Learning To Walk - A Soldier's Story by Clifford Beck - HTML preview

Chapter 19

The next day, I asked to see the unit commander. I still felt haunted by Steve's behavior and wanted to find out if he was okay. I told him which province he was in and asked if there had been any casualties reported. I was told that the patrol mission he was on was classified and that I knew better than to even think of asking. I informed the commander that Steve wanted me to be the 'go to' person in case something happened.

"I know," the commander said.

"I'm sorry, sir," I began. "It's just that he wasn't doing very well when he left."

"How so?" he asked."

Well, sir," I answered. "He thought he was going to die. He gave me a letter to send to his girlfriend in case he didn't come back."

"Private," he replied. "For as long as there have been wars, soldiers have made those same arrangements. Sometimes it's a letter; sometimes just a name and address. This wouldn't be the first time and it probably won't be the last. As far as your friend's state of mind is concerned, the only thing I can tell you is that we all feel fear. I've been there. And even if his mission wasn't classified, there's no way to know which sector he's in. I'm sorry, Private, I can't help you but if I hear anything, I'll let you know personally."

"Thank you, sir," I replied.

"You're dismissed," he said.

I left the commander's office feeling a little angry with myself. I don't know what I was thinking. Did I really expect him to tell me anything? I felt like an idiot. More than likely, Steve would be fine. He was as new to this as I was so I understood why he reacted the way he did. As much planning that goes into fighting a war, there is a certain degree of unpredictability. You go to war knowing there's a good chance that you won't come back. In fact, it occurred to me that if the outcome of any war was certain, warfare would be made obsolete. After all, who in their right mind would fight a war, knowing they were going to lose? Upon returning to my quarters, I discovered a letter had been slipped under my door. It was nothing more than a sheet of paper that had been folded into thirds. It was, however, marked 'urgent'. According to the letter, a mission briefing had been scheduled for 0900 hours tomorrow. No other information was included.

I woke early the next morning and after the usual morning ritual, I went to the mess hall for some breakfast then straight to the briefing tent. I arrived early enough that I could find a chair near the front. Everyone stood at attention as the commander walked in. "Alright, everyone," he began. "Have a seat." We sat down as he started the briefing. It turned out that this mission would also be politically sensitive and strongly connected to our last reconnaissance mission in the Tora Bora Mountains. Intelligence reported activity along the Khyber Pass and we were ordered to go there and verify it. Military intelligence sometimes keeps strange bedfellows, in that it's only as reliable as the people providing it and most of the time, it came from locals who were being paid for information. How true their stories were was a different matter but in spite of that, we had to either verify or dismiss the reports. And the first step was always satellite imagery.

The recent air strike in the Tora Bora had been declared a success. Now, the question that needed to be answered was twofold. Was there any activity in the Khyber Pass and if so, in which direction? The Khyber Pass lies east of the Tora Bora and runs northeast through the Spin Ghar Mountains. It was once part of the ‘silk road’ used by medieval merchants and is believed to have been part of the route taken by travelers who brought the Black Death into Europe as well as the Mediterranean. Torkam was a village that lay within the Afghani side of the pass and it was believed that if the Taliban or al-Qaeda were coming back through the pass, they'd probably be hiding there. If that was the case, there would be a stockpile of weapons as well. We were to go into the area in small groups at roughly five to ten-miles distance. Radio silence would be critical to the success of the mission and it was assumed that if there was a weapons stockpile, then there would also be communications equipment. Terrorist groups are highly organized and their outposts are always within communications range of each other. Their logistical support network operated at the level of any highly trained military force and we would be monitoring the area over the course of a week, looking not only for movement but any vehicle traffic or signs of weapons smuggling from across the Pakistani border. Naturally being the scout, I would be the principle set of eyes for the mission. So, I would have to get as close as possible and from the right vantage point so that I see both the village and the route into the pass. Finding an elevated area would be essential to gathering accurate information.

The remainder of the briefing outlined our transportation to and from the mission site. We were to be dropped at a small military outpost five miles from Chenar Kalay by helicopter and would camp there while performing surveillance and reconnaissance within the target area, working in shifts both day and night. I would also be joined by another scout. Typically, each unit had their own but another was assigned to the mission, so we could work in shifts. With the additional scout, we would have our eyes on the target area twenty-four hours a day. Again, I assessed the current satellite imagery. The images did show some traffic moving in both directions through the Khyber Pass. What they couldn't reveal was if there were any weapons being transported. There was no question that we had to go there to find out.

Later that afternoon, there was a knock at the door of my quarters. I had been working with Kabul's SATCOM division monitoring the Khyber Pass and was waiting for any updated images. It was critical to stay on top of the current intelligence coming in as part of mission support. I opened the door and found the commander standing in front of me with a deep look of concern. "Sorry to bother you, Private," he said. "It's okay, sir," I replied.

He paused a moment and glanced at the ground with a deep sigh. I knew exactly why he'd come. "Fuck!" I thought.

This was not what I wanted to hear. "How did it happen, sir?" I asked. Sometimes the truth about a soldier's death is never revealed due to the nature of the mission, or because of some political sensitivity. In this case, the commander gave me the entire story. Steve was one of a small handful of soldiers patrolling a sector near Gossam, in the Nari district in the Kunar Province. They were inspecting a road for recent signs of activity when he stepped on an IED. He was killed instantly.

