Rohr Family
Monday, March 23, 2009
Soccer Girl
Please pardon my Proud Dad moment.....Well looks like we found our girls competitive streak, we new it was there, she just doesn't like not being first, and put it to use, Carolyn had here first soccer game today and from her position on defense she made a break away, now she didn't make the goal but came close. Next game she gets a goal for sure. Now she knows she can. We will have to get Opa to give her some tips on his visit to Okinawa.-Karl
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Niesko
Mt. Yoti 
View from the mountain
View up the mountain 
Carolyn
Ella
Carolyn
Last week, the girls and I met up with Allison, Garrick and Lachlan for a fun filled week skiing and sledding in Niesko, in northern Japan. We had a terrific time. We didn't want to come back. The skiing, food, onson and company were wonderful. The town has been taken over by Aussies. So much so, I didn't feel like I was in Japan. No worries about language barriers at ski school, nice western accommodations, and lots of delicious Aussie wine. (It is near impossible to find a decent wine here on the island, unless you consider Gallo delicious). It was also nice to have a change in climate. Hot and muggy is appealing for only so long.
It was Meghan and Ella's first time on skis. Both loved it, though Meghan needed a little prodding to get back out there after lunch. She is a perfectionist. If she doesn't get it right the first time, she just won't try again. Whereas, daredevil Carolyn had no problems hitting the slopes. I couldn't get her to come in! She really took to skiing, and now joins the hundreds of other little midgets whipping straight down the hill at warp speed. I was constantly reminding her that she needs to turn, especially as she zips through the trees chasing after forest creatures. Apparently Carolyn and her instructor saw a fox from the chairlift, so they took the class exploring through the woods looking for him.
The adults also had a blast zipping down the slopes. We had snow the first two days of skiing, which lead to great conditions on the top of the mountain and the back country. If it weren't for my new boots and sprained toe, I don't think I would have ever gone inside. Good thing though, cause the food was fantastic. Our favorite lunch was kimchi soba accompanied by a large frosty Sapporo. 
Niesko is known for amazing powder. Unfortunately, we didn't get to experience any of the fluffy stuff. The remainder of the week got progressively warmer and winder, leading to icy conditions near the base. It was so windy the last two days, the lifts at the top of the mountain were closed. We called it quits early our last day and took the kids sledding. We all had a blast zipping down the hill.
We took one day off and visited the nearest town. Turned out to be a good choice, since it rained all day. Everyone recommended we eat lunch at Cafe Kaku; apparently, they serve the best pizza. Oh boy do they ever!! Turns out the chef is from Philly; grew up making pizza's at Francos! Allison and I were in heaven. Now I don't need to fly back to the states to get my pizza fix, just a straight shot north. He also makes a mean cheesecake using his mom's recipe. Another delicious bite of home in this land of seaweed and sushi.
I can't wait to take Karl there with the Wilsons next year.
A dark and stormy night...
Well not really, just wet and nasty, Erica owes us pictures and stories from skiing in Hokaido but since she hasn't had the time to upload them yet here is another vignette from KAF.-
This happened sometime in January.--
It is really raining hard turning the fine ‘moon dust” to a thin soupy mud. For the remainder of the morning the rain continued no let up in sight. Mud covered everything outside. Thin soupy muck, the water runs off making puddles of the moon dust. It does not get absorbed into the ground. All this water and yet there will be a drought. The ground is too hard to absorb the rain. They need snowcap on the mountains and that isn’t happening, nor is it predicted to happen. It is expected that this summer will be the worst drought in a dozen years, worse than the terrible drought of 06. We anticipate a lot of the rural population will migrate to the water, meaning the Helmand River Valley. This is not good news for us. This will place extra burden on an already tasked infrastructure. We expect large losses in the herd animals and great increases in the drought resistant poppy. Wheat, unless we get them the drought resistant kind, will be kicked to the curb.
I spend most of my time thinking about things like this. It is what you do when you are deployed. You do a lot of thinking. Being on a staff you can easily work 12 to 16 hours a day without even thinking about it. I mean its not like you have anything else to do. The highlights of the week are the barbershop, laundry, gym, chow and for us Pizza night. Now Pizza night is a true tradition we inherited it from the 24th MEU. It is the one night in the week when the ‘Frat House’ crowd comes together and we each take turns buying the pizza. Oh and surprise it isn’t bad, there is a Pizza Hut Trailer that runs 24 hour a day service 7 days a week, can you believe that, they even deliver. They have three four wheel ATV’s with pizza racks built on the back for delivery vehicles. I have to be honest it has become the highlight of the week. If you miss it for whatever reason it can be very depressing. Amazing what routines you develop. When those routines are broken people can do dumb things probably due to too much thinking.
In wars past there was always an quantity of alcohol not here and while I do miss tipping back a brew I have to say it is probably better we do not have alcohol. You see now without that distraction most of our men they play X-box and wii, write on ‘facebook’ and mess with thousands of other electronic thing-a-ma-jigs to pass the idle times. But there are always some fellas that think they cannot go without.
The alarm sounded jarringly. I was just falling asleep. It was a new alarm that I did not recognize. Following the alarm the voice of the JADOC (Jay-Doc) sounded “Operation Round-Up” it said in strangely accented English. I scratched my head, what the hell was that. I rolled out of the rack fumbled for the light, dressed quickly. The doors in the Frat House sprang open, other bleary eyed officers looking at each other wondering the same thing. I looked at Dip shrugged “I have no idea, I’ll go up to the COC and find out, guess we should have listened better at the welcome aboard classes.” I donned my armor and walked to the COC, I figured it wasn’t incoming but it couldn’t be good so the armor and pistol were probably required.
When I got to the COC they told me what it was, an intruder. Someone had crashed the fence and was loose on the base. Now that got my attention. The watch ahd acted quickly setting guards out to protect the entrances to the compound. They called the Col an XO to let them know. Everyone had to sit tight until the base defense forces cleared the situation. It was a dark, cold night and we had not been in country very long, I was concerned for the Marines on guard. We did not need any mistakes, KAF was a big place. I went out to check on the guards. They were doing well, I honestly think they were enjoying themselves, to be honest it was the most exciting thing to happen in a quite some time.
From our vantage we could see helicopters with spot lights tracking something on the other side of base. That had to be our guy.
A corporal came out of the COC, “sir, the intruder rammed his vehicle into a fence and now is on foot.”
“well he won’t get far now.” But we all thought the same thing. At first we thought it had to be a suicide vehicle but now we all thought it would be a suicide bomb vest. Why else would anyone break into KAF in such a spectacular way.
I did say that some people who have a lot of time on their hands do dumb things. This has to be one of the dumbest.
There were at least three helicopters up. We could see the flashing lights of the reaction forces, heavy armored vehicles cruising up and down the roads. Basically, lots of people with a lot of guns just looking for a chance to cap a suicide bomber. You would have to be an idiot.
Or you could be a contractor stoned out of your mind on a mix of prescription drugs and opiates. Oops.
I believe they tackled him in the mud. Luckily for him he wasn’t killed, lucky for us no one had an itchy trigger finger.
He was sent home on the very next flight. No one got hurt, and we hope the young man recieves help when he returns to his letter agency, (Letter agency anyone of KBR, ECOLOG, RECON, XE, or any of a dozen other firms) but he did make it a little more exciting here in the Shire.
