I’m back in Afghanistan for my third month-long embed in nineteen months. When I visited Helmand province in the summer of 2008, Camp Bastion was a small forward staging base in the middle of the most miserable and inhospitable desert I could ever imagine. The Afghans call the area “the desert of death.” Leave it to the military to see that as a good place to build a city larger than my hometown.
Back in 2008, one could walk from one end of the base to the other in a few minutes, and the most exciting reason to visit was the fact that there were cold showers (in tents) and a field hospital (in tents) that saved the lives of many men injured on the front lines.
Last year when I returned, the base had seen incredible growth with the addition of Camp Leatherneck – a tent-city erected to house thousands of incoming Marines.
The trend has continued in the six months since that visit – today, the combined camps Bastion and Leatherneck span thousands of acres and it takes nearly half an hour to drive from one end to the other. The headquarters building actually has a lawn – the only living green for probably a hundred miles. There is a thai restaurant, a Pizza hut, a coffee house and an Afghan-run everything store called the “Smily Suppling and Survice Company.”
Outside the gate, a village has sprung up where the thousands of afghan workers who do most of the menial labor at the base (building, cleaning, etc.) sleep in hastily erected tents. Today, the bases house nearly 20,000 soldiers, sailors, airmen and Marines. The airfield, aside from being one of the busiest military airfields in the world, now even hosts commercial flights. This now-sprawling base is ground-zero for the “Afghan Surge” and the capital of what some are now calling “Marinestan.”
All this growth makes me wonder. What will this area look like in ten years? Will the “camp followers” outside the gate take up permanent residence? Maybe someone will decide to build a beach resort. There’s definitely no shortage of sun and sand. And parking. Lots of room for parking.
They’re going to have to do something about that “desert of death” designation, though. Not exactly good marketing. <
I’ll be traveling the country with the DEA and Special operations for the next month. Stay tuned.
I ran across the following video on a military aggregator site today – it shows in raw detail what life is like for many of our troops in Afghanistan these days. The video begins immediately after a vehicle is struck by an IED – shot from the point of view of the troops INSIDE the vehicle that was hit.
They are all surprisingly calm, a testament to their high level of training and to the incredible survivability they now have with the new MATV’s that are being rolled out as fast as possible. The MATV is a smaller version of the Mine Resistant Ambush Protected vehicles that helped win the war in Iraq.
Now, the Mine Resistant Ambush Protected All Terrain Vehicles carrrying our troops in Afghanistan are, in my estimation, poised to do the same in Afghanistan. When the Taliban realizes (and they are already) that the game has changed – that the roadside bombs they litter the roads with just aren’t killing our soldiers very often anymore, they’ll start to adjust their tactics – which means that in six months or a year, the roads will be much, much safer.
This is a good thing, but it also carries risk. In Iraq when the insurgents could no longer kill us on the roads, they began wiring up entire houses with explosives – “house-borne IED’s” they were called. And too many men were killed searching houses on patrol. But that increases the civilian casualties, and so it led to the local populace turning against the insurgents.
If we persevere, this will happen in Afghanistan, too. Be sure to watch to the end of the clip, when the soldiers hold a small worship service at their remote outpost. Watching our warriors giving praise to their creator is something that should warm your heart, and give you hope for America. Our men aren’t just tough, they’re GOOD.
Last night my friend Erick Stakelbeck reported that some soldiers at Fort Jackson, SC are under investigation for trying to poison the food supply at the base. Chris Gray, the public affairs officer for the US Army’s Criminal Investigative Division confirmed yesterday afternoon that these soldiers were a part of a fairly new Military Occupational Specialty (MOS) called “09 Lima.”
Every soldier in the Army carries an MOS. I was 11 Bravo, which is the designator for an infantryman.
The 09 Lima school is centered at Fort Jackson, South Carolina, and it’s a special school that falls under the “Civilian Acquired Skills program“ This program is put in place for people who already have a skill or profession and want to do that job in the military. X-ray technicians, firefighters, or even journalists like me could enlist under such a program.
