CHAPTER TWO: CENTER OF THE UNIVERSE
“People sleep well at night only because rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf.”
-George Orwell, 1984
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CHAPTER TWO: CENTER OF THE UNIVERSE
“People sleep well at night only because rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf.”
-George Orwell, 1984
Fort Bragg (August 2005-August 2006)
I am not sure where to even start. My story will seem unbelievable to some even though I do not embellish. Sometimes I wonder if it really happened. Maybe it was all a bad nightmare. How the hell did it come to this? Then, I pick up a newspaper and see that after eight years, Bin Laden is still free, our financial markets are in turmoil, and we are engaged in two protracted wars in southwest Asia. It seems maddening, but it is not a dream. We were wrong.
Sometimes I wonder if Thomas Jefferson and John Adams are tossing in their graves. Some of the founding fathers were skeptical of the social experiment of democracy working in the United States much less being forced upon another society. In truth, democracy is neither a predestined inalienable right endowed by our creator nor is it an ends to a means. Rather, it is a gift to be earned and cherished. Those are not my words; they flow throughout the Articles of Confederation and the Federalist Papers.
These realizations dawned not through the burning bush of divine providence, but through the unforgiving observations collected through my years engaged in the bloody, muddy, hands on work of counter-insurgency. I found it ironic that I devoted the majority of my twenties trying to rebuild a society that never existed, chasing an imaginary enemy that we accidently invented, fighting a non-religious war that was indeed religious, and attempting to control the hearts and minds of another culture when my country could not control her own erratic impulses. I was perplexed.
In some twisted sense of political correctness, we attempted to dumb down the nature of war repackaging it into nightly Orwellian sound bites for Fox News. Unfortunately, the editing process edited out the more important parts- things like honoring the dead by allowing the country to pay homage to their final trip home. Redeploying home in between tours, I observed a United States that I no longer understood- consumerism turned to gluttony, capitalism to greed, religion with no God, freedom overtaken by fear. The racing thoughts clouded my brain and unnerved my inner core. I was angry.
Is everything really different or was it always this way? Clinical psychologist call it compartmentalized psychosis, a temporary insanity. I was misdiagnosed once, but mainly because I was drunk, and I told the doctor that he was the crazy one. New Rule Number 541- No drinking 24 hours prior to a psychological evaluation. You will lose. Just trust me on that one.
In the Army’s Search, Evasion, Resistance, and Escape (SERE) course, one is taught indirect methods to surviving captivity as a prisoner of war. One is never to be the aggressor or act tough. The best course of action is to appear weak and submit. Only then can one remain strong. I should have paid more attention to the advice those instructors tried to impart on me; however, I’m much too stubborn to listen to others at times. Typically, I learn through blunt trauma rather than mindless repetition.
I’m getting off track. It is far too early to start sharing my haunting concerns, feelings, and personal limitations. Anyways, if I tell the story right, my thoughts will resonate through without me dictating what you should or should not think. More importantly, I hope to share the confusion and disheveled feelings this war extracted on our soldiers. Furthermore, I am very much aware that I could be wrong; it wouldn’t be the first time.
Throughout this tale, you will hear from a disgruntled, sarcastic, and indignant young captain. I will curse, judge, and at times appear quick tempered. Don’t be fooled. This tale is not so much a story of who I was, but a hat that I had to wear. To be an effective combat commander, one must master the art of “fight or flight.” During this period, I acted in a way that would scare my Sunday school teacher and my mother. My granny would cry watching the transformation. I acted in this way to stay alive and complete my mission. War changes men. No one is innocent in war.
In the narrow, precise world of academia, this story should be considered an inductive case study on humanity, economics, psychology, politics, religion, diplomacy, and war- all the essential ingredients of a refined counter-insurgency brew. For now, I’ll stick to that line of thought. Bear with me, it is about to get exciting. I’m going to take you to a place that you can hardly fathom, much less comprehend. For the sake of our children, I believe it is time to share. First, you have to step out the door.
“Green light, Go”
January 2006. The brisk southeastern wind zipped into the unpressured cabin of the C-130 as the Air Force Loadmaster turned control over to the Jumpmaster, “Army- your door.” Through the eerie green candescent light, I watched First Sergeant (1Sgt) Royce Manis begin the intricate task of inspecting the door for any imperfections or obstacles that could impede the jumpers exit. During his twenty years in the elite Army Ranger Regiment, Royce perfected this task through endless repetition, and his body swept the door gracefully in calm, fluid precision as delicate and accurate as the San Francisco symphony conducting Beethoven’s Fifth. Later, in my darkest hour, Royce would assist me in fighting through Dante’s seventh level of hell with the quiet professionalism that embodies the best mantra of the non-commissioned officer corps.
Next, Royce thrust his upper body into the night to inspect the outside of the aircraft ensuring that nothing protruded to obstruct our descent. Satisfied that the right door was kosher, he pulled himself back into the bird, spun 180 degrees clockwise, extended a thumbs up, and waited for Sergeant First Class (SFC) John Coomer to finish checking the left door. John is another mild mannered quiet professional: a father, brother, husband, and leader. John is a guy you want to follow in any situation. His calm demeanor would later prevail in the worst of circumstances. Ten seconds later, Coomer and Manis gave a silent nod, turned towards the jumpers, extending their arms parallel with index and middle fingers pointing forward, arched an imaginary ‘M’, and sounded off in unison, “Stand-by.” With all inspections complete, the Air Force pilots navigated towards the drop zone (DZ) slowing to 130 knots preparing to unload 64 paratroopers into the darkness of this calm North Carolina night.
As the plane approached the DZ, 1Sgt Andrew Coy walked towards me. For this JFEX (Joint Forcible Entry exercise), Andy served as a safety. He would not jump. Working in conjunction with the Air Force loadmaster, his tasks were to inspect the safety of the aircraft prior to take-off, accept all static lines as jumpers exit the door, and retrieve the discarded static lines and parachute straps back into the aircraft. Then, he returned with the crew to the corresponding airfield. It is an important job, but outside of about three minutes of high adventure, it is rather boring and mundane.
