In my last post, I was leaning to describe the irony between an extremely beautiful land and how such beauty and ruggedness can be poisoned by humanity.
As I flew through Afghanistan, I recollected thoughts of the Canadian Rockies any American Rocky Mountains that I have also flown through. As I experienced North America from the air over the years, I learned a respect for the history, prosperity and development: ski resorts, mining projects, vast farms and pipelines all cooperating in the development of prosperity, health, and society. I recall thinking the same things about Afghanistan, a land having so much potential. It has vast mineral wealth and potential to be a continental trading crossroads due to its location; this evident from the historic trade routes from Asia to Europe. It has the capability of running rail lines but doesn’t due to the lack of security – a shame. I saw great mountain ranges with beautiful villages below that would be so capable of building ski resorts and supporting eco-tourism. I saw vast plains with the flowers of lush fruits and vegetables. The grapes alone could rival the vineyards of the Sonoma Valley in California to the Okanagan Valley of British Columbia. And with all this potential, I can’t figure out why fear, hatred, sexism, and medieval law is allowed to prevail keeping these people and this potential suppressed. How do we, as an advanced Western civilization, convince these people that there is a much healthier, prosperous and socially beneficial ways to live? While maintaining religion and modifying fear and hatred, great benefits could come through collective efforts. But it remains a medieval wasteland – it is sad. The great Greek, Mongolian, Persian, Timur, British and Arabian empires have already proven prosperity in the Afghanistan area; it is possible. So why are they so stuck?
If it is a religious issue, then this is my 2 cents:
Whether you believe that Abraham and Isaac founded Judaism then Christianity in Israel or … Abraham and Ismail founded the Quran and Islam in Saudi Arabia, it doesn’t matter.
What is an agreed truth is that we all have Abraham as a religious forefather. We are all cousins.
Just because we can’t agree on what great uncle accomplished what doesn’t mean we have to be extremist and radical. During peace and common sense prevailing, both trees of this family have created great empires of prosperity, peace, artistic, technological and social advancement. It’s time to move forward once again collectively.
T’WAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS,
HE LIVED ALL ALONE,
IN A ONE BEDROOM HOUSE,
MADE OF PLASTER AND STONE.
I HAD COME DOWN THE CHIMNEY,
WITH PRESENTS TO GIVE,
AND TO SEE JUST WHO,
IN THIS HOME, DID LIVE.
I LOOKED ALL ABOUT,
A STRANGE SIGHT I DID SEE,
NO TINSEL, NO PRESENTS,
NOT EVEN A TREE.
NO STOCKING BY MANTLE,
JUST BOOTS FILLED WITH SAND,
ON THE WALL HUNG PICTURES,
OF FAR DISTANT LANDS.
WITH MEDALS AND BADGES,
AWARDS OF ALL KINDS,
A SOBER THOUGHT,
CAME THROUGH MY MIND.
FOR THIS HOUSE WAS DIFFERENT,
IT WAS DARK AND DREARY,
I FOUND THE HOME OF A SOLDIER,
ONCE I COULD SEE CLEARLY.
THE SOLDIER LAY SLEEPING,
SILENT, ALONE,
CURLED UP ON THE FLOOR,
IN THIS ONE BEDROOM HOME.
THE FACE WAS SO GENTLE,
THE ROOM IN DISORDER,
NOT HOW I PICTURED,
A TRUE CANADIAN SOLDIER.
WAS THIS THE HERO,
OF WHOM I’D JUST READ?
CURLED UP ON A PONCHO,
THE FLOOR FOR A BED?
I REALISED THE FAMILIES,
THAT I SAW THIS NIGHT,
OWED THEIR LIVES TO THESE SOLDIERS,
WHO WERE WILLING TO FIGHT.
SOON ROUND THE WORLD,
THE CHILDREN WOULD PLAY,
AND GROWNUPS WOULD CELEBRATE,
A BRIGHT CHRISTMAS DAY.
THEY ALL ENJOYED FREEDOM,
EACH MONTH OF THE YEAR,
BECAUSE OF THE SOLDIERS,
LIKE THE ONE LYING HERE.
