bobdina
10-06-2009, 12:04 PM
Patrolling for the enemy
Bruce Ward, The Ottawa Citizen: Tuesday, October 6, 2009 9:30 AM
I'm on a night patrol with the U.S. Army's 97th Military Police Battalion, walking through a section of the city that looks like it hasn't changed much since Moses was around. It's hot and tiring work, and the truth is I get nervous in the service. Not that I'm worried so much about an ambush.
The squad I'm walking with is "bad ass,"' says Pfc. Joel Shannon, 23, who hasn't had a day off in two months. "We're the best squad so we get sent out every day." In U.S. Army parlance, "bad ass" means outstanding, excellent, great. Its polar opposite is "dumb ass." That's what concerns me more than getting shot at. I don't want to fall into that category. I don't want to fall, period. I'm wearing about 35-40 pounds of body armour -- that's about half the weight the soldiers carry -- and if I keel over I might not be able to get up again.
http://www.globalmaritimes.com/news/todays-paper/Somnia/2070196/story.html
I would hate for the lieutenant to have to carry me back to the MRAP we came in. That stands for Mine Resistant, Ambush Protected vehicle. The MRAP sits on an International Harvester dump truck platform with reinforced belly plates and it has an ultra-sophisticated weapons system. Shannon, a gunner, uses a joystick and a computer screen to do his job. Short of a direct hit by an atomic bomb, the MRAP will keep on rolling.
I see several Afghans clustered around the village well, filling pails of water. I'm tempted to yell out, "Hey fellas, does Moses of biblical fame live around here?" I get giddy when I'm exhausted. We've been out for an hour or so and I heard the lieutenant say this could last until midnight or 1 a.m. I know one thing for sure, I won't last until midnight or 1 a.m.
The houses are made of mud and completely dark, even though it's only about 9 p.m. The patrol's mission is to check out several mosques said to be harbouring Taliban leaders. The MPs are mentoring a truckload of Afghan National Police, who are at the head of the column "taking ownership" of the mission, as it's called.
Up ahead, I can see about 30 Afghans squatting on their haunches. They have been pulled out of their mosque after prayers. I can't read anything on their faces, but I can imagine what it must feel like to be taken from a church at gunpoint. The ANP decides there are no insurgents among them. The squad sergeant thanks them for their co-operation, and we move on.
Somewhere along the way, I've lost the "ballistic eyewear" I've been issued, which protects against bits of flying rock and dirt caused by an explosion. "Never mind, Buttercup," I tell myself, "You've still got your reading glasses and eventually you can sort out the notes you've been taking in the dark." About 20 minutes later, I discover my reading glasses are gone, too. No idea what happened to my lunettes.
Don't know if you've ever come across a torture device called a "camel pack." It's basically a vest with a bladder and a hose. The bladder holds a quart or two of water, which you draw through the hose, by biting down to open its rubber lips, then inhaling. It's sort of like siphoning gas, and the water tastes about the same. I'm so dry I'll drink anything . But when I reach around for the camel pack, guess what? It's gone.
I've figured out that this is mostly "a presence patrol" -- a show of force to impress the locals. But after 30 years of war, the Afghans here don't seem especially awestruck. Later, the soldiers tell me they've been on dozens of these patrols but have yet to make contact with the enemy.
A while back, I looked over the wall of a compound and saw a man asleep outside on what looked like a carpet placed on the bare ground. I wished we could trade places, I'm that tired. The mission winds up after about two hours. I got through it OK, minus some G.I. gear.
You know how sometimes you dread something and it turns out not to be so bad after all? This wasn't one of those times.
Bruce Ward, The Ottawa Citizen: Tuesday, October 6, 2009 9:30 AM
I'm on a night patrol with the U.S. Army's 97th Military Police Battalion, walking through a section of the city that looks like it hasn't changed much since Moses was around. It's hot and tiring work, and the truth is I get nervous in the service. Not that I'm worried so much about an ambush.
The squad I'm walking with is "bad ass,"' says Pfc. Joel Shannon, 23, who hasn't had a day off in two months. "We're the best squad so we get sent out every day." In U.S. Army parlance, "bad ass" means outstanding, excellent, great. Its polar opposite is "dumb ass." That's what concerns me more than getting shot at. I don't want to fall into that category. I don't want to fall, period. I'm wearing about 35-40 pounds of body armour -- that's about half the weight the soldiers carry -- and if I keel over I might not be able to get up again.
http://www.globalmaritimes.com/news/todays-paper/Somnia/2070196/story.html
I would hate for the lieutenant to have to carry me back to the MRAP we came in. That stands for Mine Resistant, Ambush Protected vehicle. The MRAP sits on an International Harvester dump truck platform with reinforced belly plates and it has an ultra-sophisticated weapons system. Shannon, a gunner, uses a joystick and a computer screen to do his job. Short of a direct hit by an atomic bomb, the MRAP will keep on rolling.
I see several Afghans clustered around the village well, filling pails of water. I'm tempted to yell out, "Hey fellas, does Moses of biblical fame live around here?" I get giddy when I'm exhausted. We've been out for an hour or so and I heard the lieutenant say this could last until midnight or 1 a.m. I know one thing for sure, I won't last until midnight or 1 a.m.
The houses are made of mud and completely dark, even though it's only about 9 p.m. The patrol's mission is to check out several mosques said to be harbouring Taliban leaders. The MPs are mentoring a truckload of Afghan National Police, who are at the head of the column "taking ownership" of the mission, as it's called.
Up ahead, I can see about 30 Afghans squatting on their haunches. They have been pulled out of their mosque after prayers. I can't read anything on their faces, but I can imagine what it must feel like to be taken from a church at gunpoint. The ANP decides there are no insurgents among them. The squad sergeant thanks them for their co-operation, and we move on.
Somewhere along the way, I've lost the "ballistic eyewear" I've been issued, which protects against bits of flying rock and dirt caused by an explosion. "Never mind, Buttercup," I tell myself, "You've still got your reading glasses and eventually you can sort out the notes you've been taking in the dark." About 20 minutes later, I discover my reading glasses are gone, too. No idea what happened to my lunettes.
Don't know if you've ever come across a torture device called a "camel pack." It's basically a vest with a bladder and a hose. The bladder holds a quart or two of water, which you draw through the hose, by biting down to open its rubber lips, then inhaling. It's sort of like siphoning gas, and the water tastes about the same. I'm so dry I'll drink anything . But when I reach around for the camel pack, guess what? It's gone.
I've figured out that this is mostly "a presence patrol" -- a show of force to impress the locals. But after 30 years of war, the Afghans here don't seem especially awestruck. Later, the soldiers tell me they've been on dozens of these patrols but have yet to make contact with the enemy.
A while back, I looked over the wall of a compound and saw a man asleep outside on what looked like a carpet placed on the bare ground. I wished we could trade places, I'm that tired. The mission winds up after about two hours. I got through it OK, minus some G.I. gear.
You know how sometimes you dread something and it turns out not to be so bad after all? This wasn't one of those times.