************************************************** ********************************
Andy was one of the few multiple tour Iraq and Afghanistan veterans in my new unit. He and I quickly hit things off when I transferred to Fort Bragg in June 2006. We transcended past the “Old” 1990’s Army of parades, inspections, cutting grass that didn’t grow, and superficial training exercises against a Russian Army dismantled sixteen years prior. We focused on real combat learned through years of blunt trauma, burning bodies, and costly mistakes. We did not have any answers, but we clearly understood that business as usual was not working.
Andy would say, “Sir, if it looks like ####, smells like ####, and taste like ####, then it is probably ####.”
I preferred to take a more tempered approach. I chose the word absurd to describe the current predicament. 2005 was a horrible year in Iraq, and 2006 was not looking brighter. Three weeks after this jump, the mosque in Samarra would explode igniting a full-out civil war. In 2005, during my previous Iraq tour, I served a brief stint on the Multi National Corps- Iraq (MNC-I) staff. Fortunately, my boss selected me to moonlight as a liaison officer for CJSOTF-AP (Combined Joint Special Operations Task Force- Arabian Peninsula), the resident Special Forces command in Iraq, so I was not required to spend too much time in Saddam’s Al-Fawah palace, more commonly known as the puzzle palace.
I learned a great deal during that tour. Special Forces command took me in as family, and I learned the science of guerilla warfare. They allowed me to work in their J2 (Intelligence) and J3 (Operations) sections. At night, I poured through volumes of doctrine on why men rebel against the government, how to organize resistance organizations, clandestine activity, deception operations, and other devious means of conducting small wars. In effect, I attended a mini-graduate course in counter-insurgency.
Previously, my study of warfare consisted of the Army’s Armor Captain Career Course instructions on determining the most effective means to defeat the Russians in the Fulda Gap. When I probed my instructors on Iraq and Afghanistan, I was told that I must not get too focused on fighting the past wars. That was 2004. Considering we were still engaged in both wars, I could not relate.
Simultaneously, I got to pull back the curtain and observe the high command. I observed the senior level discussions of the Coalition’s perspective on the state of Iraq. I was allowed to sit in on the big meetings with generals and politicians as long as I kept my opinions to myself. God, that was nerve-racking. Most of the time, I feel that I have something relevant to add to almost any conversation! How could they ask such sacrifices from me? I never understood why the generals were not interested in my enlightened opinions. I persevered through. At least I did not have to make them coffee and iron their uniforms.
Semantics aside, I walked away feeling confused and unnerved. The generals were good, decent, and respectful men. They were not the raging, war-mongering lunatics depicted in many anti-war films. I often wondered what burdens they must carry at night. I wondered how they slept with the weight of the world on their shoulders. They wanted to do the right thing and win, but winning was ambivalent in the current state. In another form of irony, as a young captain, I pitied the generals much as I grieve for you today. I wanted to scream that the emperor had no clothes on. He was fooled by his mindless court jesters. Why could they not see????
The briefings in the puzzle palace required a woeful disregard for the truth as it pertained to the average Iraqi. Beautiful, masterful PowerPoint slides displayed measures of progress that could outshine an Enron annual report- measure of effectiveness ranging from the number of joint Iraqi-American patrols, traffic control points, raids, and numbers of enlistments obscured reality. Ignorant propaganda slogans proclaiming, “As they stand up, we will stand down,” “We’ll fight them here so we don’t have to fight them in the US,” and “You’re with us or against us” clouded judgment. Too black and white in a world of gray. One plus one equals three. If it is written, then it must be truth.
Contrastingly, Abu Massad Al-Zarqawi implemented the beginnings of his dream of an Islamic caliphate in Iraq. The self-proclaimed QJBR, al Qaeda of the Two Rivers, recruited Sunni resistance groups resisting the occupation. Zarqawi intended to fight a holy war against the West; the Sunnis simply wanted to regain their perceived birthright- control of Iraq. The two meshed in a fragile marriage of convenience.
Simultaneously, Muqtada al Sadr recruited his Mahdi Army (MA). They infiltrated the Iraqi Security Forces and Police. Special Police Units under the control of the Ministry of Interior began a “cleansing” of former Baath officials. The Shia wanted retribution and validation for years of suffering under Saddam.
We did not see. We had no excuse not to see. Temporary treaties between enemies are as old as Cain and Able- quid pro quo of balanced opposition. We were still waiting for our victory parade in Bagdad and flowers in the streets.
Prior to the invasion, British historian Toby Dodge argued that Iraq had been on the verge of a civil war ever since its independence from British rule following World War One. Benevolent dictator control squashed opposition and kept internal feuding minimized for ninety years. GEN Colin Powell’s Pottery Barn remark did not quite fit. We did not break Iraq; we simply open up the box. Following this line of thought, Saddam was not the problem or solution in Iraq; he was a symptom. By mid 2005, the bonfire of ethno-sectarian, religious, and tribal strife was stacked and well soaked in gasoline. All that remained was the spark. All we could see was the imaginary clothing of fictional notions of success.
************************************************** **********************************
Andy continued to walk towards me in the bird. This was my first mission as a company commander. Conversely, this jump was his last as a first sergeant. Before he walked away, he wanted to impart one last piece of wisdom to his young friend.
“Mike, this is your first mission. I know you are nervous and scared. Let it go and have fun. Command goes by way too fast. Just enjoy it. I know you will do well. Now, go take care of your boys.”
I looked him straight in the eyes and nodded a knowing nod. Royce Manis and John Coomer sounded off with a thunderous boom,
“30 SECONDS!!!”
Andy walked back towards the door. Jumpers shook their static lines. It was time. The exit light flashed from red to green.
“GO!!!”
The jumpers rushed out the door. As the momentum of the line sped up, Andy smiled at me, and I began my march towards the exit. I handed my static line to Andy, turned 90 degrees, planted my left foot, and surged my right leg forward. My body followed. I was officially an airborne reconnaissance commander on his first mission.