I COULDN’T HELP WONDER,
HOW MANY LAY ALONE,
ON A COLD CHRISTMAS EVE,
IN A LAND FAR FROM HOME.
THE VERY THOUGHT BROUGHT,
A TEAR TO MY EYE,
I DROPPED TO MY KNEES,
AND STARTED TO CRY.
THE SOLDIER AWAKENED,
AND I HEARD A ROUGH VOICE,
“SANTA DON’T CRY,
THIS LIFE IS MY CHOICE;
I FIGHT FOR FREEDOM,
I DON’T ASK FOR MORE,
MY LIFE IS MY GOD,
MY COUNTRY, MY CORPS..”
THE SOLDIER ROLLED OVER,
AND DRIFTED TO SLEEP,
I COULDN’T CONTROL IT,
I CONTINUED TO WEEP.
I KEPT WATCH FOR HOURS,
SO SILENT AND STILL,
AND WE BOTH SHIVERED,
FROM THE COLD NIGHT’S CHILL.
I DID NOT WANT TO LEAVE,
ON THAT COLD, DARK, NIGHT,
THIS GUARDIAN OF HONOUR,
SO WILLING TO FIGHT.
THEN THE SOLDIER ROLLED OVER,
WITH A VOICE SOFT AND PURE,
WHISPERED, “CARRY ON SANTA,
IT’S CHRISTMAS DAY, ALL IS SECURE.”
ONE LOOK AT MY WATCH,
AND I KNEW HE WAS RIGHT.
“MERRY CHRISTMAS MY FRIEND,
AND TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT.”
This poem was written by a Peacekeeping soldier stationed overseas.
Just a commentary on the current affairs of our world.
Now it is almost 2016 and society is faced with wide-spread propaganda promoting fear and violence in the name of attaining of peace and security. As I write this ISIS is growing, attacks against England, Los Angeles and Paris have occurred. Russia, France, Britain and America are in tense relations trying to establish suitable protocols in the diplomatic spider web over Turkey, Iran, Egypt, Israel and Crimea. China is establishing footholds in Africa and recently commissioned their first ever Aircraft carrier.
Yet despite this, Canada is still opening doors to the needy while some political leaders in the USA are promoting policies towards Muslims and Mexicans that are not much different from what we experienced during apartheid.
I often find my mind polarized with back room discussions. So I researched the ‘left, right , and middle’ wings of various thoughts. I don’t know what the answer is but I found some quotes that seemed worthy of remembering:
Quotes…
“I hate war as only a soldier who has lived it can, only as one who has seen its brutality, its futility, its stupidity.” Dwight Eisenhower.
“The enemy is fear. We think it is hate; but it is really fear.” Gandhi
The Prophet Muhammad said: “Religion is very easy, and whoever overburdens himself in his religion will not be able to continue in that way. So you should not be extremists, but try to be near to perfection and receive the good tidings that you will be rewarded.” Bukhari:V1N38
“But I say to you who hear, Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you.” Luke 6:27
It is a man’s own mind, not his enemy or foe, that lures him to evil ways. Buddha
And from the Art of War, Sun Tsu: “Victorious warriors win first and then go to war, while defeated warriors go to war first and then seek to win.”
If you want total security, go to prison. There you are fed, clothed, given medical care and so on. The only thing lacking…is freedom. Dwight D. Eisenhower
Anyway, there’s my two cents for the day. I’m not smart enough to know the right course of action, but I’m experienced enough to now the effects of some.
At the end of my manuscript I have a reflection about wondering what it would be like to once again live in an environment which is childlike, naive, and having total confidence in your freedom and security and trusting that you could take it for granted. Wouldn’t it be wonderful?
The concept of the Mayan compass or flag and specific colours inspired me from the words of a Guatemalan mountain guide near the ruins of Copan. He said that the colours represented all the peoples of the world: whites in the north, reds in the south, yellow in the west, blacks in the east. And apparently the Mayan’s believed that world peace would never exist until all these colours became one.
