The author wrote this book to give us "some sort of an insight into the mindset that war tends to put you into. It's an interesting place, and I really wanted y'all to get an understanding, or at least familiarization with it . . . " He succeeds admirably! All the footage we've seen, the movies, the shows, none of them prepare us for the reality of day-to-day life of an infantryman fighting for us in Afghanistan. He went as an idealist, fighting for his country and his dream of freedom. He begged to stay at the end of his deployment. And though he came home with no physical scars, he is forever changed, his health compromised, but his dream intact. His story is compelling, and leaves one grateful beyond measure for the sacrifices made for us on a daily basis by all of the people in our armed forces.

THE DAB

By Elisha Burge

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2012 Elisha Burge
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4772-9437-6

Contents

About the author.........................................ixPrologue.................................................xiLife in and through a Soldier's eyes.....................xiiiChapter 1................................................1Chapter 2................................................9Chapter 3................................................31Chapter 4................................................53Chapter 5................................................67Chapter 6................................................73Glossary.................................................83

Chapter One

Death smiles at us all, All one can do is smile back. Marcos Aralias

The plane took off from Fort Campbell, KY, home of the 101st Airborne Division. I was now as of thirty seconds and about 200 ft. a deployed soldier. I had graduated from boot camp at Ft. Benning exactly thirty-six days prior. I had been at my current unit about three weeks, and I was deploying. I was nervous, excited, not sure what to expect, and I distinctly remember not even being able to believe that I was going to be in Afghanistan. I mean, don't get me wrong, it's what I wanted. I signed a three year enlistment as an 11B (infantry) with the sole intent of seeing combat.

But now all the boyish dreams, and the arrogant talking had to be put aside. I was actually going to be doing it. I hardly knew anyone in my entire company. At reception for Ft. Campbell I was sent to 2nd brigade, and from there sent to 1-320th FAR ... yep, hey I blamed Odin, the god of war. I had NO IDEA why I, a brand new infantry grunt was sent to a field artillery battalion ... but I was. Once I'd gotten there I was told that 1-320th had been given an infantry assignment so they were given a squad of infantryman because, you know, we're pretty much special forces and we alone could save them (yea not really). But there we were, none-the-less. We had been sent to Alpha Battery (a battery is a company in field artillery, FYI. Also, yes I do plan on doing a lot of these in parenthesis remarks). We'd been hopped from platoon to platoon, all of them realizing that whoever ends up with us will take the bulk of the tough missions over the course of the next year. We ended up in 3rd Platoon; we made up 3rd quad. I was placed in Bravo team. Our structure went like this: squad leader—SSGT Chavez, Alpha Team leader—SGT Strickland, the guys in his team were Wenger and Cheely; Bravo Team leader—SGT jones, in his team were SPC Giradello (from here on called "G"), Schirmer, and myself. That was our squad, as it stood then. There were two other men who were supposed to deploy later with us, Jackson-White, and Myers. But Jackson-White had been deployed and had actually just gotten back that March so was locked out of the deployment because of "dwell time" (there's a certain amount of time that you have to be home, if you've been deployed longer than a certain amount of time. It's the army's way of trying to keep soldiers somewhat sane). And Myers because during PT right before I got to the unit they have played basketball and someone had fallen on him and broken his leg in two places. He was still going through surgeries for it.

I did my best to fall asleep, and forget that I wouldn't see my family, or my girlfriend at the time until February of the next year, almost eight months! I was taken back by that, I couldn't believe that I would actually be gone for that long. As a small town man it was hard to believe. But there it was and there was nothing I could do about that. My mind was full of thoughts about how it would be, what I would see, if I would live, normal things that soldiers think about as they deploy. I was in the process of totally separating myself from my legs, because the guys from the 82nd, who we were to relieve, had taken quite a few casualties from IED's, and things like that. And I figured that being a new soldier and all, I was screwed. I was definitely losing at least one leg, so I might as well get used to the Idea. I finally drifted off to sleep. I was then awoken and told that we were in Romania. My first thought was, "ok ... why?" The plane was refueling and it would take about two hours so they were letting us off the plane to smoke and stretch our legs. So I walked off the plane, went through security, and found a smoke booth. For two years I'd smoked cigars (sorry, Ma, I know you didn't know, my first cigar was the day before Josh's wedding. Hey, at least it was over something important, right?), but the day I deployed my Alpha Team leader SGT Strickland had given me a cigarette and said "Burge, you smoke a pipe, and cigars. You're deploying, and you're gonna have a cigarette!" So I smoked it. And contrary to what everyone had told me about smoking, I liked the taste of it! So I found my way to the smoke room and lit up.

