Now, on this morning, our convoy is on that same road as we transport the task force’s soldiers and supplies.
As we pass the spot where the bombing took place, all radio traffic is silent. The lone sound is the grinding engine noise of our trucks.
Sgt. 1st Class Robert Carr, the leader of our personal security detail or PSD, says the radio silence is a tribute.
And a reminder.
“Whenever we drive by that area ... we remain silent while still pulling security. That’s how we pay our respects,” Carr says. “That’s our daily reminder of what can happen. That keeps us from being complacent.”
The Ohio Army National Guard unit’s overall mission is to protect and escort NATO military and civilian personnel. Soldiers in the task force, nicknamed Task Force Roc, routinely conduct missions seven days a week; as of Thursday, they had completed a combined 3,500 missions while driving more than 85,000 miles.
The PSD’s primary role is to protect and escort the task force commander, Lt. Col. Craig Baker, as he travels on a regular basis to the 18 bases that make up the Kabul Base Cluster.
Today’s convoy is comprised of 15 Ohio Army National Guard soldiers who have been up since 4:30 a.m. preparing. As the task force’s public relations officer and our headquarters’ detachment’s executive officer, I’m not a member of the team. I typically don’t go out with them as a truck commander, or TC. But they need an additional TC for today’s missions, so I am tapped to fill in.
During the pre-convoy briefing, Carr rattles off truck numbers to their assigned crew, which includes the driver, TC and main gunner. My vehicle is the third in the convoy with Sgt. Maximilian Upton of Sandusky as my driver. I don’t have a main gunner because my truck doesn’t have a turret.
Carr announces the weather forecast, the route, the convoy speed and the uniform and equipment each soldier is required to have: Kevlar, safety goggles, body armor, gloves, knee pads, rifle, ammunition and first-aid kit. He details other emergency procedures, rules of engagement and actions should they encounter the enemy or get struck by roadside bombs or suicide car bombers.
If any member of the convoy is injured or killed, Carr tells them, these are the radio frequencies they’ll use to call for help. If Carr, the convoy commander, is killed, a succession of command is made clear.
“Bring it in,” Carr says after he gets no questions from the group. Each person puts a hand in the middle of a circle, as a football team would just before kickoff, and Spc. Joshua Kennedy from Canton is called on to “Do your thing.”
“Strike fast, kick ass on three,” Kennedy shouts.
“One. Two. Three.”
“Strike fast, kick ass,” the group thunders.
With that we get into our massive trucks and are on our way.
No trip is routine
The tan armored MRAPs (Mine Resistant Ambush Protected) weigh roughly 18 tons and stand about 15 feet high, including the turret and cover. Heavy-duty weapons which fire rounds that can literally shred a human or dismantle a car are mounted on top of each vehicle. The weapons are manned by a PSD member, who stands watch in the turret during the convoy.
The PSD this day is transporting several soldiers from Camp Dubbs to Camp Phoenix, where the task force moved to in early March as part of the plan to draw down American troops in preparation for the 2014 withdrawal. We are also delivering items to Camp Eggers, headquarters for NATO Training Mission — Afghanistan, the group responsible for training Afghan security forces and rebuilding the country. Finally, we are giving the task force’s chaplain and his assistant safe passage from Kabul International Airport.
In Afghanistan, no trip is considered routine. Each truck has water and food in case we get stranded, and radios are given a final check before the convoy leaves the front gates of Camp Dubbs.
“Every time we leave, you expect the worst but pray for the best,” Carr says. “With every mission, I’m nervous because you don’t know what’s going to happen out there.
“What worked yesterday isn’t going to work today, and you have people that pull surveillance on you. They might watch us for a week to see what we change. But we have to be creative every day to throw them off.”
It is now 6:30 a.m., and it’s starting to get lighter. Other than a few pedestrians and vehicles, the streets are quiet.
Staff Sgt. Christopher Schwab, 29, of Cincinnati, is the TC of the lead vehicle. That makes him and his crew the convoy’s first line of defense.
He immediately reports to the rest of the group detailed descriptions of everything he sees.
“This is lead vehicle, yellow Toyota parked at 3 o’clock,” Schwab announces. “Four men standing next to it.”
“This is vehicle 2,” says Staff Sgt. Desmond Butler of Columbus, the TC of the second vehicle: “Eyes on.” That means he sees the car and will approach it cautiously. The rest of the TCs respond in sequence in the same manner.
Meanwhile, the gunners in each vehicle’s turret face opposite directions to ensure that the convoy has 360 degrees of security. The gunners and TCs use their eyes to examine buildings and rooftops, check the streets for roadside bombs and watch pedestrians to ensure that they don’t pose any danger.