One of the Principles of Warfare, and actually a principle for any business or personal goal is to “Maintain the Aim.” It is taught to every soldier that crosses into the halls of basic training. I am sure fire, police, business managers, martial artists and many schools also have their versions of this rhetoric. Its effective.
As I was reviewing and editing my manuscript, I came across a paragraph that I just wanted to recall. It is what this blog is about.
“….I hope to both entertain and educate my audience on the complexities, intensity and horrors that our teams face; that the troops endure; and that families anxiously survive through. The hardening and desensitization was a fascinating journey and it takes years for some to relax and cope with. I really hope you can appreciate that reality in our veterans and try to accept it. You don’t have to understand, but please accept it…”
Steve
Go For Shakedown
One of my favourite Wiggy shots. Kandahar looking west.
Blog 12E. Senjeray PID RPG…the busy day continues (Still Irish’s mission)
Sunrise in SenjeraySenjeray and the Canadian A.O.Green Zone near Senjeray
……“Shakedown this is the FOB (Forward Operating Base Senjeray), wait out.”
“Contact FAM (Fighting Aged male) with one times RPG (Rocket Propelled Grenade) and AK47 (assault rifle).” Prof called excitedly over the radio. His helicopter closed in from the higher orbit onto the potentially lethal target. Was is a single RPG shooter? Where was his support team. There could be others in the immediate area with AK47s to join into the attack against the Chinook as it departed. Those insurgents would be deeper into the green zone a few hundred meters; covertly hiding and ready to attack. They usually ambushed in multiple teams from different locations all focusing their fires onto the airborne target. Like a fly into the spider’s web, everywhere you turned there would be more havoc to get tangled into. Prof’s crew would make himself vulnerable in order to defend the chinook. As we teamed into battle formation, we became much more lethal, accepting certain risks to get our gunners into optimum position to defend – or attack.
The FAM was now partially hidden from the FOB under some trees in a cut-out in the wall. His RPG could be seen moving but he didn’t seemed to be aiming it. It went from over shoulder to under shoulder. Then held, then disappeared as he leered from behind the concrete hard, thick compound. The shape of the warhead on the tip occasionally emerging.
“I’m tracking him with my gun…if he pulls any shit, he’s done.” Snapshot called. “Can we get in lower?”
‘Roger that, coming in behind Prof! Cover his ass and watch that green zone for support shooters!” I yelled over the intercom. I was concerned about what we couldn’t see. I then pressed my radio foot switch to talk to Prof on the radio. “Professor you got him?”
“Roger, I got him.” Prof answered. His voice alert and focused. The target had bunker like walls all around him. It was an ideal place to shoot from and stay somewhat concealed.
“Standby, he is still not a legal target, I am coordinating through the FOB. It will be your shot, I’m on high cover dropping into your trail.” I further answered. I looked out to the Chinook on the ground in the FOB. The last passengers were loaded. He would be lifting right into that ambush. I had to warn him.
“Blowtorch, this is Shakedown. Stay on the ground. Possible RPG threat to your south east.” I called to Butch. “Man with RPG about 250 meters on your nose in a compound.”
Prof interrupted with a report. “I’m in position to fire….He seems to be hiding behind the wall – He looks suspicious – spying.”
“Check that, standby.” I answered. I had to get more intelligence. I hoped the FOB had a sniper also viewing. I may have to call him onto the target or smoke it to mark it. For identification – but time was fleeting.
“Shakedown 25, this is Blowtorch. We are ready to lift. Holding position. Holding position.” Butch’s voice answered.
He wanted out. He had to stay for the time being. It became a time crunch from his perspective. The longer he sat there, the more likely he would draw indirect enemy mortar fire into the FOB. But if he departed right now, he could be flying into an ambush. The Chinook had enough power to depart the opposite direction – it was an option but because of the semi-overt presentation of the RPG holder, it could be a decoy trying to encourage the Chinook to fly into another direction for a possible ambush. All these defensive options racing through Butch’s mind – yet inevitably, if he delayed much longer, the mortars would definitely come.
