Five days of peacemaking for an army squadron, then a bomb
FORWARD OPERATING BASE SPIN BOLDAK, Afghanistan -- The honeymoon at this base in southeastern Afghanistan lasted five days. On the sixth, a soldier got his legs blown off.
The first day on base, the squadron commander met with the border police chief. They chatted about security while sitting in overstuffed armchairs, shook hands and toured one of the Americans' light-armored Stryker vehicles together.
Back at the chow hall, soldiers raved about ice cream bars kept somewhat frozen in a tub of ice, praised the hot water in the shower tent and looked forward finally getting "outside the wire."
On the second day, soldiers rumbled out into the desert in 10-vehicle Stryker patrols with Metallica and Garth Brooks playing through their headsets. Men relaxed into their camouflage as they stood up in the vehicle hatches, manning guns and taking in the khaki-colored countryside as they waved at locals and counted how many waved back.
Over the next three days, young lieutenants fresh out of West Point drank tea with village elders and tried to avoid running over farmers' fields with the Strykers. They ended up happy when they managed only to drive over fields that had been left fallow. When a Stryker got stuck in southern Afghanistan's soft dust, another vehicle would tow it out, and it's crew would remind the rescued soldiers that they owed them a case of beer on return to the States. The patrols stopped at border police posts to smoke cigarettes and drink more tea, trying to relax on cushions and plastic mats while wearing 45 pounds of equipment.
Then on the sixth day, a Stryker on an afternoon patrol struck a bomb. The blast ripped off one soldier's legs and shattered the ankles of another, as it blew a crater a meter deep. It shredded the foot of an AP photographer traveling with them and broke a cameraman's ribs.
The four casualties were the first for the 8th Squadron, 1st Cavalry Regiment, and the first casualties for most of the soldiers. The squadron is part of the brand new 5th Stryker Brigade, which deployed for the first time in July as part of President Barack Obama's troop surge in Afghanistan. About two-thirds of the brigade's soldiers had never deployed to a combat zone before.
The blast hit the back of the Stryker, and wounded those closest to the back. In the confusion of dust and blood, soldiers managed to get tourniquets onto the wounded and call in a medivac. Helicopters landed and picked up the four injured men. Four other soldiers near the front of the vehicle were not harmed, not even banged up enough to merit a ride on a helicopter to the hospital at nearby Kandahar Air Field.
The August explosion outside Spin Boldak wasn't a big deal in the course of the Afghan war, in which hundreds have been killed by roadside bombs and suicide attacks. No one died. But this was the day that the war really started for the 8th Squadron. Their sophisticated guns and computer systems weren't just fancy gadgets anymore. They were weapons, to be used to protect patrols that face real danger every time they leave the base.
Back at base, some people knew earlier than others. The chow hall was empty of officers. Those who knew walked purposefully past those still chatting casually at picnic tables.
There is always some comfort in knowing, even if it's terrible news. There's comfort in at least being in the inside rather than finding out later than you were laughing over a stupid joke while your friend was getting airlifted.
Commanders asked those who had cell phones to turn them off, but didn't say what happened. Still, the news was going out over the squadron's radio, and so slowly filtered out to the tent camp that about 700 soldiers had just started to turn into a makeshift home. Boxes had become tables and sheets hanging down from top bunks became thin walls.
The squadron's quick reaction force drove out to the scene. The sound of mortars rocked the base. They were also the squadron's first artillery rounds.
People rushed out of tents in shorts and T-shirts.
"Was that outgoing?" came the question again and again. "Yes, it was outgoing."
The sun set and soldiers gathered in groups to smoke. People knew by now, but not everyone knew the details. Only those in the Bear Troop tent -- it was one of their platoons that had hit the bomb -- had solid information. They hadn't been able to get in touch with the platoon for the first part of the afternoon, because mountains blocked their radio transmissions. The first thing that came over the radio clearly was the call for the medivac. Since then, hardly anyone had left the tent. A couple guys were dispatched to the chow hall to get them food.
An armed guard took up position outside the squadron's command post. Captains and majors walked in and out quickly. Some broke into a trot. No one went in or out without permission.
All around the tents, soldiers traded information about what they were "tracking."
"I heard two double amputees."
"Yeah, that's what I'm tracking too." Contradictory details would get traded around for most of the night. At one point the journalists were fine but the soldiers lost both their legs. Then there were rumors of a Taliban ambush that had laid in wait and fired on the soldiers as they came out to help their comrades.
Outside the Bear Troop tent, one soldier leaned against a concrete barrier as he took deep drag off his cigarette and said he was glad Sgt. Hanson was the one out there when it happened. Hanson could handle himself. He would definitely get the guys to safety quickly.
Another soldier said he'd just been thinking earlier in the day that they were probably not going to go much longer "without contact."
The last bombing in this area happened nine months ago. This was supposed to be a stable corner of Afghanistan. But this region previously only had a few dozen Canadian soldiers, who mainly stayed on base. The Americans arrived and started running five convoys a day. They knew they'd get noticed eventually.
Inside the Bear Troop tent, men drank coffee and talked logistics. The quick reaction force had made it out to the blast site and were sending reports back. The chaplain hung out, ready to talk if anyone needed him. Capt. Denis Lortie said they weren't sure if it was a homemade bomb planted by insurgents or a mine, which could have been planted years ago. After decades of conflict, Afghanistan is the most heavily mined country in the world.
The blast had occurred at 5:30 p.m. At 11 p.m. the rest of the convoy -- three Strykers -- were still in the same spot, waiting for Army engineers and an explosive ordinance team to examine the site. It took hours for the quick reaction force to dig the damaged Stryker out of the ditch created by the blast. No one made it back to base until about 7 a.m. the next day.
The convoy had been out looking for Afghan border police stations and polling sites on the outskirts of the city Spin Boldak, just as in previous days. The first couple days they had gone out escorted by Afghan border police, but then the police stopped showing up, so they'd been going out on their own. The soldiers spent the time outside the wire chatting with village elders and asking about the Taliban threat in the area. It had all seemed so innocuous.
"We knew we didn't come here to spend a year waving at kids and shaking hands," Lortie said as he waited for the platoon to return.
"We'll f*&# those Taliban up," another soldier said.
"The worst part about it is, I have to send those guys right back out there tomorrow," Lortie said. The Army fights battle stress by not letting soldiers dwell on it, not giving them time to "clam up."
It had been a full moon a week ago when the squadron arrived. But on the sixth night, the sky was dark. The moon was either hidden by clouds or behind the mountains that mark the border with Pakistan. The base was illuminated by flashlights, by the glowing interiors of tents, and by cigarettes.
Everyone smoked a few more cigarettes than usual, even though there was no place yet on base to buy more.