The euphoria did not last long. Typically, one strives to exit the aircraft and form an L-shape upon descent. Then, one begins to count to five and wait for the chute to release. On the other hand, I over-packed my ruck sack, and the weight flipped my body head first and upside down instead of upright. I tumbled downward in some twisted Z shape. As I struggled to regain my L-shape, my chute deployed. My risers were twisted beyond recognition. This mishap would speed up my descent and could prove potentially fatal. I began engage rigorously in a bicycle kick to unwind my chute.
Despite the difficulties, I could not help but notice the calm darkness of this night. Engaging in a massive tactical night jump is an amazing endeavor to participate in. You saw it in Band of Brothers, but Hollywood cannot capture the serenity of nature juxtaposed with the violence of action contained with paratroopers descending into enemy territory.
As I un-assed myself, I was descending rapidly. I fixed my parachute, but my boots were getting closer and closer to touching the ground. My ruck and weapon remained strapped to my body. Not good. I unfastened the quick release on my weapon and ruck, pulled my risers to slow down, and closed my eyes. This was going to hurt.
So how did yours truly end up in such a predicament? The real story began long before the attacks of 9/11. It begins long ago with a young Egyptian named Sayyid Qutb. Historians and sociologist will debate for decades over what happened to him, but I think it is a fairly simple answer. Sayyid’s mother did not hug him enough. All he needed was a hug!!!
Men have sought to make a world from their own conception and to draw from their own minds all the material which they employed, but if, instead of doing so, they had consulted experience and observation, they would have the facts and not opinions to reason about, and might have ultimately arrived at the knowledge of the laws which govern the material world.
-Francis Bacon
Nurture, nourish back to nature we must go
Foregoing pursuit of pillage
Foregoing devious throws
Focus on the family and the village
Always alone, never alone, I simply could not see
Just as the squirrel gathers nuts from the tree
Spreading the seeds, new trees spring
The circle of life continues again
But he is only a squirrel, what purpose to serve?
THIS HEART OF STONE
You know you’ve been around and kicked around when your memories playback with a nearly complete Rolling Stones soundtrack. It’s a hard edged, tough music that blocks the silence and fills in the blanks. I can’t hear the Stones, Doors, or Jimi without feeling it; the long strong pull of Nam. Man, when I’ve got “Paint it Black” blasting in my ears I can remember how it felt: the rush of adrenaline, the emotional distance….
Sometimes when I’m out and about, I look around at other people and wonder what soundtrack would describe their life. Can you recognize the one who just never went? He’s probably that smug, self-assured asshole. Playing in a world where people like him made all the rules. You know the type that just didn’t go. I start to hate the mother####er without even knowing him. That’s when I have to say “#### it, it don’t mean ####.” Nam was for sure a bitch, but at least I don’t have to put up with a Barbara Streisand soundtrack playing in my head.
I admit that I’m difficult to be around. I find it difficult to relate, trust, or to even be around other people. I can try to and sometimes succeed in working or just being around people. It can be done but at a price, but who wants to pay. Me, I’m pretty much busted, emotionally broke, and there are few people in my life. Sometimes I want to keep it that way, other times it makes me angry or sad. I know that most of the time people look at each other with a polite smile and mutually agree “#### you.” He looks at me and sees a lowlife proletariat scum. I look at a guy and see and see a slave to the master-crass.
Now and then though you see someone, and they have a presence. When you look into his eyes you can see the “Heart of Stone, and you know you can never break the stone.” It seems that there are still a few of us, and lately more every day and we’re all locked in the same place.
It’s that we are scattered and isolated, stuck in our pasts, and lost in the present. We don’t connect often, that’s probably our intention too. Our collective soul is dark and our karma seems ####ed. However when we stand together, we can remember together. Together we find it possible and safer to go back and re-examine those days. There is a lot to think about; a lot of #### to sort out.
-Steve Boyer, Combat Medic, Vietnam Veteran
BROTHERS IN ARMS
These mist covered mountains
Are a home now for me
But my home is the lowlands
And always will be
Some day you’ll return to
Your valley and your farms
And you’ll no longer burn
To be brothers in arms
Through these fields of destructions
Baptism of fire
I’ve witnessed all the suffering
As the battles raged higher
And though they did hurt me so bad
In the fear and alarm
You did not desert me
My brothers in arms
There’s so many different worlds
So many different suns
And we have just one world
But we live in different ones
Now the sun’s gone to hell
And the moon’s riding high
Let me bid you farewell
Every man has to die
But it’s written in the starlight
And every line on your palm
We’re fools to make war
On our own brothers in arms
-Dire Straights
I am of old and young, of the foolish as much as the wise,
Regardless of others, ever regardful of others,
Maternal as well as paternal, a child as well as a man,
Stuffed with the stuff that is coarse, and stuffed with the stuff that is fine. . .
These are the thoughts of all men in all ages and lands, they are not original with me,
If they are not yours as much mine they are nothing or next to nothing,
If they do not enclose everything they are next to nothing. . .
-Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass
MONTEREY, CALIFORNIA (SEPT 2007-JAN 2009)
“Once you face death, once you overcome your fears, then you are free to live.* These are the lessons that I've learned....
I will martyr myself with my words so that you may understand, and I may heal.* It would have been simply easier to have died a hero’s death in Turki Village than to wrestle with the demons in my head.* I’ve died over and over again in Iraq.* My bird was shot down in Ramadi.* My tank crashed is As Samawa.* An RPG got me in Baghdad.* Indirect fire struck me in Balad.* A suicide bomber destroyed me in Baqubah.** The grenade got me in Turki Village.* The sniper hit his mark in Zaganiyah.* The moments flash through my mind again and again.*
They brought me home on the C-17, draped my coffin with the American flag, and laid me to rest in Arlington.* The motorcycle boy’s rode in, and some fanatical religious left wing group protested the war.* My friends flew in from all around the world, cried at the funeral, and headed to the pub for beers.* They drank throughout the night in memoriam.* “Mike was such a good dude,” they cried in their heightened state of inebriationated awareness.* They would mourn, remember, and dance.* It would be beautiful.* I’ve replayed this time and time again in my head.*
In the end, there would simply be a grave marker that Taylor Elizabeth Few would eventually visit and wonder who her daddy was.