“Roger that Butch. Standby. We’re in firing position. FOB also investigating….standby!” I cautioned him. I could feel his impatience. Everyone’s vigilance was heightened. It could be felt and heard in the tone of voice. We reversed course, aggressively following Prof about 200 feet over the ground. The gunner’s both intently scanning the RPG man and the surrounding wadi and compounds for any other unusual activity or persons with weapons. I looked over to the higher terrain to the northside of the FOB. It seemed normal, I hoped.
Both of our griffons were now ready at any moment to release weapons onto the target should he shoulder the RPG. The man with the RPG moved behind the wall, then in front. Was he trying to avoid our griffons? He held his RPG but not in a firing posture; yet. Snapshot was ready within a second. If the man shouldered and aimed the weapons towards the chinook, Snapshot was ready to open fire. Target was in his sites. He was ready.
“Shakedowns, this is Senjeray. Do Nawt Fire! Do nawt fire! He’s an ANA soldier! He is friendly!” An American accent announced over the radio. “The son-of-a-bitch was layt for his guard duty that’s why he was running and not properly dressed. That’s his normal position.” He continued.
“Wholly shit! Check fire Snapshot.” I yelled over the intercom then replied on the radio: “Roger that –visual friendly – visual friendly.”
“Stand down Prof! Stand down gunners! ANA soldier – friendly. Resume normal orbit.” I advised.
“Roger it’s a friendly. Check that.” Prof answered to me. He was pissed off. He continued onto the other radio. “FOB Senjeray this is 26, you tell that son of a bitch he almost got his ass shot off – 26 Out!”
“Rawger that Shakedown 26.” The American accent answered, “We gawt this.” There would be a debrief to the ANA security team.
“Check it’s friendly.” Snapshot stated and raised his gun level.
“Okay, We are outta here! Lifting in 15 seconds eastbound.” Butch’s voice announced in relief from his Chinook. He had had enough time sitting on the ground being a potential mortar magnet. The dust began to erupt around him as the Chinook started lifting. Our two griffons aggressively split apart and circled around to the flanks and rear of the departing heavy helicopter; protecting his flight path.
“Well that would have been a bit of paper work sir?” Zorg added sarcastically. He was proud of his calm, yet cheeky retort.
I looked at Irish and shook my head in disbelief. He looked relieved as he sank into his pillow seat about an inch. He let out a nervous chuckle towards me; laughing at me as my eyes were bigger than my head.
Our crew continued to laugh at the ridiculous intensity and bantered about the possible comical outcomes while finishing our morning escort missions.
“…Achmed has 50 holes in him. Why? He was late! The rest of you guards take note.”
“…Guards, how many times do I have to say, don’t take your RPG home at night after work!”
It had been a long day. Six continuous flying hours since first starting, we finally walked into operations for our debriefing with Scrappy.
He looked at our frazzled team of Shakedown 25 Flight. It had been a few weeks since first arriving. In his opinion, we needed to maintain vigilance but also except the realities that existed here. Scrappy needed to put some perspective on it.
“So in summary, you flew in a war zone, had the potential to get shot in a mortar attack, saw a medieval stoning that we were all briefed could be part of our experience here; and almost perforated an ANA soldier?” Scrappy sternly lectured our physically and emotionally drained crowd.
“Yup, pretty much!” Professor stated matter of factly as he looked at me then spit chew tobacco in his cup.
“This is my second time here. This is normal. And you did a good job…you didn’t get killed and you didn’t kill a good-guy.” Scrappy summed, paused, then curtly and left the room.
There was no discussion. No sympathy. Just an acceptance of the way life was in Afghanistan. All these events affected everyone. We can accept shooting, being shot at, mortars and rockets landing around us…but the stoning? It affected everyone. Those people weren’t even the threat but the act of stoning a young girl was deplorable. Or is it deplorable for me to judge the judgers? Some things just never sit right.
“Why the fuck are we here if we can’t help the innocent?” I heard Zorg quietly mention to Hawk. “And these are the people we are liberating from the Taliban?”
