I started writing a book a couple of years ago when I first got out of the Army, after serving 15 years, active duty. This is the story of my last combat deployment to Afghanistan in 2011-12, and the resulting aftermath when I put the uniform down, and reentered civilian life. I will be posting a section of the writing every day, so please follow me, or follow the link to find the rest of the series. (Part 1)(Part 2)(Part 3)

The War Within Me (Part 4)

On that faithful morning in the early part of March started like any other. I had made a routine of waking up early to catch my wife for a Facebook chat. I began an extreme exercise regime that involved running every morning on a treadmill for a minimum of three miles and lifting weights in the afternoon. This was mostly done to keep me sane as the monotony of living in a small area, day-in and day-out is not something that the human mind can take without some sort of release.

Exercise fit that bill for me and I encouraged my men to follow suit, which most did. I jokingly called our deployment “not-so celebrity fit camp” with my guys. I remember I had just gotten done with running and I was still in my physical training uniform. This is a pair of black trunks and a grey shirt with the Army logo on them. That is when the first round landed. It hit right outside of the compound and it was really, really close. Skinny was outside utilizing the piss tubes when the first round landed.

Piss tubes are actually pretty disgusting to normal society, but when you have no running water, they make sense if they are cordoned off from everything else. It is an eight inch diameter PVC pipe buried into the ground at an angle so that fluid that goes in ends up traveling a few feet underground until it hits a layer of gravel. The smell is terrible. Reminiscent of a cross between spoiled seafood, and ammonia. Not to mention the random hairs hanging off the open end of the pipe. This always dumbfounded me as in my head it would take someone making contact with their junk with the pipe to allow for these to end up there.

He ran quickly into our command post, and said, “Smoke, is there something going on outside the walls?” I immediately called up over the handheld to inquire and was immediately hit with a scream to "TAKE COVER"! This was not our first rodeo. Skinny, H-Town, and me somehow ended up in a bunker together near our doghouse. We were separated from the rest of the platoon. It was actually the back door to the doghouse that had a concrete bunker attached.

We began to take head count over the radio. I remember one of our soldiers was unaccounted for and I was running from bunker to bunker trying to track him down. This was of course while we were being attacked. You kind of roll the dice in combat, playing the odds. I would wait till a round would hit, then I would scramble to another bunker, sprinting in between as fast as I could. After we got the correct count, which took entirely too long due to the missing troop who was found in the latrines, we waited.

I estimate, in real time, it took around 5 minutes to get this count. In combat, five minutes is an eternity. I remember all three of us were looking at each other and all the sudden a huge explosion detonated right next to where we were located. The thing about mortar rounds is that there is a distance associated with your ability to gauge the distance of the impact. When a mortar hits within, I would say 50 or-so meters, the sound is the same as if it landed right next to you; very violent explosions. Think of the biggest firework you ever lit off, and times that sound by ten.

The sound was enough to scare the shit out of all of us. It sounded as if it hit where our guns were located. We looked out and saw the smoke plume, and I called over the radio to find out where that round hit. We stored our ammunition in the same general area, and ammunition that catches fire would have devastated the entire COP. So that was our biggest concern. They looked over the raid camera that was setup in the middle of the COP on top of a 150 foot tower.

My Fire Direction Section Chief was merely a Corporal in the Army. He knew his stuff, don’t get me wrong, but he was still young. I saw potential in him and the Staff Sergeant that was assigned me when we did the re-manning was unable to certify. That is the key position within the Field Artillery world.

The components of the Field Artillery Platoon are the Platoon Sergeant and Platoon Leader, who run the Platoon. The Fire Direction Center, where the math is computed to deliver a firing solution, and the howitzer sections, or gun sections, who use sighting devices to deliver fires across the landscape. Anywhere along the chain, a mistake can be made which will ultimately result in inaccurate fire, and possibly fratricide or homicide for that matter given the restrictive rules of engagement.

As I have told my soldiers in the past, “the great wars could not be won today due to the sympathy the public has over what needs to be done to win”. “Smoke, the round landed near the gun pit. We are scanning to see if it did any damage, stand by”. That is what I heard come over the radio as all three of us scattered and parted ways. I guess we didn’t talk it over because I went one way, and they went another.

I ended up at one of the perimeter bunkers near our command post. It was full of Afghanis that worked on the COP and a few of the ODA guys. One of the Sergeant First Classes wanted to shoot the shit with me, but I was preoccupied with the round landing near one of our guns. I sat their staring at him as he began to tell me some insignificant story, all the while I was working over our next actions in case the round had hit one of our ammunition bunkers.

When a mortar round hits the ground and detonates, it causes a spray of molten hot metal that is comprised of the body of the round. This fragmentation is referred to as shrapnel. H-town had a southern drawl and referred to this as “shrap metal” which isn’t a word and I corrected him the first time I heard it. I have OCD, and I know this. One of my biggest peeves is when enlisted leaders embarrass themselves with their talk or writing. In doing so, it gives the Officer Corps another reason to think we are all incompetent, and stupid.