What makes the 09 Lima program stand out is that it is specifically geared towards non-US citizens who bring to the table one very in-demand skill – the ability to speak fluent Arabic, Dari, Pashto, or some other needed language. But these recruits also have a handicap – their grasp of the English language is not sufficient to allow them to make it through basic training. So the 09 Lima program puts them through a sort of pre-basic basic, where they learn American culture, Army culture and work on their English language skills. Once they finish the course, they are then able to enter normal basic training. It’ is a very small program, with something less than forty recruits in each class.
Here’s the interesting part. According to Lt. Col. Frank Demith, these recruits are offered an “expedited citizenship program, once they serve one day of honorable active duty.”
Military service has always been a way for non-citizen US residents to obtain citizenship, and thousands have performed honorably in service to our country before it actually became their country.
though the Army must certainly have a thorough vetting process in place to try and avoid a scenario like that described by Erick Stakelbeck’s recent blog, in the case of the 09 Lima program, the ability to receive “expedited American citizenship” must present a tempting opportunity for jihadi extremists with ulterior motives.
In this case, however, the military is obviously keeping a sharp eye on things to keep anything like that from happening. Whatever happened with the “Fort Jackson Five” – and the details are very sketchy at this point – it appears that the Army’s Criminal Investigation Division was on the ball.
In the aftermath of the January 12 earthquake that all but leveled Port-au-Prince, Haiti, the U.S. military sprung into action with a flotilla of ships and the 22nd Marine Expeditionary unit, among other things.
In the month since that day, the U.S. Department of Defense has contributed over $200 million to the relief efforts, and combined with other USAID contributions, U.S. taxpayers have given just over half a billion.
I spent a week on the USS Bataan and went into Haiti with the U.S. Marines. They delivered aid, secured landing sites, and treated critically ill Haitians, not to mention delivering hundreds of tons of supplies to our own Operation Blessing.
In the weeks since then, I’ve heard several media personalities remark on how well our Soldiers, Sailors and Airmen are executing their missions in Haiti. The insinuation is that delivering aid really isn’t in their job description. One blogger put it this way, “The military is not about providing humanitarian relief.”
Really? These assertions show a fundamental misunderstanding of the role of the U.S. Military.
Just because soldiers carry guns doesn’t mean killing is the only thing they know how to do. In fact, in today’s world, humanitarian assistance is a more powerful weapon than artillery because the fight is rarely for ground or sky, but for hearts and minds. Kindness is our most powerful weapon, and one that todays soldiers, sailors, airmen Marines and guardsmen wield well.
It’s not an exaggeration to say that the vast majority of our troops in Iraq and Afghanistan – probably 70 percent or more – will never fire their weapons in anger. Does that surprise you? Probably because we in the media don’t do a good enough job of giving you one very important factor that good news reporting requires: Context.
You can easily find out how many troops were killed on any given day with a simple web search. But how many roadside bombs were found and de-fused? How many schools were opened? How much aid was delivered? These rarely get much attention because they’re not as sexy as bombs, bodies, and bullets – staples of the nightly news.
Case in point – you may not have heard about the huge avalanche that killed nearly 200 people in northern Afghanistan last week. But coalition forces were there right away, pulling people out of the snow and, by some accounts, rescuing more than 3,000 travelers who were stranded by the disaster.
Today’s American military is, by necessity, expert at being the savior to millions around the world.
Yes, they carry guns. And yes, they can be incredibly lethal when necessary. But remember this: the single most important factor in making America great is that America is good. The men and women serving in today’s military know that. And you should, too.
One of the questions I’ve been asked repeatedly over the last two weeks is this: What can we do to help the victims of the earthquake in Haiti?
The answer isn’t as straightforward as you might think.