As a new private, I well understood my place. I just sat there and listened, only speaking when spoken to, and tried not to say anything dumb. I listened the NCO's talk about their other deployments, and just random stories. And once I was done I moved out into the terminal and sat. I stared as this new private shyly started talking to this Romanian woman. I was thinking he was about to get rejected and it was going to be awesome, but he wasn't. In a few minutes he was massaging her and cuddling. Oh well, I thought about trying to call my Allie but couldn't figure out how to use the phones. Decided I'd get on Facebook one my little laptop. Ha ha, I couldn't figure out how to sign onto the free Internet so I figured it wasn't meant to be and just sat there watching this kid use his shyness like no one I'd ever seen before. It was really ridiculous! The woman was like at least 35 and he wasn't even twenty-one! But it was amusing and that's all that mattered to me at the time.

After a while they called over the intercom and told us to get back on the plane. We loaded up like sardines hopping BACK into the can, waiting to be taken to a shark tank. From there we flew to Kyrgyzstan. To this day (and I've been there twice now) I still have no Idea where that country is on the map. I mean, who cares! Have you ever heard of it?! Ha ha, anyway it has a huge Air Force base that's kind of a jump off point for Afghanistan, kind of like Kuwait for Iraq. We flew in there, were shuttled to a row of giant tents and told to shower, shave, and not get lost. My squad did our showering and shaving then went for a walk to see what was around. They had a whole Tiki bar set up area with beer and mild mixed drinks, and free WiFi Internet and all that! We laughed at the hardships the Air Force endures, and found a shop to get some stuff we needed. Then went back and slept. We stayed there for about a day and a half, then were shuttled back out to a C-130 and flew to KAF (Kandahar Airfield).

This was it; we were actually about to land in Afghanistan! All the hot shot talking was over, it was time to buck up or wuss out. KAF itself was considered a "combat zone" but the only threat there was a few suicide bombers every great once in a while and rockets flying in. But that wasn't bad. I remember my first rocket attack experience: as a new soldier I had to follow the rules and actually go hide like a girl from "possible danger" inside a bunker (a bunker in Afghanistan is slabs of concrete laid on top of each other that you walk into). I was walking down the road with Cheely and the siren rang out with that loud annoying voice oh so calmly saying "Rocket attack. Rocket attack." So we walked into a bunker. I tried to light up a cigarette but a female in there said, "Excuse me, but this is a no smoking bunker, you need to go to that one over there." So we walked over to the other one and lit up.

We stayed at KAF for roughly a week, then were told that we were pushing out to the FOB (forward operating base) that we were to take over. it would be where our support elements home; we would go to another place. So we grabbed our gear, and duffle bags and loaded up into trucks. They ranged from combat vehicles such as MRAPS to support vehicles like LMTV's (pretty much a tractor trailer). We were briefed that it was "highly likely" that we would take contact on our way. It was estimated to be a three hour drive, but that could be tripled if we hit an IED. So we were told to keep our eyes pealed (course this was in the middle of the night, so yeah, good luck with that. Just saying).

We arrived in Jelawur that morning; it was a small FOB in the desert, roughly two miles from where we would be. We looked across the desert towards our area and there was this thick, distinct line of foliage about eleven hundred meters away that marked the beginning of our AO (area of operations). We stayed at Jelawur for about two days, then pushed out to another, and yet smaller FOB called Terra Nova. It would be the battalion headquarters, literally across the street from the green line of foliage. Unlike Jelawur, Terra Nova had actually taken contact a few times, so it was closer to the "fight" as we called it. But our focus quickly moved to the COP eight hundred meters from Terra Nova, COP Nolen. We stood there and listened to them battle. In awe, all the new Joes became a little nervous. This was to be our home, a small, mud built COP that took contact unceasingly. We were busied by random tasks such as building tents and such while our battery commander and select NCO's went out to the COP to scope it out before we pushed in. We watched them take contact before the even got to Nolen. I watched as KIOA's flew in and did gun runs trying to get the Taliban off our guys. They made it to Nolen, and before the day ended we had a good taste of what our lives would be like. Most of the battery stayed behind at Terra Nova for a while to help construct the SGT Major's plan for building "his FOB". But in due time, and not a moment too late because we were all getting a little antsy waiting to get ourselves into the fight: it was time to push into COP Nolen.

