What are they going to do -- send me home??

All,

  It's been the perennial question since I got to Afghanistan: "What are they going to do -- send you home?"

 

  When the tie-rod on our up-armoured land cruiser got bent all the way to the ground, we couldn't turn right anymore.  We were on top of a freakin' mountain.  The trail was too narrow to get a deuce and a half up to tow us down.  Some folks were advocating that we abandon the vehicle.  "What are They going to do -- send you home?" was ring out all over the place.

  I (along with one justifiably concerned spotter) drove that stupid land cruiser down the mountain after using a jack and a clever special forces sergeant to make the tie-rod bend less.  I thought that with all my body armor, weapons, and the armor on the vehicle, falling off a mountain would be a dumb way to die.  We made it down.  Nobody sent me home.

 

  We ran into some trouble on Route xxxxx on a Friday.  We didn't know you should never use Route xxxxx on a Friday.  The Kabul mosques overflow into the streets; citizens erect makeshift roadblocks for a impromptu bazaar; police erect real roadblocks as thousands of Afghans flock to the bazaar.  We aren't well versed in the streets that branch off Route xxxx.  Some folks with our convoy talked about pushing through the crowds or just giving up and going home.  "What are They going to do -- send you home?" 

  We vectored off the route; we vectored off our vector.  We kept telling each other, as long as xxxxxx Hill is on our right and that blue domed mosque is on our left we're good.  The Kabul smog came on that afternoon with a vengeance.  We could barely see the vehicles in the convoy, much less xxxxx Hill and the blue mosque.  We kept vectoring.  We didn't P.O. the locals.  We eventually made it back to Camp Eggers.  Nobody sent me home.

 

  We got caught up on the edge of a riot.  Police blockades were all over the place.  Multiple convoys were mixing it up all over the place.  It got kind of ugly.  As our convoy got split into parts by a bunch of Phoenix Humvees, a jangle truck blocked my vehicle in.  My shotgun rider suggested "pushing" the jangle out of the way.  "What are They going to do -- send you home?" 

  Okay, this time, I did it.  Our Land Cruiser pushed that jangle quite nicely.  We mangled the right rear door handle, but we got out of the traffic jam, rejoined our convoy, and 'got the hell out of Dodge.'  Nobody sent me home.

 

  In the last 24 hours, I watched my crew convoy out into some cruddy weather without me -- felt like I'd abandoned them, but I have been turned over to my relief for several days; I've been given an award; farewelled at the Thai place; jumped on the Rhino and left a good friend behind at Camp Eggers for another six months -- seemed like I was abandoning my shipmate; and made it to Bagram. 

  The reality has sunk in.  After a month of training and six months of being a Sailor in a landlocked country, "They" are really doing it.  "They" are sending me home.

 

Cheers,

Jody

--
"...wrap your arms around your body armor, give it a big embrace, and LEARN TO LOVE THE SUCK!"
  -- Sergeant First Class Jenkins, 13 JUL 08