I arrived at Leatherneck in Helmand Province to near freezing weather, and lots of mud – everywhere mud. The tent I stayed in for the next 4 nights was very hot when I arrived near midnight, so I dressed and covered lightly on the hard Army cot. Somewhere during the night, cold set in, and so did the need to clamber into anything suitable and hurry down to the nearest set of latrines. Of course, wending through the puddles in the dark added to the challenge, as did trying to get there before I added to the puddles. Getting there was not just a matter of avoiding embarrassment (that would have been extreme on a Marine post), but my clean uniforms were rolled up tightly at the bottom of another of my duffle-bags, and I could not remember which one.
Two members of my new team had picked me up at the airfield the night before, and they arrived to take me to breakfast. Anyone that has ever watched the opening scenes of “The Great Escape” complete with surreal music will know the feeling I experienced as I surveyed my new abode for the next year. In the movie, the scene began with a close-up of the close-in buildings of Stalag 17. Then the camera drew back and panned up and across a seemingly endless expanse of rooves on cracker-box barracks. With the movie’s music running in my head, the feeling of desolate bleakness impinged on my consciousness.
Fortunately, breakfast was good – an omelet with most of the stuff – hot and well cooked, served inside one of three massive tents that served as the mess hall. My new teammates are superb. I met the remainder of them in our offices a little later. The only downside is that they are already starting into their re-deployment cycles, so that by June all but one of them will have left. One, however, is extending, and we should serve together here until his departure in November. Nevertheless, I already feel the impending loss of solid and good teammates.
I learned an interesting lesson about life my first night here. I received a call from stateside directing me to another team. I have to admit that I showed some of my true nature over the phone in front of God and my new teammates, and the upshot at the end of the conversation was that I stay put. However, what intrigued me after the fact was the vehemence with which I fought to stay in such a God-forsaken place – so close to the edge of the planet that the roar of water spilling over into the great unknown can be heard from just over the horizon . When I had a chance to analyze my own feelings after the fact, I thought about the high value that good people bring to quality of life. I knew I had landed in a good team, and would rather share depravities here with them than take a chance of arriving on a hellacious team based in paradise.
The colonel that I replaced departed early Monday morning, and I admit to misgivings on seeing him go. Responsibility for what the team does or fails to do now rests with me, and given where we are, the sense of that gives pause. Almost daily, and sometimes several times in a single day, we see messages come across about the arrival of a “Distinguished Transfer” – meaning that one or more of our wonderful soldiers or marines has contributed the ultimate, and is being escorted home.
The rain stopped a couple of days ago, and the sun has been out for two days now. I have already taken off cold weather gear, and don’t expect to use it again until next winter. The sky has been very blue for two days now, and as long as I look up and beyond, and associate with my great team members, a sense of optimism is usually within easy grasp. Of course always, I miss home, my wonderful wife, great kids, and cherished grandchildren, Sofia and Mikel. BTW, I have another on the way in August. And always, I think of my two sons and their friends and classmates in harms way.
A few days ago, I walked along the length of a long road still under construction. The sky was relatively clear, and suddenly, in front of me (albeit too far to reach out and touch) were mountains! Again, an incredible uplift. This morning, on the way to breakfast, there was no mist at all, and there again, were mountains, and in the far, far distance another range fully clothed in white, white snow. Good to know that there is still another world out there beyond the desolation of this desert.
I will soon be out and among the people here. I have tried to divorce myself from making comparisons between those here and in Iraq, but having already been in many discussions here, I can’t help sensing a common factor that might have previously been overlooked, and probably should be taken into account: as much as acting out of cultural mores, survival mode is driving populations. Seems like a given on its face, but I’ve seen no indication that it is taken into account.
Anyway commo is not easy. Hopefully I can keep this up. Regardless, thanks to all who took the time to look up my little journal and read it, and for the kind comments. I am working on getting pictures out. Lee
Organized Chaos by Lee Jackson is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
Now I understand the high value people placed on trench coats. Can't say I've ever thought of them in such a way. Hmmm...
ReplyDeleteIt's hard to add humor after such a sobering visualization. I too always look to the horizon. God speed!