This happened sometime in January.--
It is really raining hard turning the fine ‘moon dust” to a thin soupy mud. For the remainder of the morning the rain continued no let up in sight. Mud covered everything outside. Thin soupy muck, the water runs off making puddles of the moon dust. It does not get absorbed into the ground. All this water and yet there will be a drought. The ground is too hard to absorb the rain. They need snowcap on the mountains and that isn’t happening, nor is it predicted to happen. It is expected that this summer will be the worst drought in a dozen years, worse than the terrible drought of 06. We anticipate a lot of the rural population will migrate to the water, meaning the Helmand River Valley. This is not good news for us. This will place extra burden on an already tasked infrastructure. We expect large losses in the herd animals and great increases in the drought resistant poppy. Wheat, unless we get them the drought resistant kind, will be kicked to the curb.
I spend most of my time thinking about things like this. It is what you do when you are deployed. You do a lot of thinking. Being on a staff you can easily work 12 to 16 hours a day without even thinking about it. I mean its not like you have anything else to do. The highlights of the week are the barbershop, laundry, gym, chow and for us Pizza night. Now Pizza night is a true tradition we inherited it from the 24th MEU. It is the one night in the week when the ‘Frat House’ crowd comes together and we each take turns buying the pizza. Oh and surprise it isn’t bad, there is a Pizza Hut Trailer that runs 24 hour a day service 7 days a week, can you believe that, they even deliver. They have three four wheel ATV’s with pizza racks built on the back for delivery vehicles. I have to be honest it has become the highlight of the week. If you miss it for whatever reason it can be very depressing. Amazing what routines you develop. When those routines are broken people can do dumb things probably due to too much thinking.
In wars past there was always an quantity of alcohol not here and while I do miss tipping back a brew I have to say it is probably better we do not have alcohol. You see now without that distraction most of our men they play X-box and wii, write on ‘facebook’ and mess with thousands of other electronic thing-a-ma-jigs to pass the idle times. But there are always some fellas that think they cannot go without.
The alarm sounded jarringly. I was just falling asleep. It was a new alarm that I did not recognize. Following the alarm the voice of the JADOC (Jay-Doc) sounded “Operation Round-Up” it said in strangely accented English. I scratched my head, what the hell was that. I rolled out of the rack fumbled for the light, dressed quickly. The doors in the Frat House sprang open, other bleary eyed officers looking at each other wondering the same thing. I looked at Dip shrugged “I have no idea, I’ll go up to the COC and find out, guess we should have listened better at the welcome aboard classes.” I donned my armor and walked to the COC, I figured it wasn’t incoming but it couldn’t be good so the armor and pistol were probably required.
When I got to the COC they told me what it was, an intruder. Someone had crashed the fence and was loose on the base. Now that got my attention. The watch ahd acted quickly setting guards out to protect the entrances to the compound. They called the Col an XO to let them know. Everyone had to sit tight until the base defense forces cleared the situation. It was a dark, cold night and we had not been in country very long, I was concerned for the Marines on guard. We did not need any mistakes, KAF was a big place. I went out to check on the guards. They were doing well, I honestly think they were enjoying themselves, to be honest it was the most exciting thing to happen in a quite some time.
From our vantage we could see helicopters with spot lights tracking something on the other side of base. That had to be our guy.
A corporal came out of the COC, “sir, the intruder rammed his vehicle into a fence and now is on foot.”
“well he won’t get far now.” But we all thought the same thing. At first we thought it had to be a suicide vehicle but now we all thought it would be a suicide bomb vest. Why else would anyone break into KAF in such a spectacular way.
I did say that some people who have a lot of time on their hands do dumb things. This has to be one of the dumbest.
There were at least three helicopters up. We could see the flashing lights of the reaction forces, heavy armored vehicles cruising up and down the roads. Basically, lots of people with a lot of guns just looking for a chance to cap a suicide bomber. You would have to be an idiot.
Or you could be a contractor stoned out of your mind on a mix of prescription drugs and opiates. Oops.
I believe they tackled him in the mud. Luckily for him he wasn’t killed, lucky for us no one had an itchy trigger finger.
He was sent home on the very next flight. No one got hurt, and we hope the young man recieves help when he returns to his letter agency, (Letter agency anyone of KBR, ECOLOG, RECON, XE, or any of a dozen other firms) but he did make it a little more exciting here in the Shire.
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Ramp Ceremony
0230, Kandahar Airfield, a cold rain fell, the tarmac slick and shiny under the portable lights. Lightning played across the sky and thunder cracked impossibly loud. I thought, God must be angry with Afghanistan to thunder so loudly.
I stood at rigid attention along with a hundred other Marines, sailors, soldiers from a dozen nations. The Stars and Stripes and Marine Corps flags carried proudly by the color guard whipped in the steady wind. The heavy sounds of the C17 cargo plane’s engines hummed. The ramp lowered. The Chaplin struggled against the elements to raise his voice in prayer vainly using a hand held loud speaker. I could not hear him. I said my own silent prayer and good bye to the fallen. From the distance a bagpiper played. The tune was indiscernible as it marched slowly closer. The pall bearers, six large, grim faced Marines carried our comrade on their shoulders. Silver metal casket draped in the Flag, its bright colors standing in stark relief against the black and brown backdrop of Afghanistan. I could now make out the tune, the Marine Corps Hymn, played to the slow march, melancholy. The rain splashed against my face and Icy water trickled down the back of my neck as the rain found its way over my Gortex jacket collar. The cold forced an involuntary shiver.
I watched the slow progression of the casket, followed reverently by the Colonel and the SgtMajor they marched up the ramp into the cavernous belly of the C17 heads bowed to the wind. The C17 capable of carrying hundreds of troops would carry but one this morning for it took our brother on his last flight home. Sometimes the flags are different, the tunes played new to my ears but in the end it is all the same. Warriors paying respect to the fallen. Men and women whose sacrificial legacy will be known only to history, the odds are against us. No one said it would be easy. There is so much to do here, I often wonder if we can do it in the time allowed? The only certainty is that more will die and we must make sure it is worth it.
I thought back on all this as I walked through mud puddles to the gravel laid parking lot to the Frat House. The lightning crashed again, shaking our little wooden shack. Perhaps not in anger, perhaps tonight the lightning was a salute in honor of yet another man gone to his “Gawd like a soldier” in this strange land.
I stood at rigid attention along with a hundred other Marines, sailors, soldiers from a dozen nations. The Stars and Stripes and Marine Corps flags carried proudly by the color guard whipped in the steady wind. The heavy sounds of the C17 cargo plane’s engines hummed. The ramp lowered. The Chaplin struggled against the elements to raise his voice in prayer vainly using a hand held loud speaker. I could not hear him. I said my own silent prayer and good bye to the fallen. From the distance a bagpiper played. The tune was indiscernible as it marched slowly closer. The pall bearers, six large, grim faced Marines carried our comrade on their shoulders. Silver metal casket draped in the Flag, its bright colors standing in stark relief against the black and brown backdrop of Afghanistan. I could now make out the tune, the Marine Corps Hymn, played to the slow march, melancholy. The rain splashed against my face and Icy water trickled down the back of my neck as the rain found its way over my Gortex jacket collar. The cold forced an involuntary shiver.
I watched the slow progression of the casket, followed reverently by the Colonel and the SgtMajor they marched up the ramp into the cavernous belly of the C17 heads bowed to the wind. The C17 capable of carrying hundreds of troops would carry but one this morning for it took our brother on his last flight home. Sometimes the flags are different, the tunes played new to my ears but in the end it is all the same. Warriors paying respect to the fallen. Men and women whose sacrificial legacy will be known only to history, the odds are against us. No one said it would be easy. There is so much to do here, I often wonder if we can do it in the time allowed? The only certainty is that more will die and we must make sure it is worth it.
