander and my counterpart approached me with a smile and gave me the shell casing from one of my rounds fired. He told me to keep it for good luck, and then he smiled and said I had fought well. One of the SF grinned slightly and quietly said, “Good job.” That was one of the proudest moments of my life. I was considered a soldier by these Mujahidin and SF soldiers, not bad for a NG/teacher.
Later that night the Afghans came to the SF and said that the locals had brought one of the wounded to us for help. This was not uncommon; many of the locals were not Taliban but were forced at gun point to fight for them. They also knew that United States soldiers would take care of their wounded. When I saw him, I recognized him as the man that was shot going over the wall. He looked to be a teenager; his torso and back were soaked in blood. The medics worked on him as we called for a medivac, I remember him crying out Allah’s name. We made eye contact momentarily, his eyes were dark but not angry as I would have thought, just frightened and lost. He died as we looked at each other, “He’s gone, lost too much blood,” said the medic, and the villagers who had brought him took him away from us.
The range of emotions I felt that day and later that night were conflicting. I had been angry, scared, desperate, proud and ashamed. The next few days the Afghans kept patting me on the back saying, “Good SGT.” The SF told me I had done a good job and said they wanted me to work with them for the rest of my tour; they put me in for my CIB and other commendations for later actions.
I know I did the right thing by protecting myself, and my comrades. I knew that by killing them they would not harm another United States soldier; I knew all that. So why did I feel nauseous when I thought about it? When I smell gun smoke from a fired weapon I think of that day, and others.
Chapter Nineteen
Back to School
THROUGHOUT THE REMAINDER OF MY TOUR, we engaged in a number of short- and long-term missions. Some lasted a few days, while others, weeks and months. My final mission was both a turning point for me and the crowning achievement of my time in Afghanistan. To provide some context, it should be noted that the Taliban was adamantly opposed to education for girls. Their position was that the only sanctioned role for women was as wives and mothers; any education outside of the home is at best a distraction and at worst is dishonoring to Islam.
A new girls’ school had been built to replace the one that had previously been destroyed by the Taliban. We received intelligence that the Taliban were threatening girls and their families if their daughters attempted to attend that school. This intelligence came through the ANA military directly. We discussed possible options and the best response came from A-Top himself. He stated that we would move his ANA into the school and force the Taliban to move against him. That idea was brilliant; the girls would not need the school since Afghan children only attend school from spring through fall, the winter being too harsh to travel.
I looked forward to being away from the Flag Pole again; I needed to be in the fight not facilitating some ICT’s career. We did indeed move into the school, which was modern by Afghan standards, stone and mortar walls, concrete roof and actual glass in the windows with intermittent electricity, yet without furniture, indoor plumbing or school supplies of any kind. Mooremart would address the school supply issue rather quickly and with great success.
Our arrival was most definitely a surprise to the enemy in that area based upon their response. We moved in and immediately established a secure perimeter using the school wall and firing positions on top of the building. Before the sun set on the first day a group of young boys arrived with a male “teacher” telling us that this was their school and we must leave. This lie was obvious (even to us Americans), but we let the ANA handle it. A-Top berated this teacher openly accusing him of being Taliban and a liar! The teacher and the boys walked off in a hurry and my interpreter explained what had transpired. A-Top publicly insulted this man knowing that it would end this charade; moreover, it would force the enemy to attack, providing us with the opportunity to do what we do best—pick a fight!
This strategy always worked well instead of wasting time playing cat-and-mouse with an enemy that could blend in with civilians. We would create situations that begged him to come to us and on our terms. Adding to this tactic was the fact that working with the SF meant that we had resources that most Line Units (LU) did not. Along with long range weapons and dedicated air support we also had high tech intelligence. The enemy was communicating with standard hand held radios which we were able to intercept. Our interpreters would translate their plans to us in real time; so we pretended to retire for the night knowing that they had planned on attacking us. We hid inside the building while listening to their communications as they moved into position on the ridge line above the village and along the river bank.
One of the few humorous transmissions we did hear came when our interpreter began laughing and explained that one of the enemies was complaining about the freezing cold and was going home if they did not give the order to attack soon. We all got a chuckle for a moment until we heard them give the order and all hell broke loose. The school was obviously not built with force security in mind; we were surrounded by mountains which gave the enemy the high ground advantage. The building had one floor with a long hall ending with large doorways.