Americans – and especially American Christians are the most generous people group on the planet. When we see people in trouble, we do what we can to help – it’s part of who we are. But in addition to being generous, we need also to be wise – so that the money we send will do the most good for the most people.
PLEASE DON’T GO TO HAITI ANYTIME SOON.
Thousands of churches across the United States are already planning short-term missions’ trips to Haiti in the near future. This is a mistake. Here’s why:
1. Haiti’s infrastructure is almost non-existent. You aren’t going to find a hotel that will be able to accommodate your group, those that weren’t destroyed by the quake are completely full of aid workers, journalists, and are even being used as makeshift hospitals.
2. Resources are scarce, and getting scarcer – any food, water, or toilet facilities your group would require are desperately needed by Haitians. When I was in Haiti last week, I was shocked to meet dozens of Americans who, with the best of intentions, simply hopped a plane to the Dominican Republic and made their way into Haiti to “help.” Unfortunately, they were spending most of their time wandering around the airport mooching food, water and internet off of more established ministries like Mission Aviation Fellowship, which has been working in Haiti since 1986.
3. Well meaning, but stupid Americans are making things harder on everyone. I must have run across a half-dozen couples in the last week who came to Haiti after hearing a rumor that the doors to international adoption had been thrown wide open in Haiti. These naive couples hotfooted it to Port-au-Prince looking for a baby to bring home. Unfortunately, this is causing major problems with those who were in the process of legal adoption, and is causing tensions between the Haitians and the world community.
Adoption is a wonderful thing – but human trafficking is human trafficking.
Aid is not the answer.
The Haitian people are in desperate need of physical aid right now – but that’s not what will fix their problems long term. Haiti has received over a billion dollars in foreign aid every year for nearly three decades – and even before the quake, it’s ten times worse now than it was when I first visited there in 1986. This is due to several issues.
1. Corruption is endemic in Haitian culture. A vast majority of the aid sent to Haiti does not reach the intended recipients – those most needy of the population, but is first filtered through government corruptucrats who, as often as not, SELL the aid they are supposed to be giving away. And with billions flowing in all at once, the opportunity for fraud is higher than it has ever been.
2. The UN is worse than worthless. I’ve arrived at this conclusion after spending much of the past decade traveling to places that have been suffering under UN “peacekeeping” operations for years. The UN is often as corrupt as the Haitian government, and the Haitian people call them “criminals.”
One unfortunate thing I saw this trip was the US military taking tons of aid into the country – and then turning it over to the UN. The Haitian people I interviewed were livid when they learned this. “We’ll never see that aid!” they cried. They told me the only way the MINUSTAH troops will help them is if the people give them something – money, favors, or labor – in return.
On a trip to Haiti in 2008 I saw UN troops SELLING aid in the marketplace. The stuff they were supposed to be giving away. The people were surprised that I was surprised. “That’s how it always is,” they said.
The UN is, in my opinion, nothing more than a hopelessly corrupt, bloated bureaucracy whose liberal elite’s visions for world peace are constantly thwarted by reality, not to mention “peacekeepers” who hail from countries who have never known peace.
3. Welfare doesn’t work – even in Haiti. The welfare system in the US is good at one thing – fostering an “entitled victim” mentality that squelches work ethic, incites class warfare and discourages productivity. But for some reason we think it will “fix” what’s wrong in Haiti. It won’t.
And therein lies our opportunity. If you are a Christian and would like to donate to help Haiti -please do so. But while the country has the eyes of the world’s governments upon it, while billions in aid are pouring in from nations around the globe – let’s focus OUR giving on the thing that will matter most – changing people’s hearts. Let’s focus our prayers and giving on church planting and evangelization.
Is meeting physical needs important? Absolutely. And Christians are foremost among those who meet physical needs around the world. But let’s try to see beyond the physical needs and meet the deeper, spiritual needs that will, in the long run, fix many of the problems that Haiti (and the rest of the world) faces today. My prayer is that through this incredible tragedy, God will make the Haitian people “more than conquerors,” taking this horrible event and making it the beginning of a new country that will bring glory to God.