I thought back on all this as I walked through mud puddles to the gravel laid parking lot to the Frat House. The lightning crashed again, shaking our little wooden shack. Perhaps not in anger, perhaps tonight the lightning was a salute in honor of yet another man gone to his “Gawd like a soldier” in this strange land.
Friday, March 6, 2009
Fobbit travels part 2
Needless to say I was very happy to be out and about. We rode to the Cops in the back of an MTVR-Armadillo ( 7 ton truck with an armored shell covering the troop compartment in the back). There is no better way to travel and see the land. You are up high and have tremendous 360 degree field of view. I’m a grunt and would have preferred walking but this was the next best thing. We drove through ‘downtown’ Deleram, I’ve seen poor and impoverished places before but this was the worst. Although the multi-color camel fur gas tank covers on the on the various local motorcycles added a touch of class. We were in and out of the town in a blink of the eye, it reminded me of Tombstone in Arizona, but more of a one donkey town vice one horse.
We started out on Hwy 1 called the ring road, one of two paved roads in our area of operation. Then turned offroad at a random point and bisected the rte 515. I had no idea we were on rte 515 because it looked just like the offroad track we had just taken. The only time it began to appear road like was when we approached villages and wadi crossings. The natural choke points. It was flat brown country, broken now and again by small green poppy fields and round mud hut villages that had a lot more in common with Star Wars than anything really had a right to.
The country was a unique drab brown, even the air looked brown. Only the dirt faced and muddy footed children had any color, they wore bright green and red loose fitting smocks, the girls had theirs decorated with tiny bells and light lace. The only other color came from the cemeteries; like in any dispersed farming community in the US they had cemeteries for each village. These they decorated with silver, red, black and green streamers anything to break up the gloom of the surrounding country.
We made it to the COP with no incident. There we had short tour, not much to see. It was cold, raining and getting muddy. The company commander who ‘owned’ the COP was an old acquaintance of mine. He had been a student at the Naval Post Grad and Defense Language Institute when I was the MARDET CO. I even had the opportunity to be his instructor for the Expeditionary Warfare Seminar—so I taught him everything he needed to know! Mike was doing great things, he spoke Arabic which didn’t help here since they were Pashtu speakers but his knowledge of the culture and his leadership skills combined to make him the right man at the right place. He was in his element.
The locals responded very well to him.
Life in the COPS is rugged, as I said they were built in 48 hours or less. Tents, wag bags and piss tubes, we did not have these in Iraq when I was there but they are all the rage here in Afghanistan.
What is a wag bag? It is a rugged foldable commode and degradable waste bag system for use anywhere, even has the instructions written on it so you cannot mess up.
What is a piss tube? Well this ingenious invention is a pvc pipe jammed into the earth at an angle with a funnel type top, the theory is you pee in it and the urine is run deep into the ground. It works far better than a standard outhouse. Oh and it is one more reason we don’t’ have many women in these places.
I have often found it a truth that the better the facilities the greater the civilization. Bathrooms, clean and cool are the pinnacle of modern society. I figure I’d be mighty angry and prone to fight all the time too If I had always had to relieve myself outdoors and in a dirt hole with only my left hand and the stars in the sky to wipe with.
The trip out was fun the time was well spent, talked with the Marines, got a feel for what they needed. More importantly what I found out what they did not need. The ride back this time in an Up armored Hummv was uneventful, all it did was confirm my hatred for that vehicle. It looks big but it is built for short folks.
Back at Deleram we had the opportunity to witness a rare event. A presidential visit, Hamid Karzai was going to dedicate the grand opening of the newest paved road in Southern Afghanistan. It says a lot about the importance of roads in this country when you have the Presisdent come to dedicate a two lane road. Rte 606 truly was a backcountry road but it was the best road in the place. It had just been finished by the Indians. It ran from Deleram to Zanranj a straight line to the Iranian border. Great for every sort of commerce licit and illicit. The president, Indian ambassador and US Ambassador all came to the event. It was a very big deal. Security was tight. We did our part by staying out of the way and only providing transport Helicopters for the Dignitaries and over watch. It was a evolution to watch.
When it was over though we had to go back, we had meant to stay two days we ended up staying a week, but we had to get back to our reality. Back to the grind of power point and paper pushing. It was fun though.
We started out on Hwy 1 called the ring road, one of two paved roads in our area of operation. Then turned offroad at a random point and bisected the rte 515. I had no idea we were on rte 515 because it looked just like the offroad track we had just taken. The only time it began to appear road like was when we approached villages and wadi crossings. The natural choke points. It was flat brown country, broken now and again by small green poppy fields and round mud hut villages that had a lot more in common with Star Wars than anything really had a right to.
The country was a unique drab brown, even the air looked brown. Only the dirt faced and muddy footed children had any color, they wore bright green and red loose fitting smocks, the girls had theirs decorated with tiny bells and light lace. The only other color came from the cemeteries; like in any dispersed farming community in the US they had cemeteries for each village. These they decorated with silver, red, black and green streamers anything to break up the gloom of the surrounding country.
We made it to the COP with no incident. There we had short tour, not much to see. It was cold, raining and getting muddy. The company commander who ‘owned’ the COP was an old acquaintance of mine. He had been a student at the Naval Post Grad and Defense Language Institute when I was the MARDET CO. I even had the opportunity to be his instructor for the Expeditionary Warfare Seminar—so I taught him everything he needed to know! Mike was doing great things, he spoke Arabic which didn’t help here since they were Pashtu speakers but his knowledge of the culture and his leadership skills combined to make him the right man at the right place. He was in his element.
The locals responded very well to him.
Life in the COPS is rugged, as I said they were built in 48 hours or less. Tents, wag bags and piss tubes, we did not have these in Iraq when I was there but they are all the rage here in Afghanistan.
What is a wag bag? It is a rugged foldable commode and degradable waste bag system for use anywhere, even has the instructions written on it so you cannot mess up.
What is a piss tube? Well this ingenious invention is a pvc pipe jammed into the earth at an angle with a funnel type top, the theory is you pee in it and the urine is run deep into the ground. It works far better than a standard outhouse. Oh and it is one more reason we don’t’ have many women in these places.
I have often found it a truth that the better the facilities the greater the civilization. Bathrooms, clean and cool are the pinnacle of modern society. I figure I’d be mighty angry and prone to fight all the time too If I had always had to relieve myself outdoors and in a dirt hole with only my left hand and the stars in the sky to wipe with.
The trip out was fun the time was well spent, talked with the Marines, got a feel for what they needed. More importantly what I found out what they did not need. The ride back this time in an Up armored Hummv was uneventful, all it did was confirm my hatred for that vehicle. It looks big but it is built for short folks.
Back at Deleram we had the opportunity to witness a rare event. A presidential visit, Hamid Karzai was going to dedicate the grand opening of the newest paved road in Southern Afghanistan. It says a lot about the importance of roads in this country when you have the Presisdent come to dedicate a two lane road. Rte 606 truly was a backcountry road but it was the best road in the place. It had just been finished by the Indians. It ran from Deleram to Zanranj a straight line to the Iranian border. Great for every sort of commerce licit and illicit. The president, Indian ambassador and US Ambassador all came to the event. It was a very big deal. Security was tight. We did our part by staying out of the way and only providing transport Helicopters for the Dignitaries and over watch. It was a evolution to watch.