Physically, I did not die.*
-Considerations on my own death in Iraq
Until next time...
Walk with me....
Invitation open...
Mike F,
At first I was puzzled and on second reading found some understanding. No good at poetry though. It helps if - even on a small scale - some of the journey has been travelled personally and then the insight comes.
Thanks
davidbfpo
What is the point of all of this?
This is just my White Paper on PTSD and mTBI.
See as a survivor, I didn't know how to step out of the arena. I had to figure that out myself. So, I did something audacious. You now have a case study to read. Take your time with it.
Now, maybe y'all can figure out what to do.
As for me, I'm actually going home to just be normal for once. Life is way too short to be spent in the insanity of war.
Thank you for your patience and time. I hope that I did not offend anyone.
Peace
:D
For MikeF.
Brothers In Arms-Dire Straits
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k5JkHBC5lDs
good pick, Slap...
Initially, I did not know where this would lead.
Just one long brutal honest conversation.
Throughout this process,
I found the true meaning of Easter.
Not just turkey, yams, and jellybeans
I found love
As my wise counsel told me
This has to be done
So here it is….
further psychotherapy in my own controlled environment.
now, the soldiers voice.
Don’t make another generation suffer in silence
This is why I did what I did.
I had to give up trying to fix this stuff myself.
Now, y'all have everything you need to solve the problem.
Thus validation -Mike
Sir, thanks for saying what most won't...
Michael, thanks for sharing what we can't comprehend.
Sir,
It has been interesting reading your notes. I did not realize how much your time in the service has cost you. Reading about you spending time in jail for being drunk was somewhat a shock, but not entirely unbelievable.
Many of the people that came back showed signs of great stress in their lives, even if they were not in positions of great responisibility. Soldier 1 tried to kill himself several times (Soldier 2 and I had to pull him in from Atlanta traffic one night), Soldier 3 lost it on some woman trying to recall him for IRR, I nearly killed a kid in the barracks one night for simply talking bad about 5/73. Almost everyone bought guns when we came back. Shootings in the barracks quad happened many weekends with bullet holes being found in B Troop barracks. Some were so close to my window that I found myself dropped to the floor in reaction.
I know that both Soldier 2 and I found solice in talking to veterans from previous wars. I linked up with old paratroopers from Vietnam through various groups and they were very helpful in bringing me back into the right.
I did not know it at the time, but A Troop, and all of 5/73 were hard men. Some of the things we experienced, even after you left, seemed almost normal at the time, but when put against the background of other units as I have now been able to do, I see that there was nothing normal about it.
One of the examples I like to think of is the jundi we worked with in Zag and beyond. At first there was much distrust of Major Aziz's men amongst the lower enlisted, and the jundi mistrusted us too. Slowly, through months of shared guard duties a bond began to form. As the local threat began to target the jundi as much or more than us, that bond deepened. I remember one day after an ambush had seriously wounded a jundi, their SGM was questioning a detainee. The detainee was being flippant. Most of the patrol base had seen the wounded jundi, missing his lower jaw, medevaced out. The IA SGM hauled off and backhanded the detainee. At this, the entire patrol base erupted in cheers. Of course the SGM was quickly brought under control and many of the troopers signed at that as well. In that moment I realized how much we had all changed. No longer were we soldiers and jundi, Americans and Iraqis. For all our differences we had become one- as we talked, fought, and bled together. The Americans weren't cheering the simple act of a beating- they were showing support of the jundi that had become battle brethern.
At Zag, I always chose the East Gate guard position. The jundi there got to know me very well and eventually gave me a nickname, told me stories about their families, and adopted me. As a compliment, many would loudly proclaim me Iraqi and I made many friends there.
And yet, in Iraq I learned hate. Real hate, not the kind that gets so easily tossed around as in when someone talks about displeasing things.
The first time I ever shot at another human was in the fields of Turki village. In some ways I think killing is like sex- an intense, immensely personal affair, and the first time you go about it you aren't very good at it.
There in the fields of Turki I changed as a person. The rest of the Diyala campaign was nothing more than an infant learning the ways of the world as a new man grew in place of the old one.
I suppose this email is a ramble of disjointed thoughts. Lately I have been thinking very hard about Iraq, terrorism, and the future. This tour is drawing to a close, as is my time in the military. My struggle now is to find some application of the knowledge gained over the last two years to do something progressive. As well, the struggle to come back to the social norms of America are filling my thoughts. My reactions to things that offend me are still those of violence, held in check by mental thought and not reaction. Just tonight I put on the gloves and beat up a connex while working out issues from things earlier in the day. Sometimes coming home is not so easy a road, and the longer you spend away from home, the farther that road becomes.
Anyway, happy Easter and I look forward to reading more of your story.
As Delivered
5-73 Cavalry “Headhunters” Ball Remarks
LTG William B. Caldwell, IV
071129
Throughout my thirty one years of service, I have talked to countless units
about their history and lineage and reflected on their unit pride and esprit de
corps… the pride of being part of something bigger than themselves… knowing they wear the same patch… the same crest… that links them to great warriors from World War II, Korea or Vietnam… Soldiers who fought valiantly and honorably and some who never returned.
BUT….
NEVER before have I had the distinct and immense honor I have tonight…. The opportunity to address the Soldiers, the Paratroopers, who actually made their history… the men and women who fought the battles! Being here tonight is very different. I’m not here to talk about Warriors of previous conflicts – to reflect on their bravery and heroic deeds… NO – tonight it’s all about YOU!
All too often we do our duty and then fade back into obscurity… never
asking for accolades or even thanks… well… you deserve the accolades for your efforts and you and your families deserve the thanks for your sacrifices… for the "Spartans of TF 300” just wrote the next chapter in the history of the 82nd Airborne Division! In that next chapter, they will talk about how over thirty percent of this squadron of 442 Paratroopers received valorous awards and another sixty percent achievement awards for actions in the combat zone… how over twenty-five percent of the squadron was killed or wounded in combat and of the eighty Humvees that were in the squadron, over thirty five percent were
catastrophic losses with many others damaged. AMAZING statistics by any
standard.