No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through Him who loved us.
Could you eat while everyone around you went hungry? Could you drink while thousands of thirsty people stood watching?
That was the dilemma I faced today. I flew into the town of Logane with a company of Marines from the 3rd Battalion of the 2nd Marine Division. We made ourselves at home in a cow pasture (complete with cows) that was big enough for the gigantic CH-53 helicopters that would deliver tons of supplies for the beleaguered residents of the area.
In a short time we had food. Tons of it. And water – thousands of gallons. Piled up in boxes in the center of the field. This brought thousands of hungry citizens out of the woodwork. The Marines established a perimeter around the field with armed sentries to keep anyone from rushing the helicopters and possibly getting hurt. And the fierce rotowash of the ‘53’s did the rest. After the first came in and blew anything not nailed down (including people on bicycles) into the fields behind the road that encircled the field, the guards were largely redundant. Every time a helicopter came in to land, the Haitians ran away – falling facedown on the road or hiding in ditches to escape the rotorwash. It became, for them, a sort of entertainment.
Here were thousands of people who hadn’t had a decent meal in over a week, and who had to gnaw raw sugar cane (which is grown in that area) to satisfy their thirst, because there is no clean water. Their belongings are scattered, their loved ones dead or injured. Many of them pointed to their flattened houses and spoke of family members crushed inside – but without heavy machinery there is no way to recover their bodies. And so the dead remain entombed in the ruins of their homes.
I couldn’t help but wonder as I watched them wait patiently around the field, not knowing when or even if the tons food they could plainly see would be distributed – would Americans stand and wait quietly, or would we be rioting in the streets? Images of the aftermath of hurricane Katrina came to mind, and I fear we would not be so understanding and long-suffering.
I walked among them and exercised my rusty French, finding more than a few who spoke passable English. So many of them spoke of their faith in God. One man put it this way – We have faith that God will provide. And God bless the United States Marines.
The day grew long and the sun was painfully hot. I never saw any of them eat anything but stalks of raw sugar cane. I became desperately thirsty and realized that it was past lunchtime, so I walked to my bag, which I’d set near a Mango tree in the clearing, and dug for the MRE and Nalgene bottle inside. I found them and took a sip of water – it was wonderful. I was just about to dig into my MRE when I happened to look around. On all sides were the piercing stares of starving, thirsty people. All of them asked the same question:
What about us?
I put the food and water away.
It’s not up to me what happens with the aid we delivered today. Something in me would just like to see the Marines throw open the boxes and throw food to the throng, in the frenetic fashion of Christmas morning. But someone wiser than me made the decision that to try and distribute it from the landing zone would likely result in mayhem that would compromise the entire mission. So the supplies were turned over to the local contingent of UN peacekeepers – these from Sri Lanka.
This decision almost DID cause a riot.
The second time I approached the crowd they were noticeably agitated. “Why are you giving it to them?” they wanted to know.”The UN are criminals!”
Apparently the UN isn’t popular around here. I’m not surprised: last year when I visited Haiti, I filmed UN soldiers in the marketplace selling the aid they were supposed to be giving away. The “peacekeepers” are notoriously abusive and the people claim you can’t get anything from them without “paying” in some form or fashion.
You’d think that with the entire country in ruins, the crooks and corruptocrats would take a holiday. But corruption is so endemic in Haitian culture that I fear a good portion of the aid flooding into the country right now will end up NOT getting to the people who need it most.
The military is taking a very measured approach to this problem, and after being on the ground today, I got a better idea of the scale and the difficulty of it. While it’s tempting to want to just throw food and water out of the helicopters at the first needy people we come across, sometimes caring must have a harder, more calculated edge.
Pray that well-meaning agencies and governments involved in Haiti will be wise in the distribution of aid – and that they would do it quickly. There are children with empty bellies in Haiti tonight.
