My Army Stories

I hadn’t shot a pistol in over three years.  The one in my hand on the range at Fort Benning, Georgia felt like a foreign object.  I remembered how to operate it like one recollects how to ride a bike after years of not riding. But it felt strange and I was not comfortable.  We had to qualify before deploying and fortunately they gave a practice round for those of us who needed to regain familiarity with the 9mm hand gun. 

My practice set was abysmal.  I rushed my engagements of the pop up targets.  I had to think about manipulation of the safety and magazine release.  I searched for my magazines instead of instinctively locating one for reload.   Everything was hurried.

Then, before starting the qualification round, I recalled a saying we learned while rehearsing close quarter battle. It is the infantryman’s proverb of, “Slow is smooth, smooth is fast.” 

“Relax,” I said to myself.  “Slow down.”

I would love to say I shot expert.  I did not. I shot well enough but, most importantly, I regained my confidence.

I think of that occasion on the range every time I leave Camp Eggers.  I pass through the wall of the compound by walking between two reinforced steel doors.  One shuts before the other opens.  Prior to exiting, I chamber a round into my weapon. I smile at the guard and say, “Sa-laam Alaykum.” He responds, “Walaykum Assalaam.”  Passing to the other side, I consider the irony of the Islamic peace salutation in this instance, as I holster my weapon.

I work in the “Green Zone,” but the April assassination attempt on General Karimi at the Ministry of Defense along with the recent attack on the British Consulate remain fresh in my mind.  Just a week ago rockets landed near President Karzai’s palace.

I recall the advice of Brigadier General Steve Townsend, my Brigade Commander in Iraq.  He sent me an email upon his redeployment after a year here as the Deputy Commander of the 101^st Airborne Division Air Assault.  He is now on the list for promotion to Major General. Repeating one of his favorite sayings, my long time mentor wrote, “Keep your pistol clean and loaded.  Live on Amber, Fred.” 

Amber is a metaphor for that place between extreme hyper vigilance and normal day-to-day calm.  One cannot stay overly alert, or “Red,” for extended periods of time without burning out.  And the mindless tranquility of “Green” can get you killed.  But, you can remain in the state of Amber indefinitely.

Today we are going to Qargha, just outside of Kabul.  Qargha is where the United States and Great Britain are building the Afghan National Security University. All the Afghan military educational institutions, to include their version of West Point, Sandhurst, and the War College, will be in this one central location at Qargha.  General Karimi has to conduct an inspection there in preparation for a visit by senior ranking dignitaries.  

Before departing I have my daily meeting with the Karimi.  There are a couple items to discuss, mostly pertaining to units who are tardy in meeting suspenses and organizations that have training and logistics shortfalls.  I cringe when I bring the points to his attention.  On our first day together he said to me, “All I ask of you is to have tolerance and patience.”  Having spent several years training and going to school in the United States, he knows the lack of Western forbearance all too well.

I am hesitant to push too far or too fast.  I did in Iraq and ruined a relationship. In doing so, I set our progress back months.  We never really recovered. Part of the reason I volunteered to come to Afghanistan was to redeem myself.

I pass General Karimi a couple information papers I wrote on the topics for him to consider.  I’ll give him a couple days to reflect and then I hope to address them again.  Done with the meeting, we are now ready to head to Qargha.   I’m excited to get out and see the country side.

Our convoy takes off from the headquarters and I ride with my most recent Facebook friend, Captain Zia Karimi, General Karimi’s son. Zia just recently returned from studying in Italy and now he helps coordinate security for his dad, the Chief. Zia is a striking young man of 23.  He likes to say he looks like Sam Worthington, the movie star who played Jake Sully, the paraplegic Marine in the film Avatar.  One day my assistant, Raul Rosa, brought in a picture of Sully’s Na’vi Avatar and said, “Is this who you mean?”  All Zia could say was “That’s wrong.”

Our convoy leaves the gate and the roller coaster ride begins.  I am sure; in fact I know that driving lanes do not exist in Afghanistan.  Even though we have a military escort with well armed Soldiers in the lead and rear, Zia is constantly dodging oncoming traffic.  He must have had defensive driver training. I would not have made it a block if I were behind the wheel. Zia sees that I’m somewhat uncomfortable and turns on the radio.  He says, “Do you want me to find you a Western station to listen to?” My eyes widen at a near head on collision in front of us and I timidly tell him, “No it’s okay.” He puts in a CD.  “It’s music from India.  It’s relaxing music,” Zia calmly says narrowly missing a motorcycle.

I am convinced it is only through the great skill of Zia and the other drivers that we get to Qargha alive.  I’ve sweat completely through my Multi-Cam uniform even though the air conditioner was on high the entire way. But seeing Qargha, it is worth the drive and the seven near heart attacks. The Military University is situated in a wide open space between three mountains.  Zia tells me there is a pristine lake just on the other side of one of the mountains where people go to picnic.  He says, “It is one of the most beautiful places in Kabul.”  I can think of no better location to educate and train the upcoming leaders of Afghanistan. 

A British Colonel gives us a tour of the National Military Academy grounds – the Afghan’s future West Point. The garrison is nearly complete and they expect to be done in six months. We look at the male barracks and then go through the female cadet quarters.  The mere thought of women attending Afghanistan’s military academy boggles my mind.  Then we go through the headquarters building, dining facility and auditorium.    With the tour complete, General Karimi is clearly moved by the quality of work that has been done, and says, “This is the future of my country.”

General Karimi has an empty seat in his vehicle for the trip back and he asks me to ride with him. As I open the door to get in, Zia looks at me as if to say, “Chicken.”  For the ride back I allow my mind to momentarily shift to a somewhat lighter shade, closer to yellow than orange. 

We pass ladies in burkas shopping at road side markets and I think of the female barracks at the National Military Academy. Soon young women will parade side by side with their male compatriots.

The first female cadets entered West Point in 1976. 

I see young boys who are Hazara, a minority ethnicity in Afghanistan, playing in a park. I recently met Lieutenant General Maroud Ali, the newly appointed Army Ground Force Commander and a Hazara.

It was 1948 when President Truman signed the executive order to racially integrate the Armed Forces.  In 1954, Benjamin O. Harris became the first African American to be promoted to the rank of Brigadier General. 

I reflect on the role of the NATO Training Mission in Afghanistan, the organization that I am assigned.  I think how General Karimi politely refers to us as his mentors.  He is always humble and gracious in his effusive praise of our support. He says, “We have made a lot of progress in the last ten years.   But it takes time to build an Army.”

I am reminded of our nation’s struggle over 235 years ago as our forefathers were challenged to create an Army while fighting a war.  In that conflict we asked a foreigner, the Prussian Baron Von Steuben to lend a hand in training and transforming raw, ill disciplined recruits into Soldiers that could to do battle against the British. 

We near the gate to Camp Eggers and General Karimi asks the driver to slow down. He asks me if I want to be dropped off or go back to the headquarters.  He inquires if there is something else we need to discuss. 

There are a couple issues I do need to talk to him about.

I consider it for a second. 

I say to the Chief “I’ll get our here Sir.  See you after Juma.”