Your accomplishments over this last deployment have been incredible…
almost unbelievable.
When you entered Diyala Province the enemy had a strong hold and safe
haven… a place where they could operate at will and prepare for operations in
other areas of Iraq. Immediately upon arrival Headhunter 6 devised a plan to
take the fight to the enemy… and that’s just what you did! An old adage goes “it
is better to have an army of deer led by a lion than to have an army of lions led
by a deer.” That adage never accounted for the Headhunters. You all are The
Spartans of TF 300, a legion of lions led by a lion!
Your plan, while simple, was extremely effective and now that plan has
become a standard for operations in other areas of Iraq.
You conducted three major campaigns during your fifteen month
deployment. During these campaigns you stemmed the flow of insurgents and
Insurgent technology from Iran. You established a trained and effective Iraqi
Border Patrol. During the Turki Campaign you identified and destroyed insurgent
safe havens and training camps which were responsible for IED Construction
and training, marksmanship training and ideological indoctrination. And in the
process you killed over 300 insurgents and captured another 100. During the
Diyala River Campaign you were asked to stretch your unit even further and
moved the “Spartans of TF 300” westward to Baqubah where you rooted out
more al Qaeda – killing over 300 insurgents and detaining countless others.
YOUR actions… YOUR success saved countless lives and literally changed the
situation in Diyala Province. What the Division intended to be an economy of
force operation – you turned into major campaigns… We’ll all need to remember
that next time we ask the Headhunters to go do something!
And your success was not only in combat operations… You fostered
relationships with the Iraqis that led to their trust… a trust that resulted in the
citizens and tribal leaders working with Coalition Forces for the first time in two
years…providing important information on insurgent activities and caches.
Bottom line: you were the smallest unit in the brigade. You were spread
the thinnest. You sustained the greatest number of casualties and you were able
to hold the most ground and accomplish more than any other unit in MND (N). I
guess good things really do come in small packages! Diyala and all of Iraq are
safer today because of your efforts over the last fifteen months.
But we all realize that it was done by Paratroopers who made incredible
sacrifices and showed enormous bravery. (Aside) When I read the reports on
the actions of the Paratroopers who will receive Silver Stars tonight I was totally
amazed. These stories read like something out of a Hollywood script… A young
specialist firing the .50 cal while his buddy in the vehicle applies a pressure
dressing to his shattered wrist…. and then he dismounts multiple times to
resupply his weapon; a medic, with total disregard for his own safety and without
orders moves more than 100 feet in the open under intense fire to save another
Paratrooper’s life while bullets whizz by and even strike his body armor and aid
bag. These are just a few of the stories of bravery that highlight the character
you all possess. I recently exchanged e-mails with Time Magazine’s Mark Kukis
who embedded with you along with his cameraman Yuri. Yuri said they saw your
character immediately. He said they quickly realized that you were different than
other units they had covered. He stated that you were the best they had ever
seen… when you realize that Yuri has lived in combat zones for over fifteen
years, covering everyone from the Chechen Rebels to sister service units, that is
an amazing testament to you all. They sensed… and I quote “a healthy
underlying aggression tempered by professionalism and thoughtfulness.”… or
the translation of this is… Some kick ass Paratroopers who could turn it on
when required!!
We will never forget and will always honor the sacrifices made by your
brothers in arms…. Paratroopers who gave the last full measure of devotion to
their Nation… and to you.
I want to assure you tonight that their sacrifices were not in vain. I know
that over time, history will record their actions and your operations in Diyala as
one of the great success stories in OIF. We already are seeing the results of
your commitment and sacrifices.
You all are the one’s who achieved this greatness – you all are the ones
who were in the arena and deserve the credit.
Teddy Roosevelt years ago talked about the man in the arena….. He said….
“The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is
marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly… who spends himself
in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high
achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly,
so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know
victory nor defeat.”
Well let me tell you… it is you… the fearless Spartans of TF 300… who
have been in the arena…. That we will remember… Your faces are the ones that
are marred with sand… sweat…. and blood. You have spent yourself in that
worthy cause and you know the triumph of high achievement. Ten years from
now… when a new Paratrooper reports to the Headhunters his leadership will
pull him aside and say… “Son, let me tell you what this unit is all about” and he
will tell stories similar to what you have heard about Normandy and Sicily… But
ten years from now…he will tell the story of the Headhunters who fought in the
Turki Bowl Campaign and the Diyala River Campaign in Iraq in 2006 and 2007,
he will talk of heroic deeds and incredible sacrifices – he will talk about you!
Thanks so much… for allowing Stephanie and me to share this evening
with you – you and your families are amazing – and we are thrilled to be here
with you!
AIRBORNE!!
God Bless you all!
what I took everyone through was what the native americans call a sweat. we now call it medication and therapy...Every society has done this for their warriors...Every society except us....It is how you let go and release...
in reality, we learned all we needed to know in sunday school and kindergarden...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6ZUx_3BJR-Y
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BZj6QXm4hp4
Be good to each other. I've said what I needed to say...
After Nam, I stayed drunk a long time and I can't sleep unless I have a loaded weapon in my bedroom. That Mossberg is covered with dust but it is there. I never got any release until I felt honored as a Veteran and I got that from a Native American Pow wow about 18 yrs ago or so, their Veteran's Honor Song when all the Vets on hand go in the arena and move together around the flag and Native Staff. I'm not Indian but that's just my personal experience. Once I felt honored as a Vet, I was able to respect and honor the NVA/VC - men who just wanted to make it home and keep their buddies alive. It's a hell of a life we chose and I believe in time you will be able to look back and believe that if you had it all to over again, you would change nothing. I wouldn't. therapy never did a thing for me but I know a few guys that it did help. Hang in there.
Thanks goesh. I was able to articulate and publish this experience because I made it through. I decided to let my final psychotherapy session be published for free because it can help others.
If some disagree or don't like it, then this thread was not for them.
As a smart, wise psychologist told me, "Either fix it now or end up divorced five times and dying from psorosis of the liver."
