Bagram

Bagram is what happens when a trailer park collides with a prison at 65 miles an hour. Shipping containers and prefab buildings wrapped in barbed wire and precast concrete barriers create a maze navigated by Humvees, supply trucks, and odd international cars—Ford Everest anyone? Because we don’t like this country, the Army paid KBR, Bechtel, and Halliburton only enough to make elaborate tent cities and corrugated aluminum buildings.

Situated north of the capital city of Kabul, Bagram is the massive center of the OEF universe. I arrived on a C-17 Globemaster on a cold evening as the rain turned to snow. I didn’t expect to be pleased to land in Afghanistan (now with more Taliban!), but 2 hours in the cheapest airline seat imaginable with 50lbs of gear pinning my arms to my sides and a Kevlar helmet on my head meant I would have been happy to land on Mars.

I live in a tent—much like an outdoor party tent with a concrete floor and anemic heating and 100 new friends on cots. Because we’re all pre-staging to head out to other FOBs throughout the country, the Air Force decided that we could live like refugees in camp that befits the fine people of Sudan. I wouldn’t be surprised if goats showed up tonight. We’re also relegated to a remote corner of the post inaccessible on foot and surrounded by Soviet-era minefields. Thanks, Fly Boys!

Today we had in-theatre training covering subjects like IEDs (watch out!), malaria (it sucks!) and sexual assault (don’t do it!). The sexual assault briefing was taught by a tough-as-nails senior NCO who wrapped up his briefing by asking in a booming voice like the Sgt Major from We Were Soldiers “How many of you have heard of TEA-BAGGING?” Apparently, it is a type of sexual assault! I, for one, am outraged, and want to see every college-age male locked away for this heinous crime.

Also, don’t drink the water. Perhaps it’s because the pious Afghans believe that water purification technology shouldn’t progress past the time of Mohammed, but water isn’t safe. Accordingly, pallets of bottled water (brand: Cristal) are left on every street corner. There are also massive coolers in each dining hall where helpful locals cook the food and clean up the tables. There is astounding variety—considering the location—and today I had fresh lettuce, steak, and 3 different kinds of olives. It’s not home cooking, but it boosted my morale.

With luck, tomorrow we’ll leave UNICEF village soon and push out to the FOB. Opefully at some point, we’ll be issued bullets, as right now I can defend myself only with my razor sharp wit.

Finally, the main drag here is called “Disney Drive.” I’ve had enough of this mickey mouse horseshit, and I’m ready to go.

Frozen Coke

Is not as delicious as it sounds.

Living in Alaska in the winter changes how you think about heat. Commuting in the morning is less about bringing the car to a comfortable temperature, and more about hoping that soon my fingers will stop sticking to the steering wheel. At some point, I'd like the liquid crystal display in the radio to unfreeze enough to show something other than "VOL 00" too.

The unforgiving winter means that I carry a supply of MREs (now frozen), blankets, a flashlight, and a recovery strap for pulling ditch divers and culvert inspectors back onto the tarmac. I tried carrying a supply of water too, but quickly realized that driving around with an ice cube in the trunk was a ridiculous exercise.

It also means that the coke I left in the cup holder yesterday was rock solid and two hours on my desk unfroze only a little of the syrup. The slushy mess that ended up on my shirt tasted of molasses and was sour tart like rotten orange juice. The cold ruins more than my beverage. Contact frostbite is serious and comical. Going to the range? Shooting with your nose against the charging handle? Piece of your nose stuck to it? These are complaints that those outside of Alaska (and maybe Korea) don't worry about. That and moose. Moose are retarded and massive and aggressive.

We leave on Monday. I'll miss this place.

Going to War

We've been at this since September 12th, 2001. I'm GI Mark. I'm an Army Lieutenant stationed at Fort Richardson Alaska (North to the Future!) where we feature bears, big trucks, and and problems with DUI. I work as a Fire Support Officer, coordinating lethal fires between the guys on the ground and the guns in the rear. In my off time I eat fish, drink beer, and go to the gym. I have a TV that could be at home in a cinema, but I mostly watch the Food Network, West Wing, and NetFlix. I think "Steel Rain" is the greatest slogan ever.

I work 12-14 hour days minimum because in less than 3 weeks, we're leaving the frigid north for eastern Afghanistan.

We've been at this since September 12, 2001, but now it's my turn to drop shells on the terrorists, shit in a box, bathe less, and everything else that comes with a good counterinsurgency. The rhetorical flourish and groundbreaking citizen-journalism of the first wave of Americans to hit the ground is done.

I'm the 4th phase, the guys who mop up the jerks who are left because they didn't get the message that freedom rocks and America never gives up. We're the Counterinsurgency Janitors, and America has kinda lost interest in us. This mop up role means that we're going into a real fight against real enemies, but it's not an ordinary fight. Most of the unit has already deployed before in the War on Terror. We've been training for years.

I'm not just leaving my stuff behind. My family and friends are already distant because we're 4 hours and 4000 miles apart. My girlfriend is halfway around the world on her own deployment to Kuwait, where she has all the boredom, tedium, and distance of a deployment with none of the excitement. I'll get to see her next in September.

And yet, I love my job.