166 Days: My Journey Through The Darkness (5 page)

1 May 2008

I finished getting my B-Hut squared away the next morning and then decided it was time to go to the gym for a workout. Prior to this deployment I had really let myself slip in the physical fitness department, mainly due to stress, time, and any other excuse I could find. I had been “lazy” since I started PA school and it had become a bad habit since. I hated sitting in my exam room with my patients who had chronic medical conditions such as diabetes, hypertension, and high cholesterol and preaching the latest American Heart Association guidelines on physical activity, yet not following the same practices myself. I vowed before I left to make the lifestyle change while I was deployed, and continue the practice back home. So far the renewed activity had been a welcomed change. I loved getting back into my routine at the gym. I would leave feeling so good about my workout and what I had accomplished….that was until this day.

I was midway through my run on the treadmill and in my “zone” when Tony arrived. “How long has that red light been going off?” he asked me.

“What light?” I asked. He pointed to a flashing red light on the north wall of the gym. “Oh, that light. I have no idea,” I said. “Why?”

“That light is an alert that’s used to let us know that there is some sort of active ‘contact’ with our SF guys outside the wire,” he explained.

“When you say
contact,
what do you mean exactly?” I asked.

“Anything like an IED, sniper fire, a fire fight, maybe the firebase getting attacked, or any other form of enemy attack or encounter,” he explained.

I had no idea such a system of alert was in place. Throughout the remainder of my workout I couldn’t keep my eyes off of that light, praying it would stop flashing, but it didn’t. I looked around the gym in amazement at the lack of response to this “beacon of danger” from the Special Forces guys working out around me. Why weren’t they terrified and running from the building to assist their friends? Why were they laughing and joking with each other and carrying on as if nothing was happening?

Then it hit me. This was a form of normalcy for them. This was what they did every day. This was a routine day in the life of Army Special Forces troops, a day they spent years training for.

My new awareness of the light was haunting. I didn’t ever want to see it flash again. Unfortunately, the reality was I
would
see it again; many times over, and there was nothing I could do to change it. The one thing I could do was to continue to let it affect me the way it had that day. I never wanted to react any other way.

2 May 2008

In the morning I went to Sick Call with Becky and Martha. The Sick Call was a one-hour clinic in the morning and again in the afternoon, which was typically technician run, yet I was bored and figured what the heck? While I was there, I got to talk more with the PA, Bob, and the leadership of the group about some things to expect out there.

“The most common types of medical conditions you can expect are things like acid reflux, arthritis, dehydration, asthma, malnutrition, and a lot of dermatology and orthopedic conditions. You are going to see plenty of traumas, so be prepared,” Bob explained.

“What kind of living conditions can we expect?” Becky chimed in.

“You will likely be in a fixed facility. Each firebase is different, but most are somewhat better than the B-huts we have here,” he said. “Bathrooms are hit or miss. So is the food. Most firebases try to have some kind of workout area, but usually it’s not much.”

“What about safety?” I asked, knowing the answer was not going to be what either Becky or I wanted to hear.

“Again, it depends on where you go. You will likely travel to multiple places, at least initially. I know they are thinking of sending you to a couple of different locations in the Uruzgan Province, which is currently a violent area, so you should anticipate contact,” Bob explained. There was that word again. He continued, “You need to prepare for that to happen and you may need to participate in combat if the firebase is attacked.”

What
!!? Becky and I shared the same disbelief. Our expressions clearly asked “Who?
Me
?” When I joined the Air Force and went through my training as a medic, I was told about the Geneva Conventions and that by being a medic I was considered a “noncombatant,” which meant I was not allowed to engage in combat. I was told I could carry a weapon, but not fire it unless I was protecting my patients. Based on my career field I had infrequent training on the firing range; usually qualifying once every twenty-four months. Qualifying meant I had to hit the target on the range a certain amount of times within the standards set by the Air Force; I did this before I left Tyndall. In addition, I completed the two week course in ACST. The course was designed to give the students an understanding of what to expect in a combat situation; depending on the deployment, sometimes it was three months long instead of just fourteen days. Even during that training, I thought,
I will do this exercise, but it doesn’t apply to me; I won’t be in these situations.
I had developed a false sense of security behind my noncombatant title.

Bob could see our concern. “Don’t worry,” he said reassuringly, “You likely wouldn’t be actively engaging in a fire fight per say, but helping to load mortar rounds and ammunition would certainly be something you would potentially be asked to do.”

Becky and I looked at each other knowing we were both feeling the same unease.

Bob chuckled as he continued, “You guys will get to fire some weapons out there you may have never even heard of. All you have to do is show an active interest and the guys would be more than happy to let you practice out at the range.”

I couldn’t even begin to explain the thoughts going through my head. I knew I was a part of the military, and use of force was something that we did, but I couldn’t imagine myself in a situation where I would have to engage. As I pondered this thought, I realized the majority of active duty military members, combatant or noncombatant, probably had experienced a very similar mindset. Yes, we signed the dotted line, but did you really mean we had to go to war?

