#SOLDIERPORN

operationzeus:

For anyone who has expended a chunk of their lives in a combat zone, especially those who spent a majority of the time at a COP, patrol base, or even a JSS, a part of you gets left behind within the walls.  When we first got to what would later become JSS Comanche, there was a river of sewage blocking the front door to the building to welcome us in to our new living space.  The only way to step over it was with the ramp from the armored vehicles that transported us while ours were en route from Kuwait. It was an empty shell of a building as life within was minimal and the small platoon that did exist was constantly flowing in and out. 

Patrol Base Texas, and the Iraqi Army Station

©Andrew W. Nunn  ”A dust storm rolls over Sadr City, Iraq, as seen from the northwest corner of Patrol Base Texas.”

JSS Sadr City

JSS Comanche

 We slept on the floor for the first few weeks but to tell the truth, I didn’t expect much when it came to sleeping arrangements.  Everything was cluttered; tables and chairs from everywhere was consolidated into rooms we needed, the rooms themselves were small and had build in shelving that needed to be knocked out and carried down. Hell, the windows still needed to be bricked up and towers and walls needed to be added to the motor pool area and around the building itself as we were extremely exposed.  

When you put so much time and energy into a project like that, it doesn’t just become yours, it becomes you. In the end, the place had every amenity that could have been asked for: Beds, showers, two gyms, a kitchen (with cooks) and even an Internet center. Everyone’s collective living spaces all packed into one.  It wasn’t much, but it was home.  The evidence of which lay in the solemn faces of everyone as we were leaving and getting ready to head back to Germany.  It was the most awkward feeling of loss that one can have, when you think about it.  I mean, we were going home home, back to our families and to a place that doesn’t stink like cow shit and ball sweat; yet, the time and energy left behind in that place was now falling behind us, forever. 

©Andrew W. Nunn

 

Sometimes, on hot summer days, I wonder what it looks like now.  Occasionally I check Google Maps to see whether the civilians have taken it back and remodeled it back to the way it was before we came.  When I think about all the other people who spent time in theatre, I wonder what type of a gap was left when they left their temporary homes.  

 

Words - Nathan D. Moldenhauer
Photos - Andrew W. Nunn/Google Maps

third-round-charm:

loaded-for-bear:

semperannoying:

I just realized that.

Yep. And you’ll be forced to make split second decisions that you will have to live with for the next 60+ years. 

Remember that the next time politicians decide to send us to war. 

On my first deployment, I was the youngest person in my platoon and the second youngest in my company. 

When we were mobilizing, one of the soldiers had to get a waiver because he was only seventeen. He had to have some special paper to show that he would be 18 by the time we were within a combat zone.

[Official DOD media release 30 NOV 2012. Source.]            

The Department of Defense today identified three major units to deploy as part of the upcoming rotation of forces operating in Afghanistan.  The scheduled rotation involves two infantry brigade combat teams – one with roughly 1,400 personnel, the other with roughly 2,800 personnel – and one division headquarters with roughly 620 personnel to rotate in winter 2012 and spring 2013. The deploying units include:  

            Brigade Combat Teams: 

            1st Brigade Combat Team, 10th Mountain Division, Fort Drum, N.Y. 

            4th Brigade Combat Team, 101st Airborne Division (Air Assault), Fort Campbell, Ky. 

            Division Headquarters:

            101st Airborne Division (Air Assault), Fort Campbell, Ky.

lovesdayoff:

If you were to attend a reunion with my old platoon you would hear all kinds of stories. Stories that range from sad, inspiring, funny, awkwardly terrible, and so terrible that they are awkward. When I’m brought up you’ll hear things like:

“Doc, remember when that kid fell apart?”

“Doc, do you remember when you tried to bag that referee”

“Remember when we saw Doc walking around with a human spine in his hand?”