When it was over though we had to go back, we had meant to stay two days we ended up staying a week, but we had to get back to our reality. Back to the grind of power point and paper pushing. It was fun though.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
FOBBIT travels
FOBBIT travels
My alarm beeped annoyingly, it was 0130, I fumbled for the light switch, fighting the urge to lay back down and go back to sleep, just a few minute more. No, not this morning. This bleary eyed AM the Fobbit was to leave the Shire. I rolled from my rack and grabbed my tooth brush and razor and walked down the darkened corridor, opened the door and stepped out into the cool night. Our ‘ablution’ tent was located about fifteen yards away. The cold air woke me up a bit. After shaving I headed back in to the Frat House to prep for the trip. I liked travelling a s light as possible. This was to be a two night trip. Travelling light these days was very difficult. For one the armor weighed almost sixty pounds by itself, when you added rifle, pistol, ammunition and day pack forget about it. How we expect our infantrymen to go foot mobile I do not know.
I was travelling with Matt the “Fires guy” an artillery officer, and our two new Information Operations (IO) Officers. Fires are easy to understand- artillery, mortars, rockets and missiles rather traditional stuff, though entirely high tech with more computers and networks than you can shake a stick at. Too bad the Taliban wouldn’t hold still for us to rain fire on him. IO that was a relatively new warfighting concept. We have had them for years in various forms yet they have truly just started to come into their own in the recent wars. They did great work in Iraq and now we wanted them to do the same in Afghanistan. They produce our message, they attack the enemy through unconventional means, I think of it as empathetic warfare. Through IO we develop and understanding of our foe and turn that understanding against him. We attack his pride, his fear; we separate him from the people by showing his actions as weak and pathetic. It is a constant battle. It is the true struggle.
We arrived at the hanger by 0230, I felt good. It was nice to get off the FOB. It felt good to don the warriors garb again even if it was for a short time. The job with Task Force Zabul had fallen through, the command felt I was too valuable to be sent off on a boondoggle for a few months. I do good work, it is the work that allows the primary staff do other more important things.
The Helos, monstrous CH53’s, spun up, giant rotors stirring the air. We boarded quickly and I struggled to get the four point harness over the body armor. It was like trying to strap in two people. It took a long time to get to Deleram. We stopped several times picking up bearded special operations soldiers, dropping them off, picking up some more folks then dropping them in another place. It was like riding a very big, very loud flying bus. Shortly after dawn we swooped into yet another FOB, though this was more rugged. A small fortress built on a high rise overlooking the low slung, mud brick town of Deleram.
The fort dominated the only bridge over the Kash Rud, a river in name only. It was a huge dry bed with a tiny trickle of water. The banks, steep cliffs upon which perched the city, were so high the local police and army used them as a back stop to for rifle practice.
I went to Deleram to confer with infantry battalion’s operations officer. For despite our great communications gear this remained a personal face to face ( F2F as some a-holes liked to call it in these text message days) business. We had to cover some issues with plans we were developing. For one we had to cover our rules of engagement (ROE). Here in NATO country we had to follow different procedures. NATO is a bureaucracy that could, can and does drive you nuts. ROE is designed for two purposes, one is to try to regulate the use of appropriate force and two I believe is simply to annoy.
Case in point- our allies have come to war with us but they each have different rules. We have the right to self defense, meaning if we felt threatened, if the bad guys were armed and dangerous (demonstrating hostile ac t and or intent) we could kill them in a proportionate manner whatever that meant. Dead is dead regardless of whether it was by bullet or bomb. But each of our allies minus the Australians, who, God bless em, followed the same rule as us. All the other nations’ ham string themselves with all the encumbrances of the full force of their interpretations of international law and the laws of armed conflict. These variances in application of the laws of armed conflict are called National Caveats to the ROE. Some of it seems spiteful like the Belgian refusal to support units that operate under Operation Enduring Freedom ROE. (Note: There is a separate OEF ROE that was set up by the US in the initial invasion of Afghanistan, NATO then came in and established ISAF ROE, we here and now as a NATO command follow ISAF ROE, however, there are many forces-mainly the US Special Forces who retain OEF ROE…Are you confused yet?). I think that the French have it the worst, they have great troops, outstanding pilots but when they come to the fight forget it. By the time they have consulted with their lawyers the enemy was always long gone. Perhaps that was the plan. I don’t blame the French troops, they are good, it is their government that I find at fault. Get in the fight or go home. But, it has been that way for the French from Camerone to Dien Bein Phu to Algiers great troops, bad wars, weak governments.
The only folks without rules are the insurgents. This however has been a truism of counter-insurgency since the UN was created. The powers that be, nation states have the burden of law and order which in the end is a good thing. It just can be confusing at times.
This confusion with the rules had caused delay in the planning effort and I was able to parley that into an all expense paid trip to Deleram. AND I had the extra benefit of being the ‘guy from higher headquaters’ who got to say “Hi I’m with higher headquarters and I am here to help.” Stand the frick by.
Now let’s talk a little bit about forward operating base Deleram. FOB Deleram was another one of hundreds of HESCO fortresses strewn from Baghdad to Bagram. Complete with tents, ammo dumps, and fuel farms. This one was somewhat unique in that it was built on the remnants of a Russian fort that was built on the remnants of a British fort, which was in turn built on the foundations of a Persian fort; I think if we dug deep enough we would find a Macedonian design. We just took it over from the Italians. The central compound had a low brick and rough stone wall, an old tower dominated the scene, two shell holes marked it an unsteady relic. Outside the FOB there was even an Old Russian tank hulk lawn ornament.
Deleram is a unique place. Here the Afghan forces share the same ground with our troops. They stand guard together, they go on patrol together. Our Marines work side by side Afghan Army and Police. It is the only way to do this business right.
The OPSO, Reggie, for the Infantry battalion at Deleram is a great guy. High energy, lots of talent. It did not take long at all to show him the ROE and intricacies of planning the NATO way. His battalion had been training for Iraq prior to this deployment; they were redirected to Afghanistan about three months prior to getting in country. They had to learn a lot on the fly. They did it very well for a pick-up game.
The good thing for me was that since it did not take long to conduct the training Reggie suggested that Matt and I go to check out the rte 515 and the combat outposts they had just built.
Combat outpost were nothing more than small forts, a Roman legionnaire or Blue Jacketed member of the seventh cavalry would have recognized them in heart beat. The cool thing was that they were built in less than 48 hours. Once again proving what bulldozers, HESCO and Marine strong backs can do. These posts where set to ‘outpost’ the dirt track euphemistically called route 515.
Outposting is a concept by which you build a string of strongpoint’s across a threatened line of communication to secure it from enemy influence. When we arrived in country Rte 515 was bad-guy country. It was the 2nd most IED strewn strip of road in the whole theater (including Iraq). After a week of our Marines operating on this ground it became the #1. After a month with the COPS in place the Marines there had significantly impacted the enemy ability to emplace IED and the number of IED’s emplaced began to drop drastically. The going price paid by the Taliban to emplace an IED started at $100. The Marines there changed that.
My alarm beeped annoyingly, it was 0130, I fumbled for the light switch, fighting the urge to lay back down and go back to sleep, just a few minute more. No, not this morning. This bleary eyed AM the Fobbit was to leave the Shire. I rolled from my rack and grabbed my tooth brush and razor and walked down the darkened corridor, opened the door and stepped out into the cool night. Our ‘ablution’ tent was located about fifteen yards away. The cold air woke me up a bit. After shaving I headed back in to the Frat House to prep for the trip. I liked travelling a s light as possible. This was to be a two night trip. Travelling light these days was very difficult. For one the armor weighed almost sixty pounds by itself, when you added rifle, pistol, ammunition and day pack forget about it. How we expect our infantrymen to go foot mobile I do not know.