The enemy had sighted these doors and immediately bullets were skipping down the long hallway ricocheting off the walls. It was then that we realized that we had to run down that hall to get outside. Fortunately, the ANA were already in position outside on top of the perimeter wall returning fire. I waited for a short lull in the bullets, and then ran for the door. We were able to get outside and join the ANA on the wall.
These night time attacks continued as our immediate plan was to not strike back but try to draw in the enemy. A-Top stated that they were probing our defenses, trying to see what we had for weapons and what our intentions were. Our intelligence revealed that they were massing troops around us for the hope to overrun our position. In that case we could not
call in air support thereby denying us that tactical advantage.
The decision was made to form two strike teams combining ANA and United States soldiers. The idea being that they would not expect us to strike out at them at this point and would be caught off guard when we did. We did make the most of it and it worked like a charm, completely catching them on their heels sending them running.
One particular event demonstrated the stark difference between Arab Muslims and those in Afghanistan. In Iraq, the enemy openly used mosques as a base of operation with impunity. Our American command would not allow us to enter those buildings but the Iraqi soldiers would not go in after the enemy either. Imagine our frustration, knowing exactly where the enemy is but not being allowed to deal with them over religious/political sensitivities.
This was not so in Afghanistan. Though we were still not allowed to enter their mosques, the Afghans would not hesitate to do so.
The ANA were furious that Muslims would use their place of prayer as a way to hide from us. During one of the enemy’s attacks we sent out two strike teams, one toward the ravine leading to the river and the other pushed to flank them at the far side of the village. That was when both teams stopped at a mosque. Knowing that the enemy had retreated inside, I remained outside while A-Top entered. I expected to hear shooting but only heard shouting followed by A-Top coming out with a few Afghan men at gun point.
These were local villagers who had fought with the enemy, but only under threat of death, which is a common tactic in Afghanistan. They had decided to run away from the Taliban and seek refuge in their mosque. A-Top spoke with them sternly and released them to return to the mosque. He stated that he knew they were telling the truth and we would lose faith with the villagers if we took them into custody. Yet before releasing them, they did provide us with some critical intelligence that we were able to act upon immediately.
All of our team and the ANA returned unharmed (which was impressive) and by the time we were finished the enemy had all but abandoned that valley. Throughout the time that followed we had several other engagements at the school itself as well as the surrounding villages. A detachment of ANA was assigned to build a base of its own near the school, and by spring the girls were attending classes again. The success of this mission had such a profound and immediate impact on the local population there that it became the crowning point of my tour. Knowing that these girls were able to attend school without threat of violence was something that I could always look back at and see an obvious reason for my being there.
Hearts and Minds
Our time at the school was also a time of getting to know the ANA better, as well as reaching out to the local villagers. One of our most successful events was bringing medical aid out to that school. A number of medical personnel were brought out for a few days, administering to men in one tent and women with children in another. Afghans from miles away walked for days to get there in order to have medical attention, the first time for many.
One cultural issue we had to deal with was that women were not allowed to be examined by any doctor regardless of gender. We addressed this by having the Afghan moms take their younger children in to see female medical personnel with an interpreter. After tending to the needs of the children they would ask the mother how she was doing and within the privacy of that tent they were able to tend to her needs as well. It is situations like these that helped me to see these people not as Muslims but as families that needed help. It also helped me make sense of my time there, soften my heart and begin the process of healing.
Men lined up to see the doctor,
the women with children were seen away from the men.
End of Tour
My tour in Afghanistan ended on a high note, but with some reservations as well. I had come a long way from when I had first arrived believing that all Muslims were like those that I had met in Iraq or worse. I was now at a place where not only did I have a greater appreciation of Muslims in general, but I considered some close friends. These Afghan Muslim soldiers had shared their food with me, talked with me about home, family, politics and religion. At times they had literally saved my life without hesitation, just because I was their friend; my religion or cultural background was irrelevant to them.
I was especially moved when A-Top himself stated that he was happy for me to return to my family but was sad that I was leaving. He actually asked me to return with my wife and family to assume a position as teacher for his village. He offered a home, money and food along with protection for us as well. Here was a Muslim leader who thought enough of me that he wanted me, a Christian westerner, to teach his very own children.