July 3, 2010 "I'm here.... Ha ha, it's on. This morning we marched (or really patrolled) to Nolen. That was nerve wracking—I won't lie. Our first patrol is tomorrow."

At this point it began to finally and completely settle into our minds that we were in combat. We sat by the walls and listened to the 82nd take contact, and fight. In a few short days it would be our turn to have our own "rendezvous with destiny".

Chapter Two

HELL WEEK

TO A DEAD SOLDIER No woman's whisper holds your strong heart spent and breathless. All the silver horns that blew While legions cheered, are still. These things are done, But these you have: a death for monument, And peace you died to buy, and after you The laughing play of children in the sun. Kendall Harrison

On the Fourth of July we sent a patrol out with the 82nd Airborne Division to provide security for a re-supply convoy that was moving through. There was only one road that the trucks could use to get to us, so as you would assume it wasn't very hard for the Taliban to have a pretty good Idea of where to get them. The only variable they had to deal with was when. So, in one hundred and some odd degree weather we walked out to a certain spot on the road and pulled security for them.

Won't lie, I was sitting in position wondering which way I was supposed to look. I didn't want to ask because I didn't want to sound stupid ... but like I wasn't quite sure if we were supposed to watch the road, or watch the orchards around it. But it's all good; I figured it out. They set me and Cheely in one area and told us to stay there, pointed and told me to face the orchards, and him to face the road. I sat there for God knows how long, ran out of water, and just faced this orchard wondering when Tommy Taliban was going to throw a grenade, or pop up just like the targets did at Benning and then start shooting at me. But they didn't. Our support company always wanted us out there. They would call up and say for us to SP (starting point, army lingo for leaving the COP) ... but then wouldn't even leave their FOB for two hours or so. So, we'd just sit out there, in the sun, and fry. The longest one I remember was nine and a half hours! Thank God I was not on that mission. I would have lost my mind! I had my own experiences that day, but exciting stuff is always way more fun than just sitting somewhere!

But anyway, back to the story; when we got back from that, guys were about to head out on another mission to kind of learn the area. This one was the "right seat/left seat" process where the patrol is made up of guys half from the old unit, and half from the new unit. They did a short halt, and one of the 82nd soldiers set his bag on the ground to get some water out of it. His bag landed on an IED. The blast killed him, and wounded another, plus one of us, SGT Kendall. SGT Kendall was definitely that guy on my deployment! I don't even know how many times he got blown up over there; he was in a different platoon. But wow! I swear the man was like a cat. He just seemed to have an endless supply of lives!

The Taliban's "SOP" (standard of operation, more army lingo) was, when one of us stepped on an IED, the Taliban pretty consistently attacked. They were always hoping to cause confusion and maybe even get one or two of us, or even one of our med-evac choppers. It took us almost an hour to get the chopper down because of enemy fire. Alpha was not "manning the walls" yet. (I don't know quite how else to put it; I guess we weren't up there like John Wayne or Davy Crocket holding back the Taliban. That help anybody? Good.) So when the firefight broke out we were all down under cover but the 82nd needed more manpower so they called for some guys to run up. So I ran up and they put me on the M240B they kept in tower two (the M240B is a medium machine gun, it weighs roughly 27 lbs. and fires a 7.62 M round, it's nick name is "the pig". It barely if ever jams, and scares the crap out of anyone it's fired at). I run up there, hop on the gun, and start looking around, anxious to "get me some"! I didn't even know what tower I was on, I didn't care. I was doing it! I found out a couple of minutes later when they called up for "Tower Two" on the radio and the guy just outside of the tower looks over and says, "Hey! That's you." I didn't have a clue what to do; I'd never talked on a radio before. But I figured it out really quickly.