I was travelling with Matt the “Fires guy” an artillery officer, and our two new Information Operations (IO) Officers. Fires are easy to understand- artillery, mortars, rockets and missiles rather traditional stuff, though entirely high tech with more computers and networks than you can shake a stick at. Too bad the Taliban wouldn’t hold still for us to rain fire on him. IO that was a relatively new warfighting concept. We have had them for years in various forms yet they have truly just started to come into their own in the recent wars. They did great work in Iraq and now we wanted them to do the same in Afghanistan. They produce our message, they attack the enemy through unconventional means, I think of it as empathetic warfare. Through IO we develop and understanding of our foe and turn that understanding against him. We attack his pride, his fear; we separate him from the people by showing his actions as weak and pathetic. It is a constant battle. It is the true struggle.
We arrived at the hanger by 0230, I felt good. It was nice to get off the FOB. It felt good to don the warriors garb again even if it was for a short time. The job with Task Force Zabul had fallen through, the command felt I was too valuable to be sent off on a boondoggle for a few months. I do good work, it is the work that allows the primary staff do other more important things.
The Helos, monstrous CH53’s, spun up, giant rotors stirring the air. We boarded quickly and I struggled to get the four point harness over the body armor. It was like trying to strap in two people. It took a long time to get to Deleram. We stopped several times picking up bearded special operations soldiers, dropping them off, picking up some more folks then dropping them in another place. It was like riding a very big, very loud flying bus. Shortly after dawn we swooped into yet another FOB, though this was more rugged. A small fortress built on a high rise overlooking the low slung, mud brick town of Deleram.
The fort dominated the only bridge over the Kash Rud, a river in name only. It was a huge dry bed with a tiny trickle of water. The banks, steep cliffs upon which perched the city, were so high the local police and army used them as a back stop to for rifle practice.
I went to Deleram to confer with infantry battalion’s operations officer. For despite our great communications gear this remained a personal face to face ( F2F as some a-holes liked to call it in these text message days) business. We had to cover some issues with plans we were developing. For one we had to cover our rules of engagement (ROE). Here in NATO country we had to follow different procedures. NATO is a bureaucracy that could, can and does drive you nuts. ROE is designed for two purposes, one is to try to regulate the use of appropriate force and two I believe is simply to annoy.
Case in point- our allies have come to war with us but they each have different rules. We have the right to self defense, meaning if we felt threatened, if the bad guys were armed and dangerous (demonstrating hostile ac t and or intent) we could kill them in a proportionate manner whatever that meant. Dead is dead regardless of whether it was by bullet or bomb. But each of our allies minus the Australians, who, God bless em, followed the same rule as us. All the other nations’ ham string themselves with all the encumbrances of the full force of their interpretations of international law and the laws of armed conflict. These variances in application of the laws of armed conflict are called National Caveats to the ROE. Some of it seems spiteful like the Belgian refusal to support units that operate under Operation Enduring Freedom ROE. (Note: There is a separate OEF ROE that was set up by the US in the initial invasion of Afghanistan, NATO then came in and established ISAF ROE, we here and now as a NATO command follow ISAF ROE, however, there are many forces-mainly the US Special Forces who retain OEF ROE…Are you confused yet?). I think that the French have it the worst, they have great troops, outstanding pilots but when they come to the fight forget it. By the time they have consulted with their lawyers the enemy was always long gone. Perhaps that was the plan. I don’t blame the French troops, they are good, it is their government that I find at fault. Get in the fight or go home. But, it has been that way for the French from Camerone to Dien Bein Phu to Algiers great troops, bad wars, weak governments.
The only folks without rules are the insurgents. This however has been a truism of counter-insurgency since the UN was created. The powers that be, nation states have the burden of law and order which in the end is a good thing. It just can be confusing at times.
This confusion with the rules had caused delay in the planning effort and I was able to parley that into an all expense paid trip to Deleram. AND I had the extra benefit of being the ‘guy from higher headquaters’ who got to say “Hi I’m with higher headquarters and I am here to help.” Stand the frick by.
Now let’s talk a little bit about forward operating base Deleram. FOB Deleram was another one of hundreds of HESCO fortresses strewn from Baghdad to Bagram. Complete with tents, ammo dumps, and fuel farms. This one was somewhat unique in that it was built on the remnants of a Russian fort that was built on the remnants of a British fort, which was in turn built on the foundations of a Persian fort; I think if we dug deep enough we would find a Macedonian design. We just took it over from the Italians. The central compound had a low brick and rough stone wall, an old tower dominated the scene, two shell holes marked it an unsteady relic. Outside the FOB there was even an Old Russian tank hulk lawn ornament.
Deleram is a unique place. Here the Afghan forces share the same ground with our troops. They stand guard together, they go on patrol together. Our Marines work side by side Afghan Army and Police. It is the only way to do this business right.
The OPSO, Reggie, for the Infantry battalion at Deleram is a great guy. High energy, lots of talent. It did not take long at all to show him the ROE and intricacies of planning the NATO way. His battalion had been training for Iraq prior to this deployment; they were redirected to Afghanistan about three months prior to getting in country. They had to learn a lot on the fly. They did it very well for a pick-up game.
The good thing for me was that since it did not take long to conduct the training Reggie suggested that Matt and I go to check out the rte 515 and the combat outposts they had just built.
Combat outpost were nothing more than small forts, a Roman legionnaire or Blue Jacketed member of the seventh cavalry would have recognized them in heart beat. The cool thing was that they were built in less than 48 hours. Once again proving what bulldozers, HESCO and Marine strong backs can do. These posts where set to ‘outpost’ the dirt track euphemistically called route 515.
Outposting is a concept by which you build a string of strongpoint’s across a threatened line of communication to secure it from enemy influence. When we arrived in country Rte 515 was bad-guy country. It was the 2nd most IED strewn strip of road in the whole theater (including Iraq). After a week of our Marines operating on this ground it became the #1. After a month with the COPS in place the Marines there had significantly impacted the enemy ability to emplace IED and the number of IED’s emplaced began to drop drastically. The going price paid by the Taliban to emplace an IED started at $100. The Marines there changed that.
Afghanistan in perspective
Erica told me that since she and the girls would be in Hokkaido all week and we would not be able to talk I should use my spare time to update the blog.
Well the good thing about that is that you don't have to read it if you don't want to, therefor I can ramble on any subject that comes to mind! Haha.
Afghanistan in perspective (narrow and short,
Our mission in Afghanistan is twofold, one- we must disrupt the enemy so that they cannot build strength over the winter for a spring offensive and two- we must work to bring the reinforcements that are coming. Thousands of US troops are in bound. But there is not enough infrastructure to support them yet. That is one of if not our biggest concern. It is constant competition between the enemy and us.
The Taliban quote of the day is “you have all the watches, we have all the time”. It reminds me of the another quote “You’ve got the money honey, I’ve got the time.” Willy Nelson. I think I prefer the second one. But the point is clear, this is more of a big game of chicken, who will flinch first and unfortunately without some realistic goals set and acceptance of hard work ahead it could be us. We will bring in a bunch of troops and the American people will want instant results. There will be some; the initial arrival is always spectacular. We always win the first rounds. However, the insurgents know they only have to wait us out.
