Dreams Of Pain

Date: March, 5th 2009.

Time: 4:43am.

Location: RC East (Regional Command East), South Eastern Afghanistan, East Paktika District, Combat Outpost Zerok.

P.O.V: Pv2. Andrews, 25th Infantry Division, 4th BCT, 509th Infantry Regiment, 3rd Battalion, Able Company.

“Sparta Lives,” Thats our units motto. It was spoken like second nature at the training grounds of JB Elmendorf-Richardson, back in Alaska, and it was spoken around the COP. Everyday it was said, from my battle buddies, to the platoon Sergeant, even all the way to the TOC. From the newly installed 60mm Mortar pit, to the four towers that looked over the base, and to the lands they watched beyond. It was our saying, those two simple words carried like a burning torch of destiny, and history. Embroiled in tradition, and the blood of the enemies of the United States.

Even if not said, the words were thought, if they weren’t thought, then they would surround around us like phantoms, carried by the wind and dust of Eastern Afghanistan, as if it was our shield, our veil of justice.

Even here now, lying face up at the ceiling of the quickly fashioned barracks building made of wood, rock, and high hopes, it surrounds us, me, and the rest of first squad. It is us and we are it. Frozen warriors from a far away land, here to see the enemies of man fall before us. Knights in shinning armor with great swords that could cut the sky's in half.

The morning is nigh, I hear the sounds of the surrounding wildlife beginning to wake, the cool night shifting ever so slightly, dissipating away. The hot, unforgiving Afghan sun slowly beginning to show its radiance once again, just peaking over the valley, starting a new day of guarding, patrolling, and anxiousness. My eyes, heavy with baggage look slowly around the small barracks. Soldiers twisted every which way, their chests rising up and down slowly, fast asleep, sleeping on makeshift beds, inside their BIVY’s, or on a clean patch of ground. Resting their tired heads on their arms, crossed together making the ground seem like, well, not the ground.

Living conditions aside, being inside the COP and, well, resting was heaven compared to the last few days. Our, “first phase,” operations here at Zerok, have been nonstop. We had help, but, it was every second, of every minute, of every hour, of every damn day. Resting was like a five star vacation in the Bahamas. But luckily after flying in most of our equipment by helicopter, and getting set up, linking our TOC with Forward Operating Base Orgun-E, and other general things…

We hadn’t come under serious fire, at least not yet. By, serious fire, I mean a concentrated attack. Multiple casualties, RPG’s landing inside the COP, OPFOR in the wire sort of thing. We’ve taken hits before now, but, we’ve been able to deal with that, just buy returning with indirect fire and shooting at their general bearing, hopefully wounding, or killing them. Or just waiting them out. Whatever we can take, we take, or miss the opportunity at making the valley just a little bit safer. Any lead, any sighting and report of Taliban in the area, we are to jump on it as quick as we can. Or at least that's what we’re supposed to do here. We haven’t been keeping up on our end of the bargain, mostly because we’ve been setting up these past few days. Building walls, checkpoints, gates, towers, so on and so forth. All while the heat of the Afghan sun beat us down like a hot iron pressed against a wool towel.

But with the Outpost fully constructed, or at least, to the best of our ability, comes the following weeks of patrolling the valley, and guarding the outpost from external attack. We’ve already produced schedules for the months to come, me and my unit 1st Platoon are to patrol for one week, then alternate with 2nd Platoon. While they’re out, we watch over the COP, and likewise for them while we're outside the wire. But everyday is a roll of the dice, we don’t know if it could be a lazy day with no contact, or if we're going to call for a airstrike via Apache gunship. Everyday our house of cards faces a hurricane of uncertainty, and I wouldn’t want it any other way.

Our job is to promote democracy and keep the people of Afghanistan safe while the political gears turn in Washington, and here. Peacekeepers, with a purpose is what I'd like to call us. And as the sun continues to creep above the valleys winding mountain range, casting a shadow of light through the threshold of the barracks, that day of patrolling comes upon us. I ponder amongst myself, thinking of the men around me, sleeping away, as if not wake them. My head was flooded of events that may or may not happen today. But one thing that I know for sure is that, time will tick on, the sun must rise, and it must set, and what we do in that time before the land is filled with darkness again, will determine tomorrow, and the days to come. And to that I say…

“Bring it, were ready.”