I grabbed the M240B and began doing suppressive fire for the bird. After several passes, with suppressive fire from the entire wall (they built fighting positions all along it, straight up, Alamo style) we finally got the chopper down and the men med-evaced. The wounded 82nd soldier died in route to KAF (Kandahar Airfield). SGT Kendall would receive a purple heart for the wounds he sustained that day.

Over the following days my journal is peppered with comments referring to firefights, nothing big (or at least nothing I would consider a good fire fight anymore). Comments like:

"But we had a pretty good fire fight this afternoon. It was pretty crazy ..."

On July 7th, I began my daily entry with:

"Ha ha, personal status at this time: I'm wearing the same uniform I got here, what a week ago in, I haven't heard from Allie in two weeks ... I'm low on cigarettes ..."

I wasn't in the best state. I was dirty, tired, hot, and still living in a tent that held in heat like a champ (when it's 100 degrees plus, that ain't a good thing' let me tell you), and I would actually break up with Allie that afternoon. I didn't have long to feel sorry for myself or pout over her, for a couple days later we were sent out on a forty eight hour operation to a town called NMK, what we (the Nolen Boys) call NMK, Part 1.

July 12, 2010

"This weekend at that village we got in like 10 fire fights. It was a very long two days. The first time we ran after them we ended up trudging through some kind of marsh that the villagers used as a garden. It was like 5' by 8' beds surrounded by like 3'-5' irrigation streams. We ended up low crawling the last 100' or so in the ditches. This place is so much like Vietnam ... IDK: I really don't know what to say. But now anything involving my ex really doesn't concern me, at all. She has no Idea what is going on. None of them do ..."

I remember when we were told that my platoon was going to go on this mission, I was outside talking to my platoon SGT and asked straight up, "so, are we really going to this village just to take a census?" because that's what they were saying. And he just laughed. I said, "Ha ha, that's what I thought SGT, we're going to pick a fight." And he said, "yup." The reality of the mission was that we were to go into the village, and stay there for forty-eight hours, and see what kind of Taliban population was there. At 0400 we pushed out making a long arch instead of a straight line to a village roughly eight hundred meters away from COP Nolen. The arch was to avoid certain areas such as known Russian mine fields from when the Soviet Army had tried to take over the Argandab Valley (they failed horribly by the way), as well as a mine field of IEDs emplaced by the Taliban (they expected us to us to move in straight through.)

The march seemed to take forever, one of the first times I had ever used NVG's (night vision goggles). Honestly, it sucked. Depth perception is pretty much gone when you look through them, so you fall and stumble constantly until you have worn them enough you're somewhat used to what little shading in the grass could be a hole and things like that. And with my full kit, my weapon all strapped to me I pretty much just had a case of the "cherries." (Being a new guy, having never fought in combat before, I didn't know what to expect from a movement. After a while of fighting and tearing up your body the way we do, your body just kind of gets use to it).

I still remember when we reached the village; it was right before dawn. That blue haze. Just barely being able to take my NODs off and still be able to see. I was nervous, I'm not going to lie, when I finally caught a glimpse of the roofs above and between the trees across the field. I remember stumbling a little more than I had been because I wasn't really paying attention as much. I was waiting for them to just open up on us. But, we had planned right; they were all asleep. We moved into the town, the Joes (junior enlisted) pulled security as the NCOs debated on which compound to take over and secure for our OP (operations point). They decided on one, we moved into it. It was barren; no one lived there. We sat there for nearly a half hour and our captain told everyone to saddle up, he didn't approve of it. So we moved down the road to another. We set up there. It was about seven when I went up on the roof to pull security down a road. I sat there and watched for two hours, every minute waiting for a wild eyed man dressed in middle eastern attire to come running up the road and spray his AK at me. It didn't happen of course, and my relief arrived. It was G. I told him where I had been told to watch, and went down the stairs and began to take my kit off (yeah, we probably should have kept it on the entire deployment. But you can't live in fear right? We'd take our kits off ANY time we thought we were even remotely safe. It's not World War II anymore; we wear a lot more than just a helmet).

(Continues...)

Excerpted from THE DABby Elisha Burge Copyright © 2012 by Elisha Burge. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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