The one about the spine is one of those stories that I don’t talk about unless someone from security platoon brings it up. It’s one of those things that must be kept in context. The context being that we were again escorting EOD on a blast analysis mission to gather evidence to be exploited and used to figure out who made the VBIED and who was part of the bomb making network. The area south of Khowst City is a pretty vast and flat expanse with several different types of land. After the terraced farmland you’ll find a series of muddy wadi’s which often flood when it rains north and west of Khowst.

Across one particular Wadi was a small Afghan Army outpost. On our many trips out toward the Narizah district they would often stop and warn us of any traps set out along our route. These ranged from IED’s to 107mm rockets set in the tall grass and aimed into the road. Every time they were correct and we always thanked them by bringing them snacks and fuel.

The Haqqani didn’t really like this set up and one day rammed a truck packed with explosives into the side of the outpost which was very close to the road. We were to take EOD and collect things like shrapnel, any leftover materials, and the fingerprints of the driver. When we dismounted we saw that the blast, though very big, didn’t do too much damage to the outpost but it did kill one Afghani Soldier and a dog.

There wasn’t much left of the truck besides the rear axle. I didn’t plan on doing much until I was called up by my platoon Sergeant. He told me that they couldn’t find the body, and if they did they had no idea what exactly to do. I also had no idea what to do but I figured that I might as well do my best to play CSI.

Directly across the street they had already found a surprisingly intact right foot. That seemed the best place to start. We began with a sweep to the south along the road. Because of the effect of the HME the blast acted as a catapault for everything that hit the wall. we found little chunks of meat but not much else. We continued back toward the northwest using the wadi as a limit of advance. I found a knee cap, and a bloody femur. When we got to the wadi we were pretty far from the road and it seemed impossible that the driver had been blasted any further than a few hundred meters. We even joked that he may have survived and dragged himself away.

On a long shot me and Ryan walked back to the road and tried walking into the large wadi. it was pretty muddy from the floods that had happened days before. On our right, the north, there was a small village there. The children often came to play soccer and talk to with us and would later on that year when one tried to covert me to Islam (but that’s another story).

We continued to walk along a stream. To our left was the (I’d say about) 40 ft. wall of the wadi on which the rest of the platoon watched our progress. We had walked pretty far when Ryan stopped me and said “Doc, is that what I think it is?”

I couldn’t believe my eyes, it was the thoracic and lumbar sections of a human spine with stubs of the ribs as well as muscle and fat still attached. Ryan bent over to pick it up and hand it to me. I looked closely at it as this was the only time in my life that I would ever get the chance to look at a cross section of a spinal cord. We figured that if we walked further we might eventually find a hand and get a fingerprint for biometrics. Continuing on we noticed that the streams of water were getting a darker color of red.

We were both pretty shocked when we finally found the rest of the driver. It was nothing of what we expected. What remained of the driver reminded me of a half-filled black garbage bag. We approached the body assuming the head had been lost in the blast. I realized that, because he lost his spine, his torso was extremely flexibly. His shoulders were twisted around what used to be his chest. His head was completely under him. I can’t find the exact words to describe the scene… I can only tell you to imagine taking a pillow out of the pillow case using the crumpled pillowcase to illustrate the driver.

I had to kind of unfold the body to find the hand that was left. It was barely hanging on and the finger tips were badly scorched. We still tried to get a finger print by using coloring his finger prints with one of my sharpie markers and pressing it to a piece of paper. At one point our LT even suggested cutting his hand off. All I had available to me was my trauma shears and I wasn’t sure if that would be ethically feasible. We decided to just count this one as a loss and got ready to make a return trip back toward Mutun.

The locals in the adjacent village waved us goodbye and Afghan soldiers told us what they planned to do with the body of the driver. They planned on guarding the remains all night and detaining and questioning anyone who came to retrieve them. This would deny the VBIED driver a proper Muslim burial. They wanted to leave him an example. They wanted him to rot.

Yet again I had to burn another set of gloves, an ACU top, and scrub the pouches on my vest. I still have my boots though. It seemed everything significant that happened in my almost 6 year Active duty Army career happened while I was wearing them. I will keep them until I die even if I never wear them again. 

(via lovesdayoff-deactivated20130310)