Share Each deployment is a marathon, and this is my third in five years.  I recognize the cycle.  We were even briefed on it.  Each deployment has its phases, and there is a phase of irritability, restlessness and discontent.  That has been the past month or so.  It makes it hard to write, because although there are stories of missions to tell, it’s hard to tell them in a voice that does not drip of that same restlessness and discontent.  Especially when changes to our force protection posture means that we can get even less done.   I can’t talk specifics about that at this time because of OPSEC (Operational Security), but our capabilities have changed, and not to make our work easier. One thing I noticed during our abysmal train-up at Camp Shelby was that a briefing had been added that described these phases.  I recognized them, and the

Share This is Jon Stiles‘ fourth Memorial Day.   I’ve already told how I feel about Jon’s passing… being taken from us on November 13, 2008.   Many of us know someone who has offered their all and have paid that price in the name of our Republic and what it stands for.   Jon is, to me, the embodiment of that level of sacrifice.   Many use Memorial Day to honor all those who serve and served, but it is not my day, nor is it likely to be.  Even when I shuffle off this mortal coil, this will not be my day.  I survived.  Jon wagered his life in the service of our country, and his price was accepted, taken, the accounts adjusted to add one more to the roll of those to whom this day belongs.  His life and all the days he may have lived otherwise

Share This blog is about the experience, and part of the experience is feeling it.  I can relate to readers the way that it feels to be cold, I can relate to readers how it feels to crunch across gravel on the camp.  I can try to relate how it feels to sit and converse with my Afghan counterpart.  I can try to relate how it feels to ride in an MRAP through the streets of Mazar-e Sharif, the feeling of earphones and body armor, viewing the normal world of Afghans through armored slats and thick glass as we do our little part to influence their Border Police to make their lives better, safer and more stable so that we can have that at home, too. How does one convey the feeling of being seven thousand miles from home while two countries go mad?   I swear, it feels as

Share Most probably know this, but Friday in Afghanistan is like Sunday in the United States.   It’s the day when shops and businesses are closed, when many people go to the Mosque to worship.   We on the team use Fridays for getting caught up on planning, administrative details, logistical issues and so on.  It’s a light day, but we usually schedule some sort of training for sometime in the day.   This week was unusually light because of an Afghan holiday celebrating the day in 1989 that the last Soviet troops left Afghanistan. The Soviets had 100,000 troops in Afghanistan and 15,000 Soviet troops lost their lives. I have stood on ground walked upon by Soviets before me.  Not by Brezhnev or Gorbachev, but by soldiers who were doing their jobs.  I have seen sites where some of them suffered the worst days of their lives.  I have seen