Our biggest challenge will be to counter them by building up the Afghan government and security forces. No small task, this is a very naturally corrupt society. What I mean by that is in order to survive the many wars they have learned to take what they can get when they can. The society co-exists with a level of corruption we cannot fathom. The concept of warlordism is a reality not a choice. It is not uncommon for the hero to be the Afghan who straddles the fence and in the end gets the most benefit for his clan. They have also been surviving this way a long time and we cannot change that overnight if at all.
For that matter we are not trying to change the Afghans themsleves, that would be impossible, we are just tryign to bring a level of stability and the ever desirable rule of law to a lawless land. Our best bet is to make them strong enough to stand on their own. We must focus on the development of ‘good enough’ governance and ‘strong enough’ security forces.
Yet militarily this does not sit well with us, particularly the USMC. ‘Cause damn it we are in charge! We will dictate how things work, not them…uh that ain’t gonna work. This is their country we said so, they must fix it but we must help. Right now we are not tied in enough to this fact. We must be true partners with the government and security forces. This is hard. We have a tough enough time just dealing with NATO, we are better equipped at going it alone. But going it alone here is not an option; we will need to keep learning how to play well with others. When we do, and we are getting better every day, we can then look to our allies and friends and hold them to the commitments they have made. This has to be a collective effort.
Well the good thing about that is that you don't have to read it if you don't want to, therefor I can ramble on any subject that comes to mind! Haha.
Afghanistan in perspective (narrow and short,
Our mission in Afghanistan is twofold, one- we must disrupt the enemy so that they cannot build strength over the winter for a spring offensive and two- we must work to bring the reinforcements that are coming. Thousands of US troops are in bound. But there is not enough infrastructure to support them yet. That is one of if not our biggest concern. It is constant competition between the enemy and us.
The Taliban quote of the day is “you have all the watches, we have all the time”. It reminds me of the another quote “You’ve got the money honey, I’ve got the time.” Willy Nelson. I think I prefer the second one. But the point is clear, this is more of a big game of chicken, who will flinch first and unfortunately without some realistic goals set and acceptance of hard work ahead it could be us. We will bring in a bunch of troops and the American people will want instant results. There will be some; the initial arrival is always spectacular. We always win the first rounds. However, the insurgents know they only have to wait us out.
Our biggest challenge will be to counter them by building up the Afghan government and security forces. No small task, this is a very naturally corrupt society. What I mean by that is in order to survive the many wars they have learned to take what they can get when they can. The society co-exists with a level of corruption we cannot fathom. The concept of warlordism is a reality not a choice. It is not uncommon for the hero to be the Afghan who straddles the fence and in the end gets the most benefit for his clan. They have also been surviving this way a long time and we cannot change that overnight if at all.
For that matter we are not trying to change the Afghans themsleves, that would be impossible, we are just tryign to bring a level of stability and the ever desirable rule of law to a lawless land. Our best bet is to make them strong enough to stand on their own. We must focus on the development of ‘good enough’ governance and ‘strong enough’ security forces.
Yet militarily this does not sit well with us, particularly the USMC. ‘Cause damn it we are in charge! We will dictate how things work, not them…uh that ain’t gonna work. This is their country we said so, they must fix it but we must help. Right now we are not tied in enough to this fact. We must be true partners with the government and security forces. This is hard. We have a tough enough time just dealing with NATO, we are better equipped at going it alone. But going it alone here is not an option; we will need to keep learning how to play well with others. When we do, and we are getting better every day, we can then look to our allies and friends and hold them to the commitments they have made. This has to be a collective effort.
Note from Hokkiado
Erica sent me this email today. Sounds like they are having a great time.
Just a quick note to let you know we're doing fantastic. Carolyn isreally enjoying skiing. going down the bunny slopes no problem. meghan is good when she wants to be. she is taking the day off and playing with ella and lachaln at the day care. my foot has really been bothering me in addition to new boots. otherwise, it is a blast. pretty nice terrain.good back country, but i'm not doing it this time. we really should comeback here next year. Hope your doing well. i've taken lots of pictures.I,ll email them wen i get home on monday!
Just a quick note to let you know we're doing fantastic. Carolyn isreally enjoying skiing. going down the bunny slopes no problem. meghan is good when she wants to be. she is taking the day off and playing with ella and lachaln at the day care. my foot has really been bothering me in addition to new boots. otherwise, it is a blast. pretty nice terrain.good back country, but i'm not doing it this time. we really should comeback here next year. Hope your doing well. i've taken lots of pictures.I,ll email them wen i get home on monday!
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
FOBBIT
Well by now Erica and the girls are skiing and having a good old time in Hokkaido with Alli, Gary and Lachlan. I hope to see pictures soon.
As for poor old me, I'm still sitting in Kandahar enjoying the hospitality of the international community. Not much skiing here. I was told up in Kabul you can ski, that is if you can slolom the minefields. A minor technicality. Truly an extreme sport, alpine minefield slolom. i think I 'll pass on that.
That would be far to much excitment for a FOBBIT, as a Fobbit's life is somewhat monotonous.
What is a “Fobbit” you ask?
According to Wikipedia a Fobbit is a derogatory term used by coalition forces in Iraq and Afghanistan to describe base working personnel. It derives from the mixing of the acronym FOB (Forward Operating Base), with Hobbit from J. R. R. Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings universe. The implication of the term is that as the Hobbits had no inclination to leave the Shire and face danger, the person referenced by the slur is too scared to leave their cozy home.
Reflecting on this perhaps I should start with where I am, my “Shire” is Kandahar Airfield Afghanistan, KAF-pronounced “calf” and it is an odd place.
It is a dirty, dusty, jumbled place of floodlights, blast walls, dirt roads, tents, conex boxes, contractors and flags. Flags from a dozen nations-the proud stars and stripes, the white cross of Denmark, the French tricolor, the Southern Cross of Australia, the Maple Leaf, and the new red, green and black of the Afghan Nation to name a few.
I liken KAF to a militarized version of the Disney World Ride ‘it’s a small world.’ In the chow halls the din from the dozens of different languages makes me think of Babble. It is where you can have dinner with French Legionnaires, British Royal Marines and Kyrgyz Masseuses. Ah yes the Kyrgyz masseuses, how did we ever fight wars without them. If you sleep funny on your rack and wake up with a kink in your neck you can have a thin, raven haired, pale skinned, blue jean wearing Russian-Kyrgyz, knock-out (not that I was looking:) ease your pain, or try to break your neck, they are Russian after all even if from Kyrgyztan their massage techniques I believe they learned from the KGB. They are a far cry from the Thai masseuses, but that is another story altogether. (Note: rumor has it that the Thai massage parlor was closed down for providing 'happy endings' they apparently where caught when a 'few' fellows needed extra treatment, but it is just a rumor).
The influence of the former Soviet Union is felt throughout KAF. They run the barber shop and staff most of the positions at the Post Exchange. They smell of old cigarettes and cheap perfume and have teeth only a masochistic dentist could love. The Post Exchange is located across the main street past the NATO HQ and Coffee shop, just look for the Derelict BRDM (Soviet armored scout car) the one with the smiley face painted on it. Yup, the red army may not have been able to subdue the Afghans but their legacy lives on. It lives on in bad haircuts, old tobacco and bone jarring massages.
KAF is a strange place as I have said; it is part war zone and part college campus. It is a self contained world. It has theaters, dining facilities, laundry, sport complexes, and offices. It is how a truly twenty first century armed force goes to war. My 'house' is more West Virginia shack than Bilbo’s Bagend, it is a modified ply-wood shed; we call it the Frat House. I have to admit it is a shack but it is an enviable shack, it would make a great hunting cabin. Hell we have private rooms (8x5), heat, hot showers and a common room complete with stadium seating and a big screen TV equipped with satellite and all the girlie pics we could scrounge to decorate the walls. To keep it sufficiently militant we have our own concrete bunker just outside the door. Just in case it rains rockets.