I have modeled it all mathematically. Eventually, after I take some rest and have time to finesse it, I'll publish it. I combined biology, economics, and pyschology into one model that can explain individual behavior, groups, and that of the state. But, for now, that must wait. I gotta fix myself first.
v/r
Mike
Persistent Presence
Not in my town claims the mayor as the hamlet burns in anarchy
Self-denial self-inflicted in meaningless promises turned towards lethargy
Obscuring transgressions against the village
Established men descend to pillage
The circle of control diminishes as grievances expand
Sparking great controversy across the land
Armageddon is here; the sky falls down
Nothing has changed; No evolution of man
Neither rich nor poor shortchanged from suffering
Some days I grieve it all for nothing
I cannot fix what always has been,
Therefore, I must transcend.
No longer am I angry.
I return refocused.
These were my lessons learned through my journey. I realize that it is only one town so it might not be universal, but you can consider it.
When someone hurts us, we should write it down in sand where winds of forgiveness can erase it away. When someone does something good for us, we must engrave it in stone where no wind can ever erase it. --Author Unknown
You'd better hurry. For some of us, that has been the underlying framework for our investment strategies. See behavioral finance. Not sure what the published literature is, yet. Look into it before publishing. See cryptomnesia. Worst case scenario, you discover that someone else thought of it first, but you realize even if they beat you to it, it took lots of smart people a long time to come up with what you came up with (or read, forgot, stored in your subconscious, and then pieced together) on your own.
I used Wicked Problems literature to erase all the lines and come back with only one. It works for me.
Unfortunately, I gotta take it slow right now and let my brain heal a bit. Right before my cognitive screening test for TBI, I wanted to join in a rugby tournament. Not too smart.
I'm gonna present it in a couple of weeks to some distinguished professors who do things like study and map the eye to make new technologies. We'll see what they say.
Thanks for the input Schmedlap. Right now, I'm simply putting it down on paper so I don't forget it. :D
Mike
Moving sir,
Thank you and carry on
Reed
Sometimes I forget to say,
"Welcome home brothers....Thank YOU for your service."
Last week, one of my boys was killed by his wife in an accident. Keep that in mind as you conduct safety briefs....
RIP SGT Eric Autio. See you on the final dropzone brother.
http://abcnews.go.com/US/story?id=7326252&page=1
Eric was one of my paratroopers. His death is a shock and tragic, but his life was beautiful. He positively impacted everyone arround him with his strength, humor, and character.
Second platoon never rolled mounted without listening to OAR. So tonight, in memorandum, I ask you to join me in remembrance of a good man. Grab your drink of choice, kick back, and remember.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WX32_...rom=PL&index=5
here's part two..to my deployed brothers, know we're thinking of you....
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DUND9AsL_6M
I apologize for my emotional outburts, but better on-line that can be erased...that's the way I found to resolve and return to the "real" world.
v/r
Mike
I do not believe you have anything to apologize for.
Keep this in mind as you consider your thoughts...I wrote about it in SWJ in "Love and Hate."
1st Lt. Kevin J. Gaspers 26 23 April 2007 5th Squadron, 73rd Cavalry, 3rd BCT, 82nd Airborne Division, TF Lightning Died as a result of injuries sustained from an explosion when a suicide VBIED attacked a patrol base in Diyala Province / Died in As Sadah, Iraq
Staff Sgt. Kenneth E. Locker Jr. 28 23 April 2007 5th Squadron, 73rd Cavalry, 3rd BCT, 82nd Airborne Division, TF Lightning Died as a result of injuries sustained from an explosion when a suicide VBIED attacked a patrol base in Diyala Province / Died in As Sadah, Iraq
Staff Sgt. William C. Moore 27 23 April 2007 5th Squadron, 73rd Cavalry, 3rd BCT, 82nd Airborne Division, TF Lightning Died as a result of injuries sustained from an explosion when a suicide VBIED attacked a patrol base in Diyala Province / Died in As Sadah, Iraq
Sgt. Randell T. Marshall 22 23 April 2007 5th Squadron, 73rd Cavalry, 3rd BCT, 82nd Airborne Division, TF Lightning Died as a result of injuries sustained from an explosion when a suicide VBIED attacked a patrol base in Diyala Province / Died in As Sadah, Iraq
Sgt. Brice A. Pearson 32 23 April 2007 5th Squadron, 73rd Cavalry, 3rd BCT, 82nd Airborne Division, TF Lightning Died as a result of injuries sustained from an explosion when a suicide VBIED attacked a patrol base in Diyala Province / Died in As Sadah, Iraq
Sgt. Michael L. Vaughan 20 23 April 2007 5th Squadron, 73rd Cavalry, 3rd BCT, 82nd Airborne Division, TF Lightning Died as a result of injuries sustained from an explosion when a suicide VBIED attacked a patrol base in Diyala Province / Died in As Sadah, Iraq
Spc. Jerry R. King 19 23 April 2007 5th Squadron, 73rd Cavalry, 3rd BCT, 82nd Airborne Division, TF Lightning Died as a result of injuries sustained from an explosion when a suicide VBIED attacked a patrol base in Diyala Province / Died in As Sadah, Iraq
Spc. Michael J. Rodriguez 20 23 April 2007 5th Squadron, 73rd Cavalry, 3rd BCT, 82nd Airborne Division, TF Lightning Died as a result of injuries sustained from an explosion when a suicide VBIED attacked a patrol base in Diyala Province / Died in As Sadah, Iraq
Pfc. Garrett C. Knoll 23 23 April 2007 5th Squadron, 73rd Cavalry, 3rd BCT, 82nd Airborne Division, TF Lightning Died as a result of injuries sustained from an explosion when a suicide VBIED attacked a patrol base in Diyala Province / Died in As Sadah, Iraq
Persistent Presence
Not in my town claims the mayor as the hamlet burns in anarchy
Self-denial self-inflicted in meaningless promises turned towards lethargy
Obscuring transgressions against the village
Established men descend to pillage
The circle of control diminishes as grievances expand
Sparking great controversy across the land
Armageddon is here; the sky falls down
Nothing has changed; No evolution of man
Neither rich nor poor shortchanged from suffering
Some days I grieve it all for nothing
I cannot fix what always has been,
Therefore, I must transcend.