This Amphibious Assault ship is headed south, bursting with men and materiel.We’re a part of the US response to the historic earthquake that devastated the island of Haiti just under one week ago.
A ship like this normally requires 96 hours to get underway when called up for an emergency – just bringing the enormous engines online can take an entire day.But despite the fact that the crew of the Bataan only returned from a seven-month deployment five weeks ago, these remarkable men and women responded in record time, pulling away from the docks in just under 48 hours.
During the two-day run down the eastern seaboard to the beleaguered island nation, the ship continued to collect men and supplies via huge CH-53 helicopters.The almost 2,500 sailors and Marines now aboard are all chomping at the bit to get on the ground in Haiti and start the business of recovery.Televisions in the boardroom keep them abreast of the state of things on the ground – and the news isn’t good.There is talk in the corridors about how best to handle the desperate crowds of hungry people who mob helicopters whenever they land.The staff of the level-2 hospital has been conducting mass casualty drills, and young Marines are being briefed by the chaplains as to how the carnage could affect them psychologically.
It’s a dirty job, but Marines specialize in dirty jobs, and the attitude here on the Bataan is “let’s get on with it.”
Baby Nourah was born blind. Her condition is reversible with surgery, but being born in a small village outside Baghdad, her parents had neither the income nor the opportunity to do anything about it. In addition, the city’s hospitals lack the facilities and physicians to perform the procedure. What they needed was a miracle.
Their miracle would come in the form of Army 1st Lt. Jason Hickman, a platoon leader with the North Carolina National Guard.
Divine Intervention
It happened on a dark road about five months ago when a convoy made a wrong turn and ended up in Zwaynat, a small village southwest of Baghdad. The girl happened to be there visiting her uncle, and he met the convoy commander and informed him of the baby’s plight.
“So there we were at a place we hadn’t intended on being,” said Hickman. “Wrong turn, perhaps, but that’s not how I see it. My interest and contacts with the Order of Saint John, the wrong turn, her being there with her uncle instead of with her parents in Baghdad — no, not a coincidence.”
The Order of St. John, accredited by the United Nations, provides first aid, health care and support services in more than 40 countries.
“I do believe that God puts people in certain places at certain times,” Hickman said. “Things don’t happen solely by coincidence. All you have to do is look for the road signs. The signs were clear, so I sent some e-mails, and that’s how we arrived here.”
Once Nourah was diagnosed, Hickman e-mailed St. John’s Jerusalem Eye Hospital, the main provider of eye care in the West Bank, Gaza and East Jerusalem, and a cause he has contributed to in the past.
but the operation would be costly. So Hickman and his fellow soldiers passed the hat – and with the help of their hometowns in North Carolina and West Virginia, raised over $5,000.00 and paid for the operation.
Today Nourah has to wear glasses until her eyes are fully healed, but she can see. All because some Christian soldiers knew the real meaning of Christmas.
“The Lord may not push you around the board like a pawn, but every now and again he puts you where he wants you,” Hickman said. “We were supposed to end up in Zwaynat that night. It was just up to us what we were going to do when we got there.”
William McKinley once wrote, “Our flag has never waved over any country but in blessing.”
Twenty years ago on in the early morning of December 20, 1989, I was one of 2500 Rangers that parachuted into the country of Panama to take down a corrupt Dictator, Manuel Noriega. It was my first taste of actual combat. Compared to the fighting most of today’s warriors experience, Operation Just Cause was extremely short and had a nice, tidy ending with the surrender of Manuel Noriega three weeks after we dropped in. Today, nobody disputes that we did the right thing in removing him, though some Panamanians believe we could have been, say, gentler about it. Thinking back on the chaos of that night in 1989, and looking at the strong, stable democracy that Panama has become, I can confidently say I’m glad to have played some very small part in that history.
