Bits and Chunks

War zone hazards can pop out of nowhere and strike when you least expect it most, catching you off guard and on your heels, three sheets to the wind and at a loss for appropriate adages. Dan and I were completely unprepared then, simply having lunch, when the chaplain major joined us for some drive-by morale-ing. He sat. He ate. He chatted. He subtly queried as to our emotional and spiritual needs. Discovering none, he chowed down and departed. It was all over before we knew what was happening. I felt good relating the story, so it must have worked.

A few nights later, Tim and I sat down next to a couple more Army dudes who revealed themselves as a psychologist and yet another chaplain. For the sake of argument, I introduced myself as the heathen, and Tim as the crazy person. Two on two, and I think we still had them outnumbered.

Standing on the catwalk of a perimeter guard tower, overlooking dense green croplands and a dusty brown adjacent village, I noticed close to a score of Afghan men working slowly and purposefully through the fields. Some of them armed with rifles, but most with crude slingshots. I'm pretty sure the Coalition would win this skirmish, if it had been directed at us. Instead of the human invaders, though, their quarry was more avian, trying to kill the birds, secondarily for food, but primarily for simple pest control.

Slightly drunk with just a hint of a stagger and strolling in the bright starlight through a German military encampment surrounded by mountains on a quiet northern Afghanistan plateau. Priceless.

Once back at Bagram, we were glad to be rid of the German fare. Granted, the DFAC here isn't great, but they will make you an omelet for breakfast, and almost always serve lettuce. On Wednesday and Sunday lunch, though, we head to the tent DFAC near the Corps office for ribs. Tasty, smoky, bar-be-qued ribs, courtesy of a select group of LOGCAP food service employees from South Carolina. Their brisket sucks, by the way (duh, they're from South Carolina) so my recommendation is to stick with the ribs. Or the chicken on days not Wednesday or Sunday. The line will be long, and the wait may be a half hour or more in the sun, rain, and weather, but those ribs, mmmm, might be the best thing about this place. However, the pleasure is fleeting, and ultimately pales in contrast to the massive waste of war. To quote Dan Savage, it's just sprinkles on a crap sundae.

We've had rain here for close to two weeks out of the three. Mostly cool showers, but at any time of day or night. Mud prevails at Bagram.

Somewhat surprisingly, there have been no mortar or rocket attacks on the FOBs, COBs and bases I've been on during this excursion. It's about time. Not, "it's about time we had an attack", but "it's about time I went over here and didn't get shelled."


All told, the pace was the defining element of this assignment. It was brutal. However, we all seemed to have survived the experience, some the worse for wear. Next stop, .... Kyrgyzstan.

Maybe. Maybe not.

Wheels up in six hours.