No longer am I angry.
I return refocused.
23 April 2007
No sleep after dinner with al Qaeda
All warning for naught
In love and hate
Sometimes we have to bring the hate
in hope of better days
Men bleed, heartache sores
Paratroopers persist
In ever knowing presence
In evervesance
Volunteer twice, no hope of virtue
Sadness persist
As we bury the dead
Hope forlorn, but not lost
Ever more we persist.
Strive brothers strive
for better days
And our children LIVE
Some things best left unsaid
Strive paratrooper strive
Pack up your things
and patrol once again
It is what it is....
let drops of mourning fall
for loved one's lost
and be not ashamed
tears were meant to be wept
v/r
Mike
When units come and go together, it helps with the PTSD. I think cohesion and moral support stays intact and greatly facilitates integration back into civilization. In Nam, we rotated in individually though in the early years, divisions/brigades etc entered as whole units. We left individually and psychologically alone. when I got on the freedom bird home, I didn't know a man on the plane. We were all about 14 hours from civilization thinking life would be so great and wonderful once out Viet Nam. We had visions of hamburgers, cold beer and round-eyed women - we had lost all contact with civilization and were going home. The guy I sat beside told me he was being dishcharged and would be a civilian the next day. when the plane took off, he got a blanket, covered his head and sat and talked to himself all the way to Okinawa. Nobody had a clue what was really coming back to the States from Nam. The fact that a fallen comrade who wasn't KIA in Iraq or Afghanistan can be eulogized, honored and remembered and the word spread, says a great deal about not only his unit but the whole approach the military takes towards PTSD these days.
This has been something that's been lurking in the back of many minds for some time, Goesh. There was a fair amount of discussion that the extended voyages home on troopships after WW2 actually allowed the vets on board to decompress and work some things out with others who'd been through the same things. Actually, I'd say that we've seen a PTSD-type situation that is similar to Iraq and Afghanistan before...but it's hard to document due to the elapsed time. It's always been one of my personal theories that many of the waves of western expansion in the US were fueled by folks who had a hard time adjusting after the Civil War and simply "moved on" in the literal sense. A large number of men were demobilized very quickly after that conflict (state volunteer units) and depending on location not all of them had time to "decompress" with others. Also I think the fact that units were so geographically-based would have made losses harder to bear for some of them. It's always been a matter of interest that so many of the "gunslinging lawmen and outlaws" of the post-Civil War period were former military men from the war.
I've had some long discussions about this subject with veterans from different wars. In this case, I left Iraq early to attend school. It left me unnerved as I said goodbye to my brothers abrubtly.
Today, I remember a little. Tommorow, I live a little. Sometimes we have to remember even though we'd rather forget.
Another important topic to discuss is Vietnam today. They coped and eventually thrived. Why? And will Iraq do that in 30 years?
v/r
Mike
All the old WW2 Vets I have known remained plagued with nightmares over the years. This is anecdotal but they were all well adjusted from any number of perspectives - they had no trouble with the law, were economically solvent, steadily employed, family men, no psychiatric history, etc. They did decompress aboard ship, remembering and sharing and dreaming and planning as a unit but they returned to a society that regarded them as Veterans of a just war, one of dire necessity. Shell shock was an accepted condition for many of them and bore no heavy stigma. They had done nothing wrong in a time of urgency and national survival. I don't think we will ever have an answer for any of this when we compare wars and Vets of those wars.
For one thing, we have had but one 'good war' since WW2 - the Gulf War. Secondly, the pioneers who started honestly addressing PTSD unintentionally opened the door for all kinds of people to fall under the umbrella of PTSD. There are people running around who survived a tornado sporting a diagnosis of PTSD for heaven's sake. The sacrifice of our warriors has been culturally deluded. Get bit by a damn dog and in some circles, you have PTSD.
IMO, Afghanistan is going to be the forgotten war just like Korea was and is. I think the jury is still out on Iraq. The criticism of the war has had the caveat that the troops are good guys in a bad war. How this translates psychologically at the interpersonal level amongst Iraqi combat Vets remains to be seen I think. They may in the wee hours of the night in the privacy of their minds regard themselves as mere survivors but I hope not. Our Armed Forces are at least aware of PTSD and attempting to address it. We have that much anyway in our favor.
There are people i think of and people I often see, but with most of them, my life would not be worse if they were not around....
I am blessed; however, with knowing some who affect my life in such a way a hole is left when they are gone.
Welcome to SWJ:D
v/r
Mike
'Stability lets Basra, a city of poets, return to its roots.', at The Christian Science Monitor.Quote:
BASRA, IRAQ - At Al Rasheed radio, poet Khalid al-Mayahi leans into the microphone and pours out his heart to the city, using words that could have gotten him killed before Iraqi forces took back Basra last year from Shiite extremists.
http://www.csmonitor.com/2009/0508/p06s01-wome.html
Sir/Ma'am,
For a moment, I ask you to listen...
Unfortunately, some of you will never understand what I consider...Mostly Airforce and Navy, just delete this email now so you don't get ever burdened lest you get angry by my words....Since you invite me into your office and wave at me in the halls, I felt obliged to add you onto my distro. Your choice to continue.
This is a message that is a long time coming as I tried to reconcile and consider you picturing me in a cardigan sweater and smoking a corn pipe- sorry, not gonna happen... Instead, I've resolved to drive on in the regular Army. I realize this is a shock to many of you, but you must read this email. I can only express my deepest gratitude for the support that you have given me even in my darkest days that I slowly climb out and refuse to succomb...thank you- there are young soldiers I must lead.
At a point, so near and precise, the turning of the gyre was so specific that the falcon could not hear the falconer....Those days passed in a moment of bliss in the heartbeat of the information age that one cannot constrain or confuse between black, white, gray, here, and now...We just move in endless confusion....
These days we must consider stuck inside this prison hoping nothing explodes....McCormick provides some semblance of theory if one would but yet to listen....