I looked over and saw Hawk shrug as he glanced at me. I was stoic. I got up to leave the room. I paused and looked back at the other seven.
“Irish! Your mission was well planned and the timings worked out flawlessly! Well, for awhile anyway.” I smiled. “Good job!” I stated in front of the team and departed. He was happy to be acknowledged but there were more significant things being processed in his mind than the exactness of a complex planning sheet.
In operations, Grumpy’s team had just come back from their mission towards Helmand Province. Helmand was one of the most brutal areas in Southern Afghanistan. The Brits were losing soldiers weekly just like the Canadians and Americans were losing people here in Panjwai. We had similar grim expressions on our faces.
“How’d it go?” I asked recognizing a look of exhaustion on his face.
“Let’s see.” He looked up reflecting on his day. “Craters, TICS, burning vehicles, arguing with copilot, suicide bombers, TICS, medevacs, IEDs.”
“Huh. Pretty standard day I guess.” I said.
“I heard you saw a stoning. It’s medieval times! I guess that’s pretty normal for this place.” He summarized twisting his face. He held his arm up at a vertical angle about the elbow. He had enough bullshit for the day – not from his colleagues, but from the mission.
I nodded. “I heard you got called to a TIC?” I enquired.
“Yup, but the Taliban put down their RPGs and picked up shovels by the time we got there.” Grumpy shook his head. “Can’t kill a sand farmer can I?”
“SNAFU?” I asked.
“Yup.” Grumpy smirked, turned and walked away. “SNAFU.”
(Situation Normal – All Fucked Up!)
So much shit happens in a day here, that it takes a long time to reflect, contemplate and try to organize it into something that makes sense; even if it isn’t acceptable or understandable from a western cultural perspective. Some will never make sense of it and it will linger. Even as I write and edit this a dozen times over the past 4 years, new revelations still come to me.
….“Zorg, we gotta carry on with our task, we’ll talk later!” I was concerned due to his tone.
“Too many people dying for stupid reasons here.” He stated quietly.
continued….
“Shakedown 25, this is SLAYER TOC, I copy your report and it has been passed up.” His tone was the same. To him, it was a routine report to file and pass. I was amazed by the lack of intonation. He had probably received so many inhumane reports that he was numb to the lack of humanity witnessed each day.
“Airspace Update Report.” Slayer continued seamlessly. “No change to the airspace but WILSON is HOT. TIC in progress. Two times enemy mortars have been shot into WILSON. SHAMUS Flights are continuing operations south of WILSON with rockets and 50 cal. All effects are east-west, approach from north and contact LZ controller in WILSON to de-conflict your arrival. I say again, WILSON recently under mortar fire.”
“25, roger copy that, are you in need of our support at this time?” I asked.
Irish’s eyes got big. He realized I was asking to get into the fight. Zorg yelled a huge battle cheer from the back.
“We gotta straighten these fuckers out!” Zorg hollared.
“The General has to be picked up, he’s expecting us.” Irish stated.
“Yup, your right. I’m sure the General will tell the FOB Commander that he can use us if they need us.” I added. “He wont mind waiting.”
“Well boys, be prepared for anything.” I said in nervous anticipation of Slayer’s Fire Mission; directing us into battle.
Slayer responded after a short delay, “Negative, Shamus has got it, they have too many choppers in that location as it is, thanks but proceed on task.”
A quiet filled the cockpit. Not sure if it was relief or disappointment.
“I guess I can put my gun away and pick up my camera again.” Snapshot joked.
“Do you think that girl is okay?” Zorg dwelled in a concerned tone.
“What did you see?” I asked quickly.
“She took a bunch of stones to the body, hunched, then a big one directly to the head and fell over.” His voice stated flatly. “I didn’t see her move.”
Everyone was quiet. We were about to go into WILSON; it was under attack.
“Focus Zorg.” I raised my voice. “We’ll talk after.”