Perhaps one day the veterans from Iraq and Afghanistan will return to those places and feel similar emotions. Hopefully, this story will encourage today’s men and women who serve overseas. Sometimes in the middle of the deployment, away from family and friends, it’s hard to see how much your efforts are making the world a better place.
This Christmas, more than 200,000 of our military will be spending the holiday away from those they love. Remember them as you curl up safe and warm with your children – and give thanks.
Chuck Holton, age 20, 2nd from Right
In 2003 I published a book about my experiences in the Rangers and the invasion of Panama. Here is an excerpt from this day, twenty years ago.
“Get ready!”
The jumpmaster shouts over the roar of aircraft engines, stirring me from deep thoughts. It’s almost 1 a.m. on December 20, 1989. I’m one of nearly one hundred Airborne Rangers who, four hours ago at Fort Benning, Georgia, packed into this C-130 transport plane—built to carry no more than sixty-four jumpers.
After serving in the Army for about two and a half years, I carry the rank of Specialist. Tonight I can barely feel my legs. I am buried under an eighty-pound rucksack attached to my parachute harness at the waist, and overlapped by those of the Rangers packed tightly around me.
“Outboard personnel, stand UP!”
I look across at my friend Philip Lear, and he gives me a wry smile that says, Here goes nothing! I reach over and clasp his wrist, helping him struggle to his feet in the cramped confines of the aircraft—a near impossible task. Earlier this year, Lear and I were assigned as buddies in Ranger school, a two-month leadership course where we spent the majority of our time running patrols through every type of terrain imaginable.
It was wintertime, and many nights we had to huddle together for warmth. We’ve been through a lot together. Lear is like a brother to me. I wonder if it was God’s intention that we ended up side by side on this airplane. He is with the 2nd Ranger Battalion, stationed at Ft. Lewis, Washington; I am with the 3rd Battalion at Fort Benning, Georgia. This is the first we’ve seen of each other since the day we graduated from RangerSchool ten months ago. I regret that we haven’t been able to do much catching up on the ride down. The inside of a C-130 is definitely not conducive to conversation. Lear did tell me that he is engaged to be married. I hope to be able to talk to him sometime later and find out more. But once we hit the ground we must go our separate ways, following separate platoons, accomplishing different missions.
“Inboard personnel, stand UP!”
It’s my turn to struggle to my feet. I can’t believe it’s gone this far. This mission may actually go down. We’ve been called up for real-life missions before, but they’ve always been canceled at the last minute.
This time our destination is Panama.
The overall plan is to arrest their corrupt dictator, Manuel Noriega, and help establish a democratic government. Of course, 3rd Battalion’s specific mission is much more limited in scope—we’re simply the kickoff team. There are units at every U.S. base in Panama waiting for H-hour to come. Our coordinated attack should be swift and violent.
There’s much we don’t know about the political or strategic reasons for the mission, but it’s gratifying to think that the Army might finally use us. We’ve been training for this operation for months. If I have to serve my entire enlistment training for combat without actually experiencing it, I will always wonder how I would have performed in battle. It would be like training for the Super Bowl and then never getting to play.
When I was a kid, I did yard work for an older gentleman who was a deacon in our church. He had been in the Airborne in World War II. His stories about parachuting into combat fascinated me, and I used to dream about what it would be like to do the same.
Tonight I might finally get to find out.
“Hook up!”
We all struggle to attach our static lines to the overhead cable that will pull our chutes open once we exit the aircraft. The task is made difficult by the fact that it’s so crowded—we can hardly move. I wonder if our leaders planned it this way so that we will be anxious to jump. If they did, it’s working. I am careful to check that my static line is securely fastened to the cable, though my faith in getting to the ground safely does not lie in the cable above me or the parachute on my back. If it did, I don’t know that I would have ever made it through jump school to begin with.
“Check equipment!”
