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.