The crew was quiet except the radio filled with combat activity near WILSON. Again, the landing zone was jammed. We were able to approach into the same place where the General was dropped. There was a medevac. DUSTOFF, a Blackhawk helicopter was inbound, five minutes after us to extract casualties. This was being orchestrated while four Kiowa Warriors were rotating in and out of battle only 400 meters away. GUNSMOKE was also still high above using 30 mm cannon to augment the SHAMUS teams. The radios were blaring with activity to the point that the crew couldn’t even talk on the intercom. It was confusion and the air was congested with choppers all within a one-kilometer radius.
We were just landing in the FOB when a plume of smoke rose a few hundred meters in front of us on the south edge of the FOB.
“All call signs. Rocket attack. Rocket attack.” The WILSON LZ coordinator called. “A mortar just landed on the south wall of WILSON.”
This was all happening as the General was approaching the helicopter. He was poised and taking the appropriate time to share hand-shakes with the person he was visiting. Slightly ducking as he heard mortars explode a few hundred meters south. His pause, grip and grin was aggravating both myself and Irish. He looked over his shoulder to watch the rising black smoke of the Taliban attack and turned to watch the kiowas release their rockets adding to the smoke in the valley. He seemed to be enjoying the stroll while we just wanted to get the fuck into air where we felt less vulnerable.
He boarded, smiled from the back seat and gave us the thumbs up. He yelled to communicate over the noise of the helicopters, mortars and rocket war just a quarter-mile south.
“Got ourselves a bit of a war going on here. Didn’t think you’d make it!” He smiled.
“No problem sir, that’s what were here for.” I yelled back faking my extreme confidence. “We’ll be off in a second.”
“Ahh, we should go now, the General’s on board,” Irish directed.
“We’ll stay together as a section, it’s best.” I trumped. “Wait for Prof, we’ll go together.”
Prof’s aircraft was still loading the General’s entourage: a Chief Warrant Officer, Staff Officer and a guard. They were shaking hands, doing their final good. They were almost ready to go. Nevertheless, our section couldn’t split up and go independently with all the other helicopters in the air, it would have added too much confusion. All the players expected two helicopters to move for one radio call. There was always higher risk of crashing from confusion than from the enemy.
Another plume rose across the base from our location, 400 meters away. Our eyes enlarged, pausing to look at each other to share the SNAFU excitement.
“Those mortars are getting a but close, don’t ya think? We gotta get going!” Irish insisted in a slightly elevated voice of concern.
“Yup. What the fuck’s taking them so long out there.” I looked as they shook hands and jocularly smiled in what appeared to be non chalantly at the plume of rising mortar smoke.
Irish looked out towards them, eyes grew enlarged with palms up gesturing the “let’s get the hell moving people” signal. They moved towards Prof.
“We’re good. They are aboard, we’ll be outta here right away.” I encouraged faking a smile. Moments later, 26 called ready and we departed as the Dustoff Medivac arrived.
The General put his headset on. “Thanks for coming back and getting me guys.” He said cheerfully. “It’s getting a bit exciting down there but the RCHA (artillery) are doing well and getting some business today – it was a good visit. Bit of a change gents, you can take me over to the Lord Strathcona’s now at Masum Ghar.” He informed.
Example of mortar – in training
“No problem sir, I told you we’d be back. Have you over there in a jiffy.” I answered. Irish was quiet sorting through his paperwork as there was now a change in timings and location.
“Shakedown, this is Freedom Ops.” Scrappy’s voice came over the radio breaking our silent tension.
“Go for Shakedown 25.” I answered.
“After you drop off the General, escort Blowtorch to Senjeray. He’s just loading and will meet you north of Senjeray in twenty five minutes.” Scrappy stated.
This was the norm: changes, add-ons and re-routing. This is what I liked. No paper, no extensive wasted planning. Just fill with gas, bullets and Redbull and make it up as you go along.
“Roger that.” I responded and continued on the intercom. “Guys, we’re walking the dog to Senjeray.” It was followed by the normal acknowledgements. I smiled. I knew this was the straw to break the camels’ back of the time table.