Parked cars, too, are closely watched, and if deemed suspicious the vehicle’s description and license plate are recorded and entered into a database.
Living with danger has become second-nature for the members of the PSD, though Kennedy, the driver for Carr’s truck, said that wasn’t always the case for him. When he first arrived, he said he was spooked by everything.
“I’m not that anxious anymore because I know what’s out there now,” he said. “We get good updates about threats every day, and everything changes a little bit.”
The 12 Americans who died in the October suicide bombing were little more than a mile away from Camp Dubbs. Some of the victims were stationed there, and their photos, along with those of other coalition forces who have died in the area, hang in the base’s dining facility.
“I never knew any of the people who died (in the October attack), but I went through the same type of training that they did,” said Carr, 33, a military police officer and 14-year Army veteran now on his third deployment.
The PSD is diverse in terms of military experience and skills, and they come from various parts of Ohio, including Cincinnati, Huber Heights, Columbus, Toledo and Mount Gilead. They range in age from 21 to 51, and met each other for the first time when the team was formed in September at the mobilization station at Camp Shelby, Miss.
“We have a strong bond,” said Carr, who is married with a son. “We are a tight family. God help anyone who hurts any one of us.”
As we approach downtown Kabul, the sun starts to rise and traffic picks up. There is Western influence in the downtown area, although there’s no mistaking this is a poor, war-torn country. No one will confuse it for Las Vegas, either, though hundreds of commercial billboards are lit with advertisements in Pashto, English or both.
One of the first billboards I see is one promoting “The American University of Afghanistan. Admission Now Open.” Scores of billboards promoting Internet and cellphone service are on display as well. And although it’s not on this route, there’s a Gold’s Gym on the next block.
Recruiting billboards encourage Afghans to join the military to help protect their country. I’ve seen these everywhere I’ve traveled here.
bBillboards advertise for appliances, including washers and dryers. Very few people here can afford such luxuries.
It appears as if Kabul and other parts of the country are trying to move into a new era. However, it’s not uncommon to see carts being pulled by donkeys on the roads.
A few social advances have been made, too, as some women now have the option of not covering themselves up from head to toe when in public. And they are allowed to get an education now. The county has a long way to go in terms of human rights, as tribal rules and traditions are highly regarded and sometimes supersede the law.
The city has primarily brick buildings here, although that’s not the case in many parts of the country, which have mud housing. Some of the structures have been bombed. Others are in fairly good shape, and there’s new construction going on.
Street vendors sell fruits and vegetables. Whole animals that have been skinned and slabs of meat hang for sale. There are also auto repair shops along the way, some next to outdoor food markets. In some cases, we see open areas with piles of garbage, where stray animals feed next to the markets.
End of a long day
By 6 p.m. we’ve made our stops and are on our way back to Camp Dubbs. We travel on the outskirts of downtown Kabul.
The streets bustle. Thousands of people are out, some shopping, others just milling about. It’s rush hour, and traffic is three times as bad as Interstate 70 during construction season.
We are stuck in traffic. When I was deployed to Iraq in 2004, we’d never sit in traffic. It was considered suicide. Instead, we’d either drive on the shoulder or in the median or drive in oncoming traffic and run Iraqi drivers off the roads.
Not here. Coalition forces are under strict orders to share the roads, obey local traffic laws and respect Afghan motorists. Still, sitting in traffic isn’t ideal, and Schwab, who is in the lead vehicle, tries to find a way out.
“My thought is find a hole and get us out of there,” he says. “I have to keep us moving. You are stuck and you are like a rat in a cage. You’ve got nowhere to go. We got to be able to constantly stay moving, and if we can’t, we have taken away our ability to fight any threat.
“I’ve been shot at so many times (in Iraq), it’s not funny,” Schwab adds. “You can’t lose your cool because there’s so much happening around you. If I’m calm and collected, the rest of the crew is calm.”
After 15 minutes of sitting in traffic, we start to move. Schwab takes the first opening he sees, and a short time later we are headed back to Camp Dubbs.
Back at the base, it’s now a little after 8 p.m. Carr and his crew, on duty for 16 hours, are exhausted. They head to their rooms to unwind. Some watch a movie on their personal laptops; others get on Facebook or Skype (most of us pay about $90 a month to get WiFi access in our rooms). A few begin preparations for the next day’s mission.
I head to my room to check the score of the game between my beloved Chicago Bulls (I grew up in Chicago) and the Boston Celtics. The Bulls won. I turn my attention to catching up on Facebook and email messages, and national news.
Carr goes to his room, logs onto Skype and calls his wife, Ellie. He wishes her a Happy Valentine’s Day, tells her that he loves her and goes to bed.
His team has another mission in the morning.
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