Most of you will never comprehend the constraints of combat command particularly significant combat...Some of you do- and you compress and cope with the help of your wives and family...Most do not....You will never understand the prison within my head that I must resolve, and I will. You simply wish to dissect and ridicule my limitations and constraints....I am but man. I strive to be the best leader that I can...In some ways, Monterey became my version of Ranger school....I am forced to reconcile within my head the best I can. Sometimes I get it right; sometimes I get it wrong. Thank goodness for the compassion of defensae analysis that refused to write me off for a broken sort.
I've dealt with a medical community that is mediocre-infected by a virus of static indecision coupled with years of not understanding or neglecting the warfighter. I asked for help and most refused to think outside their conceptual blocks refusing to consider the similarties between thyroid, PTSD, and mTBI....So, I will resolve myself lest I spend the rest of my days in some prescription cocktail. None of what I say is conjecture if you choose to listen.
Don't be fooled to consider that I cannot resolve on my own.....
I thought Zaganiyah was my Thermoplyae. During the Surge, I gave up my hopes of long days in the hope that I would lead men into the breach. I commanded as best as I could. For a moment, I provoked the wisdom of Solomon. I thought the next step was to visit Saint Peter at the gates...It did not happen.
For many moons, I could not discern why I lived. The struggle was hard to determine some purpose. Every day, I awoke wandering why I was alive....Under the table and dreaming I suppose of visions of SFA, FID, an IW....
I moved to Monterey. Tom Ricks quoted my essays. Steven Pressfield sent me autographed copies of his works declaring me the next generation of 300. My wife left...We buried many a man. Every night, I try to resolve.
Everyday, I arise, and I try to discern some purpose....The only purpose is to serve.
The math is so simple even though most will disagree...back into the breach once again, my dear friend....I must rejoin the phalanx. My story is but not yet complete. I've but yet to begin....
Maybe I lost it for a moment, but I've regained it...My mind that is....that is why I write to you now my friend...Most of you read this in terms of dribble wondering why I cannot simply conform or reform to the necessary predesposed orders of you so-called military discipline and rank and order...Others realize I'm walking in step as best as I can in perfert harmony and discourse.
I choose to remain in the Army. I choose to serve.
I'm tired of the self-serving, narcissistic dreaming of reconsidering everyday since birth....It's time to head back to the phalanx and serve once again in the breach.
The nation needs leaders like me at this point. I will finish grad school in December, then head out to the needs of the Army.
As for y'all that are tired of my voice...no worries...You'll soon be comfortable in your homes again as I deploy to Pakistan, Afghanistan, or Iraq.
Sleep well tonight those who judge...Be ye remembered you are protected by tough, hard men that you would never consider.
Best,
Major Mike Few
You remind me of the Cheyene Dog Soldiers. If you were Indian, you would be carrying more than one eagle feather to where you next deploy.
Once again my friend
I enter the breach of no end
will you join
or remain forlorn
amused by your IPod?
Distractions bemuse your content
too busy
to worry about such trifle subjects as war
As I step forth once again
to protect you
my friend
Evermore
Amoung my friends
we fight
laughing
No worries of night
Darkness creeps
to no end
My brother next to me
his shield will never bend
You will never know
how we bleed
In love of duty
honor, and country
This verse will ne'er end
as long as I can still see my friend
hope
will ne'er be forlorn
SSG Timothy Cole
today we remember
lest we forget
and lose our resolve
Today, I say my goodbyes
Today, I kiss my daughter's cheek
and step once more
into the breach
Many days from now
I'm sure
I'll be back amoung your graces
with you I won't pretend
Ever more
I will soldier once again
no more discourse
only resolve
Only volunteers need apply
I'll be leaving soon
All the Way, Mike.
Waiting like a siphoning angel
No one knows they cannot be sure
Gorging in the pit
Suffering evermore
Who will step aside
who will volunteer
In these times of gluttony
Armagedon not today
But
You live in fear
Ne'er knowing what comes tomorrow
Some men bring
Some men volunteer
To no aim you jeer
Better men than you
I hope to lead again
I am just man
I am just nobody
Selected ne'er rejected
my peers wonder why I stay in
Rejecting profit
in the hopes
my citizens awake
and arise to the suffering
I walk again
Ne'er to shy away
God's will
We must all obey
a few men bring
300 the number rings
the history
you will ne'er comprehend
We walk again
into the breach
concerned only
for our daughter's future
Before I walk again, you can at least but read my words.....
You concern yourself
Wandering when I’ll break
Wondering when the time will come
I passed the moment moons ago
I laugh
At your indiscretion
I died long ago
Along the roads of Diyala
Now I live
Striving for purpose
Ne’er concerned
With you prerogative
I fight
Struggling to win
as haphazard
As that may seem
Still
My boys walk with me
In hopes and dreams
Of settling your Long War
I volunteered
You started this
Now
I will find some resolve
You walk aimlessly
In your ignorance
Regardless
I will protect you
Moderator's Note
This thread's original title was 'Interesting PTSD related Article', which no longer reflects the contents and so changed to 'Military service, PTSD, stress and suicide' (ends).
Frankly, it tracks with my observation over the years. People are different.
LINK.
I have some of the same concerns with "exposure therapy". Agree with Ken also, no one size fits all.
Reed
So true...
I grieve that neither grief nor fear will teach me nothing.
-Ralph Waldo Emerson, On Nature
v/r
Mike
I think this kind of touches on one of the reasons why we have so much trouble dealing with PTSD: Americans have been conditioned to want ONE therapy or ONE pill to fix everything (sort of an extension of Tolkein's "one ring to rule them all" theory). And now we're dealing with something that is a very individual experience with very individual responses. There is no one magic way, and the sooner our various institutions and personalities involved come to grips with that, the better off we'll all be.
Thanks! Great links!
In a shorter vein, BBC had an interesting piece on this sort of thing here.
Ironically, the US military has been hammered in the press for attempting this holistic approach to work w/ PTSD. It has been sold as a waste of money and resources that would be better spent on focusing on "what works". I disagree with this assessment, often violently. If we completely understood the mechanisms of PTSD, perhaps this would be true, realistically we have theories, but not concrete knowledge. Many of these "alternative" therapies have produced results.
Reed