I’m not complaining mind you, this is my life my choice, somewhat. This war has been going on for quite some time if you had not noticed. Because of my desire, a common one amongst Marines though it perplexes most of our civilian friends, to be back in the fight I did volunteer to go to Afghanistan I just had hoped to be an advisor (team leader for an Embedded Training team). That was not to be. I am the worst kind of Fobbit, the frustrated wanna-be-warrior.
Now I have been to war before like most of my peers, in Iraq, I was there for the invasion back on ‘03 and stayed a short while after but that was a long time ago.
This is war, fought unlike any before it.
It is a war where we would like nothing more than to nuke them, or at least drop a couple 15,000 pounders on them. But instead we hand out blankets, give them a great big hug say ‘salaam alyakum’ and they hit us with kids pushing wheelbarrows of homemade explosives.
Afghanistan is one of the hardest places on earth; the people reflect the land and military operations have to pay homage to them both. There is nothing fast or easy about this place. There are few roads, hardly any are paved. These are the discussions we have, how to bring the fight to the insurgents on their turf while building a nation at the same time.
This is what I do, I work in a headquarters. I plan things. I am what the Marines call an Individual Augment & staff pogue. I was seconded from my parent command , the Third Marine Expeditionary Force based in Okinawa, to fill a hole in the table of organization of the Special Purpose Marine Air Ground Task Force Afghanistan, SPMAGTF-A, usually just called “MAG- TAF.” It is a highbred unit cobbled together from around the world just for this mission.
I have been with this unit since early November 08. Just in time to spend Thanksgiving and Christmas in KAF. About half of the personnel of the headquarters are from Hawaii, as the command element is lead by the Colonel of the third Marine regiment home based in Kaneohe Bay, Oahu. 3rd Marines is a storied outfit having been around since WWI.
I have an affinity for 3rd Marines as it was my first post as a Lieutenant back in the mid Nineties. Those were good days, the Soviet Union had just collapsed, freedom and democracy were spreading, and the big fat money days were just getting started. Bill was President and Al Gore was inventing the internet. Being a Marine back then meant training, training and more training. Oh yes and “liberty” aka time off in great places such as Wakiki, Kona and Hilo on the big Island, re-enacting Magnum PI, and deployments were six month trips to Okinawa, from where we further bounced to Australia, Tokyo, Mount Fuji and Hokkaido. Good times.
That was all before 2001.
Oddly enough I was in Okinawa when the September Eleventh Attacks occurred. AS with most of us I have vivid memories of that day. I was drunk actually, not out of control but feeling good and enjoying some downtime. It was a Typhoon and we were confined to our barracks, so in time honored tradition we had a party. I remember the moments clearly, sort of, one of our intelligence officers walked into the hall narrowly dodging a large wooden dart. .. He looked very serious as he cut into our game and told us to turn on the TV a plane had just crashed into the World Trade Center. The AFN news channel had the events live, within seconds of the TV coming on the second plane impacted. We knew it was an attack.
So I did what any good Marine would do, we checked on the Officer of the Day, the guard force was doubled, and due to the storm everyone remained in lock down. So since I couldn't do anything I called my wife. Now this is a bit embarrassing actually but it is true. There I was still feeling the alcohol, drinking is no excuse but it is all I have for what I did next. I dialed the numbers and my wife answered. I knew that if I did not act quickly and decisively, as a good Marine, she would never go for this. So I said ‘Erica, have you seen the news? No, well then just listen, and do as I say, don’t ask questions, this is important,’ I had to emphasize this fact as my wife is a very independent woman and would not do this without me being very stern, ‘Honey, go to my closet, and get out the black case you know the one it is where I keep my pistol.’
Ok now you see where this is going. Really, she is anti-gun so she had never even let me show her how to load the damn thing. I walked here painstakingly through how to load the magazine and get the pistol ready, thank God, I still don’t know how she did this but she loaded the rounds in backwards. She is such a good sport. She waited until after all this which probably took a good ten minutes before she said “ok, I did it, now do you mind telling me why?” Her voice was very calm, I'd have to say just a little annoyed. It was around this time that I started to thinking maybe this wasn’t such a good Idea. When I told her that New York was under attack it rang a bit hollow, and my earnestness sank lower still when she reminded me just where Camp Lejuene was.
Ok I over reacted just a bit, but in my defense it was strange. Here I was forward deployed to Okinawa expressly for the purpose of keeping attacks like that away from America. I felt weak, and I was afraid for my family. In some ways that feeling has never left me.
So now I am in Afghanistan only seven years after the attack. Seven years to get at the business started so horribly back then. Now we have a historic new President. Poor guy he really has no idea what he just ‘won.’ I do not envy him. I just pray he does it right.
In KAF, the day’s move slowly, meetings for planning, planning for meetings. Oh and lots and lots of power point. I don’t get out much. My normal day takes me from my room in the Frat house to my office in the Command Operations Center, less than thirty seconds walk, and two cipher locked doors, & past the coffee pot a big ‘silver bullet’ style urn which runs 24/7. I check email- I have three separate accounts so this can take time. Then the Watch Officer briefs us on the night prior events and the new days plan. Then it is off to chow at the Luxembourg Dining Facility, the Lux. Bowl of oatmeal some eggs and coffee. They have a very nice set of coffee makers here, actually grinds the beans for individual cups and makes a fine espresso. Then it is back to the COC and reading more email, more coffee. Make a power point slide or two. Attend a few meetings at our higher headquarters, Regional Command South. Lunch, back to the Lux. Maybe have another coffee. Go to the gym. Back to the office read more email, make more slides, and attend a meeting. Dinner. More email, more slides. Maybe another meeting then back to the Frat House. Turn on my personal computer and Skype the Wife and kids.
That is what a Fobbit is.
As for poor old me, I'm still sitting in Kandahar enjoying the hospitality of the international community. Not much skiing here. I was told up in Kabul you can ski, that is if you can slolom the minefields. A minor technicality. Truly an extreme sport, alpine minefield slolom. i think I 'll pass on that.
That would be far to much excitment for a FOBBIT, as a Fobbit's life is somewhat monotonous.
What is a “Fobbit” you ask?
According to Wikipedia a Fobbit is a derogatory term used by coalition forces in Iraq and Afghanistan to describe base working personnel. It derives from the mixing of the acronym FOB (Forward Operating Base), with Hobbit from J. R. R. Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings universe. The implication of the term is that as the Hobbits had no inclination to leave the Shire and face danger, the person referenced by the slur is too scared to leave their cozy home.
Reflecting on this perhaps I should start with where I am, my “Shire” is Kandahar Airfield Afghanistan, KAF-pronounced “calf” and it is an odd place.
It is a dirty, dusty, jumbled place of floodlights, blast walls, dirt roads, tents, conex boxes, contractors and flags. Flags from a dozen nations-the proud stars and stripes, the white cross of Denmark, the French tricolor, the Southern Cross of Australia, the Maple Leaf, and the new red, green and black of the Afghan Nation to name a few.