As we approached MASUM GHAR, Irish shook his head and threw his papers beside his seat surrendering to the changes. He smiled with his palms raised mouthing silently the familiar words: “What the Fuck.” I felt vindicated; for now.
My heart goes out to the friends and family of those massacred in Paris.
I’m terribly sorry for your loss.
When will this stop?
Police officers secure the Stade de France stadium during the international friendly soccer France against Germany, Friday, Nov. 13, 2015 in Saint Denis, outside Paris. Two police officials say at least 11 people have been killed in shootouts and other violence around Paris. Police have reported shootouts in at least two restaurants in Paris. At least two explosions have been heard near the Stade de France stadium, and French media is reporting of a hostage-taking in the capital. (AP Photo/Michel Euler)
Zack McCormack from my hometown Sherwood Park Martin Joannette – Roto 7 Pat Audet – Roto 7 Andrew Miller – 26 June 2010 Angel Flight McNeil 21 June 2010 Kristal Geisebrecht – 26 June 2010 Those special people I remember from my tour.
….I looked over my left shoulder and saw Zorg approaching the men through the dust, revealing his regimental patch. It seemed to be sign that he was a brother, not a stranger. And that their fallen would be escorted with dignity under his watch. He grabbed one end of the body bag and lifted it onto the floor of the griffon. Snapshot had moved across and pulled the soldier through, placing a seatbelt from a floor ring over his body to secure him. The casualty’s impromptu paul bearers reached out to our passenger. I couldn’t see what they did, a pat of compassion? Blessing? I don’t know. It was surreal. Their heads were low. Faces flaccid with exhaustion, tears, fear, anger, horror, stained with dust and sunburn – stoic.
Another soldier, a senior Warrant Officer, grabbed them and with some hand gestures reminded them it was time to get into a defensive position. The war was still on, they were more vulnerable with a helicopter in their position. Shots were expected.
The NCO looked at me and spun his hand in the air signalling for me to get out, now!
“Let’s go guys.” I called. “Cabin area.”
“Right gun ready, left gun ready.” Snapshot and Zorg called.
“Lifting, with a right turn out.” I started to pull in collective creating another explosion of dust as I inched across the ground, falling over the edge of Three-hills towards the wadi. The aircraft shuddered at maximum weight to gain flying speed. We burst through the dust bubble and skimmed across the trees toward Steel-door. On the right was FOB MADRAS; the few soldiers on watch saluted as we passed.
“Prof, you have the lead and the radios.” I sighed somberly.
“Roger that.” He responded.
It was the quietest flight I had at war. We flew high to avoid enemy fire. We weren’t hunting anymore today. I heard Prof’s voice now and again on the radio breaking the sound of wind and engines. It was peaceful for the moment flying towards the east morning sun. A beautiful sky, but such an ugly, deadly earth.
“KAF tower, This Shakedown 25 Flight” Prof’s voice broke the meditative silence.
“25 Flight, this is KAF tower, Altimeter two-nine-eight-six, FARP or X-ray sir?” Tower called.
“Prof answered, voice was humble: “Shakedown 25 is now Angel 25 Flight. Request direct Role 3 hospital.”
Tower’s voice changed, he knew Angel meant they had a fallen soldier aboard: “Angel 25, you are cleared south ramp arrival direct.” He continued. “Paciderm 11, please orbit and come in behind Angel 25, Gunsmoke 26, Hold present position for Angel 25. Longknife 11, please orbit north come in number three behind Angel 25.” KAF tower kept clearing the way.
My heart throbbed. Everyone was quiet and humbled. The event tears a person in half. It is such a massive honour to carry your brother out of the field of battle. But he’s dead. Why should I feel honour when his family is going to feel nothing but pain and suffering. A mother’s worst fears. A spouses heart shattered. A child’s dreams turn to nightmares of confusion. The other aircraft circled for the two minutes it would take to allow our unencumbered approach showing respect the fallen but beloved Sgt McNeil, ending his first trip towards the Highway of Heroes.
I’ll never forget you. You are of the people I have never met but feel such loss for. Each Remembrance Day, I think of you.
Stephen Robertson Consulting 