I was also introduced to the radio room. It was located in the back of the Med Shed and the medics, which now included both Becky and Martha, were trained to monitor the radios and document all medical evacuations, forwarding all necessary information to the people who required it. I learned this could be very stressful. When there was an altercation going on with our Special Forces units a red light would flash (just like the one I saw at the gym) and the door would close, which meant if you weren’t necessary for the radios then you were instructed to leave the room.

More flashing red lights to serve as a reminder of what was happening out there.

We were asked about the weapons we were issued back at our home stations. As an officer, I was given only an M9 (9mm pistol) and the medics were given M16 rifles.

They laughed and told us not to worry; they would give us what we needed to go out in the field. I got issued an M4, which is a rifle, the exact same makeup as an M16, but with a shorter barrel and a collapsible stock. We were then sent out to the range to “zero our weapon.” which consisted of firing at a specific target until the sights were adjusted to the person firing the weapon.

“I can take you,” one of the non-medical guys offered, “I have to go out there anyway.”

Becky and I smiled at each other. “I bet you do,” Becky whispered jokingly in my ear. I laughed.

“Ok, ladies, let’s step over here and let’s get those M4s zeroed,” our escort said as he strutted by.

“Sure thing Rambo,” I whispered to Becky. We couldn’t help but giggle.

I zeroed my weapon relatively quickly and wanted to practice firing my M9. Initially I had a lot of trouble with my aim. This was frustrating for me because I had a 9mm back home and was used to firing. Another soldier saw I was frustrated and offered to help. His intentions seemed genuine, so I agreed. He stood and assessed what I was doing for several minutes and then he spoke.

“Ma’am, you’re anticipating pulling the trigger, and it’s causing you to dip the barrel.” He was right. I had done that in the past. He reminded me of breathing techniques and how to
squeeze
the trigger and my shot was instantly fixed. I fired my entire magazine and had a nice close grouping right on target, which made me smile.

“Where did that come from?” he asked. “I think you are a better shot than I am. Nice work.”

I was actually enjoying being out there firing, it reminded me of several times Greg and I spent together on the range back home, and of the times I fired my dad’s rifles and pistols as a kid. The fears from the conversation with Bob earlier, which had been forefront on my mind when we started the day, left my thoughts; I was having fun.

While we were out there, we met some Australian SF guys who had an AK-47. I’d heard about the weapon in books, on the news, and of course in training, but had never seen one.

“Would you like to take a shot with it?” they asked.

“Yes!” was my response. I never in a million years thought I would fire one of those, and I had to admit, it was pretty cool.

The range was an experience in and of itself, but the most memorable experience for me was not firing an AK-47, but the trip out to the range. It was quite a distance from the camp we were staying on, so we had to drive the perimeter of the base to get there. Along the perimeter we were able to see outside the wire for the first time; along the roads and in the fields the ground was covered with old Russian machinery in ruins from the Soviet War. Our driver told us that some of the FOBs actually had old MIGs and tanks just sitting on the base that never got removed. How crazy. Such a horrible piece of history was staring me in the face.

The living conditions of the people were something right out of Native American history. Their “buildings” looked more like ruins made of bricks created out of mud with no doors, and no floors, no bathroom or any form of air conditioning or heating unit. It reminded me very much of Indian Pueblos. I found it absolutely fascinating and tragic at the same time. How could we, as Americans, take everything we had so much for granted? It made me feel ashamed of the wasteful habits I had formed in America. As we drove past we saw children running as fast as they could along the fence line waving and shouting “Chocolate! Chocolate!” in Pashtu, the native language of that region of Afghanistan. They seemed so small and innocent and so unfairly subjected to the poverty they lived in; seeing how they reacted to us warmed my heart. The children continued to wave as we lost sight of them.

I began to feel everything was going to be ok. I thought to myself,
I may have to be a part of this war in ways I didn’t anticipate. I may have to put on the “warrior” hat if it comes down to it with the Taliban, but I am always a medic at heart and knowing what I am about to do for these people makes sense.
I was in a position that was unique. I would have an opportunity to reach out to the women and children of these poverty-stricken people and make a difference that very few people get the opportunity to make. And that was why I was there.

3 May 2008

It was my first experience with the bazaar – in the Middle East this is a large, open market place where the people barter their goods. Everything from dishes made of jade and rugs made of Afghan wool, to hand-carved wooden items, gems, and silk scarves were sold. Often times it was the place where the people would go to receive medical care from the “bazaar doctor.” Once a week Bagram opened its gates and hosted a secured bazaar at various locations on base allowing the locals to set up shop and sell their goods to Coalition Forces. The salesmen had any and everything to offer, the problem was they didn’t like to take “No” for an answer!