Time to focus. We’re all deadly serious now. Girls, bills, and all the other problems that seem so important in my day-to-day life are nowhere in my consciousness at this moment. There isn’t room in my head for them. One hundred percent of my faculties are intent on the job that we have to do here in Central America. We do our best to check each other’s equipment in the dim light of the aircraft interior. I try to ensure that there’s nothing under my feet that I might trip over when heading for the door. I can’t even see my feet. A vice begins to tighten in my gut as my pulse quickens.
“Sound off for equipment check!”
Someone slaps me on the shoulder. I tap the guy in front of me and shout “OK!” He taps the guy in front of him, and so on, toward the jumpmaster at the rear of the aircraft. Once the jumpmaster gets the “All OK” signal, he will open the aircraft door and begin spotting for the drop zone.
Behind me is Mike Bohannon, a brand new private. He’s only been up in an aircraft on nine occasions, and he’s jumped every time. He doesn’t know what it’s like to land in an airplane. This will be his third jump with our unit; the other two he performed in training for this occasion. I’m worried about him, because he’s so new and because he’s my responsibility. I lean back and yell in his ear, “When we hit the ground, stay put, and I’ll come find you. Stick with me and you’ll be OK!”
He nods, wide-eyed.
The white lights go out. They’re about to open the door. To say that it’s uncomfortable standing with an eighty-pound rucksack full of ammunition hanging between your legs is like saying Siberia is “brisk” in winter. My M-203 grenade launcher is in its case, strapped securely to my left side.
I review the mission in my head. We’re jumping onto an airfield at a place called Rio Hato, about forty miles south of Panama City. Some of the most ruthless of the Panamanian Defense Forces (PDF) are housed there. We are to take the airfield and ensure that none of the PDF special forces, the Macho de Monte, have a chance to reinforce enemy positions in Panama City, where more Rangers are preparing to attack. My platoon’s part in the mission is to take out a couple of anti-aircraft guns that border the runway. We are then to clear and occupy the buildings of a military school located on one side of the airfield. Intel says that the barracks are empty, their soldiers home for Christmas, so clearing the buildings shouldn’t take long.
Murphy’s law, however, has a tendency to take over in these situations, so we are prepared for anything.
At least…I hope we are.
Suddenly, the roar of the night intensifies as the doors open. Hot, humid air floods in, reminding us that we aren’t in Georgia anymore, where it had been sleeting when we took off. I can just see the red light next to the door that will soon turn green, telling us to jump. The jumpmaster takes hold of the doorframe and leans far out into the night, looking for the airfield. All he sees is water. We are coming in over the Atlantic Ocean at five hundred feet. When we jump there won’t even be time to pull my reserve chute if the main one doesn’t open. I’m not sure why I even wore one, except that it is simply part of the pre-jump checklist.
We stand for what seems like hours in the dim red light, sweating profusely and listening to the screaming engines. Not being able to talk leaves us alone with our thoughts.
Unaccountably, a quiet sense of peace settles over me.
I’ve been training for this moment since I first raised my hand at the swearing-in ceremony two and a half years earlier. Scared? Yes—but not so much about my safety. I’m more concerned about how I will perform once I hit the tarmac below. It’s a natural feeling, I suppose, when you’re about to parachute into a firefight in a foreign country from an aircraft traveling at one hundred and fifty knots.
Beyond all those conflicting emotions, however, I know this is where I’m supposed to be at this very moment. And I believe that if a person follows God’s purpose for his life, there’s no safer place to be.
I glance toward the window just in time to see two closely spaced flashes of light. There’s no turning back now. The mission calls for two F-117 stealth fighter aircraft to drop five-hundred-pound bombs on the leading edge of the airfield to kick off the invasion. It’s the first time these aircraft have ever been used in combat. The flashes confirm that the bombs have just detonated on the beach.
Game time.
A testosterone filled “HOOAH!” goes up from the Rangers in our aircraft. We are first in line, with twelve more C-130’s following, also packed with “death from above.”