I thanked him for his friendship and faith in me in offering me such an important position. Though I would have to decline (at least for the immediate future), I hoped that when my own children were grown I might return with God’s blessings. To this day I correspond with some of my former interpreters who are fortunate enough to have access to the internet. I will always hold my Afghan friends close to my heart and I pray for God’s protection for them.
Chapter Twenty
Headed Home
CAPTAIN CASEY AND I LEFT YELLOW DOG for the last time amid mixed emotions. Some of the American soldiers that I served with had accepted an offer for a six month extension. This was spring of 2006 and with the war in Iraq and Afghanistan going on the Army was pushing hard for soldiers to extend. The Army began offering re-enlistment bonuses and a choice of duty station if we would stay.
I would be lying if I did not admit that I contemplated staying. It was easy to rationalize why it would be beneficial to me and my family if I did stay. The money was good and would help my family’s financial situation. My sense of service also pulled me in that direction as I was well established with the ANA and would be a tremendous asset to any new team coming in.
Personally, I was at the top of my game. In my own mind I mattered and believed that my presence on the battlefield made a significant difference.
I walked humbly but with purpose and distinction, I was a warrior among warriors. I was sought by those in SF groups for my participation with their missions; I had never experienced anything like that at home. Other than my immediate family, what did I actually have to go home too? Yet I knew my wife and kids missed and needed me, so home is where I was headed.
Near the end of our tour we were directed to write a narrative of our missions for the possibility of being awarded medals for our exemplary service. I will state again that some of the officers I worked with were honorable, such as Captain Casey. Others were less so. I discovered through another NCO friend at YD that a letter commending myself and others on my team for our service during a particular mission was forwarded to our CoC. When they received it, it was read and immediately thrown into the trash rather than placed into our permanent records and added to our narratives for a possible award. My friend saw this happen and retrieved the letter, which was a commendation by a SF unit I served with on their letter head. Needless to say I received nothing of note from this specific CoC. I was however awarded a Combat Infantry Badge (CIB) from the SF unit to which I was attached. That recognition from them is worth more to me than any other award I could have received. In all honesty, the greatest award I received was the admiration from the American and ANA soldiers with whom I served!
SSG Moore and SSG Copeland “Big Toe”
with our MM T-shirt and a foot of Afghan snow.
Captain Casey and I moved back onto our initial staging base and were reunited with our original War Eagle’s team. It was good to see them all again, and even better to know that they had survived their tours as well. We shared war stories, most tending to be on the humorous side. By now we were beginning the psychological transition out of the combat zone and knew that the darker side of the war would be better left behind. The demobilization process began here with the packing and turning in of gear and weapons. The day finally came when we boarded the plane and made the long cold flight over
the mountains of Afghanistan for one last time.
A few days of flights and we were back at Fort Hood for our final processing out of active duty. The War Eagles spent a few nights celebrating the success of our tours and the reality that most of us would never serve together again. We were all from different states and it was unlikely that we would see each other after this. The last official task we had together was getting to the airport and dispersing to our various gates for the final flight home. My initial interaction with the Transportation Security Agency (TSA) was a bad omen for things to come. I was traveling home in my desert uniform with a large group of soldiers when the agent advised me that that I was “randomly chosen” for a full search and that I must remove my boots and belt. My blood pressure immediately began to boil as I asked him if he did not recognize the uniform of his own country and that I had returned from my second tour fighting the terrorists for whom he was supposedly looking. His snide response was “Timothy McVeigh was in the military.”
I lost it! That statement is commonly used by some to denigrate the United States military in an attempt to imply that all veterans are suspects of domestic terrorism.
It is highly offensive to veterans to be associated with him and we do not take it lightly!
I was immediately saved by some fellow NCOs who were in line behind me. They intervened and convinced this agent’s supervisor that he did not want the arrest of a United States soldier on the evening news. I was moved to my boarding gate where I entered my plane. I have come to learn that when someone starts a conversation with “I support the troops but…” they are full of it! It sounds more like an excuse for having never served in the military than the moral authority to criticize and diminish every sacrifice made by veterans today. This type of response usually comes from those who do not know what we actually do while serving in combat and are only parroting some politically correct mantra.
Purple Hearts & Wounded Spirits Page 11