I liken KAF to a militarized version of the Disney World Ride ‘it’s a small world.’ In the chow halls the din from the dozens of different languages makes me think of Babble. It is where you can have dinner with French Legionnaires, British Royal Marines and Kyrgyz Masseuses. Ah yes the Kyrgyz masseuses, how did we ever fight wars without them. If you sleep funny on your rack and wake up with a kink in your neck you can have a thin, raven haired, pale skinned, blue jean wearing Russian-Kyrgyz, knock-out (not that I was looking:) ease your pain, or try to break your neck, they are Russian after all even if from Kyrgyztan their massage techniques I believe they learned from the KGB. They are a far cry from the Thai masseuses, but that is another story altogether. (Note: rumor has it that the Thai massage parlor was closed down for providing 'happy endings' they apparently where caught when a 'few' fellows needed extra treatment, but it is just a rumor).
The influence of the former Soviet Union is felt throughout KAF. They run the barber shop and staff most of the positions at the Post Exchange. They smell of old cigarettes and cheap perfume and have teeth only a masochistic dentist could love. The Post Exchange is located across the main street past the NATO HQ and Coffee shop, just look for the Derelict BRDM (Soviet armored scout car) the one with the smiley face painted on it. Yup, the red army may not have been able to subdue the Afghans but their legacy lives on. It lives on in bad haircuts, old tobacco and bone jarring massages.
KAF is a strange place as I have said; it is part war zone and part college campus. It is a self contained world. It has theaters, dining facilities, laundry, sport complexes, and offices. It is how a truly twenty first century armed force goes to war. My 'house' is more West Virginia shack than Bilbo’s Bagend, it is a modified ply-wood shed; we call it the Frat House. I have to admit it is a shack but it is an enviable shack, it would make a great hunting cabin. Hell we have private rooms (8x5), heat, hot showers and a common room complete with stadium seating and a big screen TV equipped with satellite and all the girlie pics we could scrounge to decorate the walls. To keep it sufficiently militant we have our own concrete bunker just outside the door. Just in case it rains rockets.
I’m not complaining mind you, this is my life my choice, somewhat. This war has been going on for quite some time if you had not noticed. Because of my desire, a common one amongst Marines though it perplexes most of our civilian friends, to be back in the fight I did volunteer to go to Afghanistan I just had hoped to be an advisor (team leader for an Embedded Training team). That was not to be. I am the worst kind of Fobbit, the frustrated wanna-be-warrior.
Now I have been to war before like most of my peers, in Iraq, I was there for the invasion back on ‘03 and stayed a short while after but that was a long time ago.
This is war, fought unlike any before it.
It is a war where we would like nothing more than to nuke them, or at least drop a couple 15,000 pounders on them. But instead we hand out blankets, give them a great big hug say ‘salaam alyakum’ and they hit us with kids pushing wheelbarrows of homemade explosives.
Afghanistan is one of the hardest places on earth; the people reflect the land and military operations have to pay homage to them both. There is nothing fast or easy about this place. There are few roads, hardly any are paved. These are the discussions we have, how to bring the fight to the insurgents on their turf while building a nation at the same time.
This is what I do, I work in a headquarters. I plan things. I am what the Marines call an Individual Augment & staff pogue. I was seconded from my parent command , the Third Marine Expeditionary Force based in Okinawa, to fill a hole in the table of organization of the Special Purpose Marine Air Ground Task Force Afghanistan, SPMAGTF-A, usually just called “MAG- TAF.” It is a highbred unit cobbled together from around the world just for this mission.
I have been with this unit since early November 08. Just in time to spend Thanksgiving and Christmas in KAF. About half of the personnel of the headquarters are from Hawaii, as the command element is lead by the Colonel of the third Marine regiment home based in Kaneohe Bay, Oahu. 3rd Marines is a storied outfit having been around since WWI.
I have an affinity for 3rd Marines as it was my first post as a Lieutenant back in the mid Nineties. Those were good days, the Soviet Union had just collapsed, freedom and democracy were spreading, and the big fat money days were just getting started. Bill was President and Al Gore was inventing the internet. Being a Marine back then meant training, training and more training. Oh yes and “liberty” aka time off in great places such as Wakiki, Kona and Hilo on the big Island, re-enacting Magnum PI, and deployments were six month trips to Okinawa, from where we further bounced to Australia, Tokyo, Mount Fuji and Hokkaido. Good times.
That was all before 2001.
Oddly enough I was in Okinawa when the September Eleventh Attacks occurred. AS with most of us I have vivid memories of that day. I was drunk actually, not out of control but feeling good and enjoying some downtime. It was a Typhoon and we were confined to our barracks, so in time honored tradition we had a party. I remember the moments clearly, sort of, one of our intelligence officers walked into the hall narrowly dodging a large wooden dart. .. He looked very serious as he cut into our game and told us to turn on the TV a plane had just crashed into the World Trade Center. The AFN news channel had the events live, within seconds of the TV coming on the second plane impacted. We knew it was an attack.
So I did what any good Marine would do, we checked on the Officer of the Day, the guard force was doubled, and due to the storm everyone remained in lock down. So since I couldn't do anything I called my wife. Now this is a bit embarrassing actually but it is true. There I was still feeling the alcohol, drinking is no excuse but it is all I have for what I did next. I dialed the numbers and my wife answered. I knew that if I did not act quickly and decisively, as a good Marine, she would never go for this. So I said ‘Erica, have you seen the news? No, well then just listen, and do as I say, don’t ask questions, this is important,’ I had to emphasize this fact as my wife is a very independent woman and would not do this without me being very stern, ‘Honey, go to my closet, and get out the black case you know the one it is where I keep my pistol.’
Ok now you see where this is going. Really, she is anti-gun so she had never even let me show her how to load the damn thing. I walked here painstakingly through how to load the magazine and get the pistol ready, thank God, I still don’t know how she did this but she loaded the rounds in backwards. She is such a good sport. She waited until after all this which probably took a good ten minutes before she said “ok, I did it, now do you mind telling me why?” Her voice was very calm, I'd have to say just a little annoyed. It was around this time that I started to thinking maybe this wasn’t such a good Idea. When I told her that New York was under attack it rang a bit hollow, and my earnestness sank lower still when she reminded me just where Camp Lejuene was.
Ok I over reacted just a bit, but in my defense it was strange. Here I was forward deployed to Okinawa expressly for the purpose of keeping attacks like that away from America. I felt weak, and I was afraid for my family. In some ways that feeling has never left me.
So now I am in Afghanistan only seven years after the attack. Seven years to get at the business started so horribly back then. Now we have a historic new President. Poor guy he really has no idea what he just ‘won.’ I do not envy him. I just pray he does it right.
In KAF, the day’s move slowly, meetings for planning, planning for meetings. Oh and lots and lots of power point. I don’t get out much. My normal day takes me from my room in the Frat house to my office in the Command Operations Center, less than thirty seconds walk, and two cipher locked doors, & past the coffee pot a big ‘silver bullet’ style urn which runs 24/7. I check email- I have three separate accounts so this can take time. Then the Watch Officer briefs us on the night prior events and the new days plan. Then it is off to chow at the Luxembourg Dining Facility, the Lux. Bowl of oatmeal some eggs and coffee. They have a very nice set of coffee makers here, actually grinds the beans for individual cups and makes a fine espresso. Then it is back to the COC and reading more email, more coffee. Make a power point slide or two. Attend a few meetings at our higher headquarters, Regional Command South. Lunch, back to the Lux. Maybe have another coffee. Go to the gym. Back to the office read more email, make more slides, and attend a meeting. Dinner. More email, more slides. Maybe another meeting then back to the Frat House. Turn on my personal computer and Skype the Wife and kids.
That is what a Fobbit is.
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