The jumpmaster screams, “Drop zone coming up!” I can’t hear him, but I see his lips moving and know what he’s saying. Lear reaches over and slaps me on the helmet. We shake hands. He gives me a thumbs up that says, Let’s do this!
I yell in his ear, “Be safe!” He nods and grins confidently.
The light turns green. Rangers start shuffling out the door as quickly as their much-encumbered state allows. For a long moment, those of us back toward the front of the aircraft aren’t moving at all. Finally, enough guys have jumped to make room for us. Then we begin lumbering toward the open door, pulling our static lines along the overhead cable. Suddenly the C-130 starts banking sharply left, then right. The pilots are taking evasive action to avoid anti-aircraft fire. Now I really want out of this plane.
Everything around me moves in blurry slow motion, but my consciousness is razor sharp. At this second, my entire life is focused on this exact point in time. There is no past, no future, only present. The pre-game anxiety that I was feeling vanishes, leaving only white-hot, focused purpose. Ten feet from the door, the light turns red, signaling the end of the drop zone. The Air Force loadmaster steps up and tries to get us to stop jumping. Everyone ignores him. There’s no way we’re not jumping now. I run for the door and step into blackness…
President Obama’s address given before the assembled cadets at the United States Military Academy was undoubtedly intended for a much wider audience. In it, the president made certain to point out that the decision he delayed more than three months was one he “did not take lightly.”
He went on to assert, “I’m convinced that our security is at stake in Afghanistan and Pakistan,” and claimed “unwavering resolve,” when it came to our safety. With that, the commander-in-chief (he made sure to remind us of that several times) announced that he was sending 30,000 more troops into the fray.
While this is fewer than Gen. McChrystal asked for, it is good news in the short term for the war effort. But the president followed his announcement with the proclamation that our military commitment in Afghanistan would end in 2011.
This is obviously an attempt by Mr. Obama to make sure the war is wrapped up with a tidy bow on top before the 2012 elections. But it is a large gamble, and one I will predict that he’ll lose. Here’s why.
What Obama said: We are sending 30,000 more troops, but they will begin to come home less than 18 months after they all arrive in country.
What the Taliban heard: We no longer need to defeat the Americans and drive them out of our country. We have only to survive for another 18 months and then we can declare victory when the infidels run for (political) safety.
What the Taliban will now tell the Afghans: Assisting the Americans is a fools errand, because they have now made it official – their support will evaporate in less than two years. But we will still be here, and will then be free to punish anyone who did not support our cause.
What the West Pointers heard: Most of you likely joined the military to make a difference and defend our country from those who would destroy us. Well, too bad. The war will be over before most of you graduate. Better luck next time.”
What Obama said: I do not make this decision lightly.
What America heard: Even though my top military advisors took months to carefully determine what was needed to win this war, the Obama administration either did not trust those experts until we had performed our own analysis, or it took us more than three months to decide what the most politically safe option would be.
When George W. Bush ordered the surge in Iraq, his comments stood in stark contrast to Mr. Obama’s on Tuesday night. He promised that America would see the fight through to the end, that we would be there for the Iraqi people no matter how long it took. Ironically, that kind of open-ended commitment likely gave the Iraqis the confidence they needed to rise up and take control of their country. I’m afraid we may see the opposite in Afghanistan.
No one, not even the president, can predict when a war will be won. That must be determined by the conditions on the ground. To declare that we will leave no matter what in such a relatively short period of time undermines our efforts in the war zone, and puts our troops at much greater risk. It is disingenuous, self-serving, and just plain poor leadership.
Gen. McChrystal and our brave fighting forces will make do with whatever they are given, and because of their tenacity, toughness and creative tactics, they may still pull off a win despite being given less than they truly need. But half-measures and qualified commitments from our president bode very poorly for the war, for the lives of our men and women in uniform, and ultimately for the reelection campaign of Barack Hussein Obama.