“Madam! Please! Come and see! You like rug for you? Wait! Perhaps you like pashmina scarf? Here try on…No wait. Look at these blankets. You like necklace? Here. I give good deal,” they would say, wanting to show us
everything
they had for sale in hopes we would change our minds and purchase something. It felt uncomfortable.

“No, thank you. No, sir, no thank you!” I keep saying, feeling somewhat obligated to barter a deal. I did leave with a small purchase I went into the day knowing I would make. I acquired a large blanket with 2 pillowcases for a very reasonable price, at least that is what the salesman said. I saw a lot of things I would consider purchasing in the future, but I thought I would do my research first and figure out what exactly a
good deal
really was.

It was also a Colonel’s birthday so after the bazaar we had a celebration with a barbeque and some members of the Air Force band came out to perform. They were really good and the performance turned out to be quite entertaining. It felt like a little piece of home, as we listened to classic American songs and sang along. What a fun job that must be, doing nothing but improving the morale of the troops that are in often unpleasant situations. I’d met several band members in training and they all seemed to love what they did. I was amazed at the level of talent they possessed; some had even written and recorded songs with famous artists in Nashville. What an amazing and important impact their services had on our troops.

10 May 2008

I hadn’t written on days 8-13 because they all seemed to run together and were exactly identical to each other. Everything was in a standstill until the new leadership arrived, so I was basically there with no real role. The days started with me waking up at 0700 and getting dressed. Around the same time Greg was usually online so we would chat as I got ready. At 0800 I went to breakfast and got my standard egg white omelet with ham and cheese and a bowl of oatmeal. Already the food was beginning to taste the same and I often found myself eating very little at lunch and dinner, so I made every effort to go to breakfast since it was the only meal I enjoyed. After I finished breakfast I went to Sick Call at 0900. As I mentioned before, this had been a medic run clinic, but since the old unit was leaving and the new one was coming in, they needed room to medically out-process people; therefore, an all-day Sick Call had become necessary for a short period of time. During this time a provider needed to be present and since the Army providers were tied up with the out-processing I was it. My mornings consisted of several hours of reading up on medical literature and seeing one or two patients at a time, which was a far cry from what my clinic was like back home. Most of the patients were not even “patients.” They were people needing allergy medicine or sunscreen or something else very minor. Every once in a while I would do something worthwhile. One day I did a toenail removal and it was the most exciting part of my day.

At noon I ate lunch and popped in and out of the clinic in the afternoons until 1900, making myself available until it closed if they needed me. At 1930 I headed to the gym and I was there for about an hour and a half; then I came home, showered, and went to bed. The next day it started all over again. I was accepting this schedule, as mundane as it was, as my new reality. I was becoming more comfortable, more relaxed and feeling somewhat “safe” in my environment.

At approximately 0500 a very loud and annoying sound woke me from my not-so-sound sleep. It was an overhead announcement that was loud enough to be heard base wide: “ATTENTION! ATTENTION! A FALLEN COMRADE CEREMONY WILL BE HELD AT 0550, ALL AVAILABLE PERSONNEL ARE TO FALL OUT. PT GEAR AND PHOTOGRAPHY ARE PROHIBITED.”

I lay in bed still groggy and trying to figure out what had just been said. It was so early. I had slept horribly the night before and was craving more rest. I tried to convince myself that I was “
un
available” and it was ok to fall back asleep; after all, who would even notice if I wasn’t there? I found the more I tried to convince myself it was okay to sleep, the more awake I became and the reality of the situation emerged from the foggy haze of my sleep deprivation. For God’s sake, Jenn. Someone
died
.

I hurried out of bed and threw on my uniform and hat. I had to stop and pick up my 9mm, because outside of our camp we were required to be in uniform and have a weapon on us at all times. After I got my firearm I rushed out the gate of the camp to the main road of Bagram. Once I stepped out of the gate, what I saw was breathtaking. The street was lined on both sides with hundreds of military members from all branches of service, all standing at parade rest. Despite the fact there were hundreds of people in one place, it was absolutely silent. Not a word was spoken by anyone, not even the youngest Private. It was the most somber feeling.

As I stood there, my mind drifted. I wondered who it was that gave his or her life and under what circumstances. I wondered if there was a spouse and children who would be left behind, and if the family had already been notified.

After several minutes we saw a convoy that consisted of a police SUV with the lights flashing that carried a passenger hanging out the window with a video camera filming the scene. Following the police vehicle were two High Mobility Multi-Wheeled Vehicles (HMMWVs); the second HMMWV carried the casket of our fallen comrade, draped with the American flag. As they approached, we all snapped to attention, saluted, and held the salute long after they passed. And that was it. The video footage taken would be given to the loved ones of the fallen soldier. It was the most beautiful, horrible moment I had experienced. As I walked back to my B-hut, I vowed right then and there that I would be present for every future ceremony that I could possibly be there for. It was the absolute least I could do.