This, I know, makes me that asshole who corrects folks when they write a posting on social networking sites as well, but it is who I am, and people either accept it, or take it! I am stuck in my ways, but I am cognizant of this as well and try to stop myself from blurting out phrases like, “Hey dumb fuck, it is pronounced this way”. I am abrasive at times but my guys still followed me because I know my shit. I gave him shit, and we drove on. It wasn’t until later that I realized that correcting him had hurt his feelings! Well, feelings will be hurt, but I guarantee he will pronounce it correctly for the rest of his life.

That is the way in which we are taught in the Army. Public embarrassment is the ultimate way to correct behavior. It is the norm in the Army for leaders to make soldiers do push-ups when they make a mistake. I had evolved my leadership at this point, and opted to write down deficiencies in-lieu of making them do push-ups. My brand of corrective action was to make a guy write an essay on why they messed up. This was not always quality writing that I would receive, but nonetheless, the time associated with them having to tell me where, and why they messed up, and what they were going to do in the future to correct this action was quite effective at fixing behavioral problems.

So, the call comes down. Captain Cross-fit happened to be at our location. He bounced around from COP to COP for the duration of the tour. Fortress was his home though. He stayed there most often, mainly due to the inexperience of our Fire Direction Corporal. You see, the commander was a stickler for efficiency, and he knew his shit! The young Corporal, I shall call him “Burrito Locos” as that name fits him well, was eager, but lacked the experience to troubleshoot what all could happen.

He developed into a fine leader during our time, and he is still serving out of Fort Carson from what I am tracking. I, on the other hand, was ill-equipped to train the Corporal on his job. I had a cannon background, and in the Army, the Platoon Sergeant is not trained to assume the duties in the Fire Direction Center. I wish I had that background, but my focus was on training my young Sergeants to assume my duties.

I deployed without a key leadership position which is that of the Gunnery Sergeant. This role in the Field Artillery was a key duty position, and was reserved for another Sergeant First Class. We had no other Sergeant First Class’s, so I volunteered to go it alone. This means, my whole tour, I wore two hats. So, if I were to have been hit, the functionality of my Platoon would have hit a stand-still. My main focus was to train these young guys to assume my duties during the beginning. We had nothing but time, what better use of free time than to learn your job and the job of those above you?

“Bravo-two-seven, this is Bravo six, over”, that is the call I received approximately 10 minutes after the round landed near our guns. I replied, “Bravo six, this is Bravo Two-Seven, over”. “Bravo Two-Seven, this is Bravo Six, I need for gun number four to switch to azimuth 4800”! Now I mind you, we were in the middle of being attacked, and our radar on the COP was not working. I knew our Rules of Engagement, because we had been in country for a while by this time; a little over four months. So, to me, this represented unnecessary danger for my guys to face which could have ended badly, so I replied back, “Bravo Six, this is Bravo Two-Seven, do we have actual eyes on the enemy, or are we doing this just because”?

Ok, in the Army, you do not question your commanding officer. This is highly frowned upon, but this was combat, and anytime I was going to place my guys in harms’ way, I wanted a purpose. To me, unnecessary danger gets people hurt. So me questioning it, was only an attempt to save my guys from getting hurt. This went over like a “fart in church”, as the next message was, “GET YOUR GUYS DOWN THERE AND SWITCH AZIMUTHS NOW”.

All protocol was out the window. So I ran over to where my troops were, and told H-Town to ready his guys. I saw that half of my guys were lacking their protective gear as we were attacked off guard; such is the case with most attacks. So, I told him to make sure he got all his guys into body armor, and on my command, we would all run out there to put the gun onto the right azimuth. My intentions were to wait until the next round hit. Captain Cross-fit was not having that idea, and began asking what the status was within minutes of giving his order. I could hear the anger in his voice. So the need to get this done as quickly as possible was obviously the flavor of the day.

I tried in vain to contact H-town a couple of minutes later, but I got no answer on our handhelds. He had went with his guys to their barracks hut to get everyone their protective gear on. So, I began to look for them, because my intention was for them to follow my order to wait till the next round versus CPT Crossfits. I know this is wrong in more ways, but I really was not sure what he was thinking. I had been left alone to lead my guys from the get go.

My Platoon Leader was not around due to him being tasked out to train the Afghanis on their weapons system on another COP. He had been gone for a couple of week at this point, so that left me alone, in charge of the whole show. So when he came around, he would take charge as should be expected, but his reasoning was off on this one. I knew for a fact, that without positive identification, there was absolutely no chance of getting a fire mission approved by the Battalion we were attached to. He did not know this was the case at our COP.

Every Commander on the Ground or COG has a level of latitude. Since he was not running the security for the COP, he had to talk the Infantry Commander into approving the fires. I know his reasoning as anytime we would just shoot a round into the side of the mountain where we could see the round impact, would be enough for the enemy to retreat. They feared us like no other.

Helicopter air support and we were terrifying to our enemy. By the time I tracked them down, while carrying my big frame with 40 pounds of armor, I was too late. H-Town had lost his handheld in the confusion, and decided to take the last command he was given, which is the one he heard Captain Cross-fit give over the radio. So they were out there exposed, and it had been 15 minutes since the last round impacted. I hustled out there and we worked quickly to turn the gun on the correct azimuth. Talk about working fast! We hustled to the bunkers and waited.

Continue To Part 5...

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