Usually, improvised explosive devices left an impression around them as their edges tend to displace the ground they're placed in. But, the wind blew sand over its edges and evened out the ground, making the device undetectable. Several more were discovered afterward, probably saving more lives. Normally, the idea of sacrificing one life for the good of the many is one I find acceptable but it's very different when you know the person whose life was taken. This seemed to take utilitarianism from being nothing more than an idea to something that felt like a kick in the stomach. Of all the places to bury a bomb, what were the odds of it being right under Steve's foot? At least, it was quick. I suppose that was better than having to deal with the pain of being shot. I've heard soldiers and marines talk about that experience and how much it burns. They say it feels like they're being branded.

His remains arrived that evening by helicopter. He had been placed in a standard, olive drab military body bag. I stood at the edge of the chopper pad as the flight medics lifted him out and into a transport truck. He was taken to the base morgue and placed in an airtight stainless steel casket. This was put into a walk-in refrigeration unit. It would be flown to Germany for processing and then Steve would be taken home. Because of the condition of his body, I was not allowed to see him and it was likely that his family wouldn't either. Naturally, the Army would print a letter informing his family. It would be exactly the same letter that so many other families get - standard, automated and impersonal.

As promised, I would send Steve's letter out to his girlfriend, but I wanted to do something more so, I sat down to write to her myself, telling her about my friendship with him and the kind of person I saw him as. This is what I wrote.

Dear Trisha, I wish I didn’t have to write this letter. My name is Clarence and I'm currently serving in Afghanistan. Steve wrote you a letter and made me promise that I'd send it to you in case something happened. He came to me with it right before leaving for a patrol mission. Most of the time, things go okay but while he was out on patrol, Steve accidentally stepped on a roadside bomb. There was no way anyone could've seen it. His parents will probably get a formal letter but he thought you deserved better. And I agree.

We first met in basic training. I was going through a rough patch and Steve was there to listen. About two weeks ago, we ran into each other here in Kabul. Our conversations often went on for hours and without knowing it, he helped me to forget the things that make war ugly. Recently, he showed me your picture saying that he wouldn't know what he'd do without you. I can't imagine how painful this must be and it would be wrong to tell you that everything's going to be okay but eventually, you will feel better.

If there's one thing you should know, it's how much Steve loved you. You were the light of his life. No good person deserves to die and Steve was a genuinely good person. Please know that I am truly sorry for what you've lost. I know that I will never meet anyone quite like him again, please don't feel that you have to write back to me. The only thing you should be concerned with is letting yourself heal. With this letter, you'll find the one Steve wrote. Again, I'm sorry for what you must be going through. I wish there was something I could do to make this easier for you. It seems that the only thing I 'can' do is to write this letter. Please take care of yourself. And remember, you are never truly alone.

Sincerest Regards,

Clarence Taylor

I tried to be brief but still sensitive without getting too personal. I made it a point to let her know that she did not have to write back. And honestly, I really didn't want her to. I know that sounds harsh but the last thing I wanted was to be a long-distance counselor for a young girl whose boyfriend had just been killed. It would have been a wrinkle in my life that I just didn't need. I put both letters in an envelope and dropped them into the mail. A military carrier would pick it up that evening. Chances are she'd get the letter a week or two after being told by Steve's parents of his death. People's lives can't be fixed and hopefully, Trisha would not be on her own with her grief. She would have to find a sympathetic ear and eventually a way of moving on and I had to find a way of letting it all go. I never heard from her.

The mission review was that evening and we'd be moving out to the Khyber Pass in the morning. We surveyed the maps and satellite images looking for any elevations in the terrain from which to make our observations. This meant we would be taking the risk of exposing our positions, as there would probably be a number of lookouts posted. This method of acquiring information always carries a very real risk of attack but we were all determined to get the job done. I took my usual precaution in order to avoid capture, putting a forty-five caliber round in my left breast pocket. Ordinarily, I saw suicide as a product of mental illness. Other times, I saw it as an act of cowardice. Death is usually the easy way out. Most people don't see shooting yourself in the head as a means of serving the greater good. However, most people will never find themselves near the Pakistani border gathering critical information on terrorist activities. I think the difference is very clear. Would I be able to blow my brains out in the event we were overrun? I honestly don't know. I guess that's one of those things you find out when the time comes. As much as I believed I could do it I would, fortunately, never have to.

The mission review was given in the morning. There were no snipers on this mission and we would have no air support. Officially, this had not been classified as a covert mission but it was obvious that was what we were doing. It was at the mission review that we were given information on exactly where we were going. We were previously told that our drop point would be at an outpost near Chenar Kalay. In addition, we would be hiking to just below the summit of Slinghar Mountain. We'd make camp there and use the summit as a temporary observation post, being careful not to stray across the Pakistani border. The two platoons of Marines assigned as support would hold a position near the base of the mountain to minimize our visibility. Hopefully, we wouldn't need them.

By the time we landed at Chenar Kalay, the Marines had already arrived. They had gone in the night before to secure the area we'd be camped at. According to every map available, Slinghar Mountain was on the Afghani side of the Pakistani border. However, it was strongly suspected that if our presence was detected, the government of Pakistan might make the claim that the mountain was within their border and use it to start an international incident. War is never without politics.

We waited at the outpost until nightfall. The most important part of the plan was to be invisible. The meteorology division at Kabul had forecast a wind storm for that area. The wind-driven sand would make things miserable but it would also cover our tracks. Strategically speaking, the conditions would be perfect. We'd be able to move like ghosts in the desert. Slinghar Mountain is near the easternmost tip of the Tora Bora Mountains and overlooks the Khyber Pass. We would be observing from the western side of the summit in order to get an unobstructed view of Torkham. We were using high-powered, night-vision binoculars mounted on tripods. In order to eliminate wind vibration, small sandbags were hung from beneath the top of each tripod. All we needed to do was watch, take pictures and remain invisible. We would be there for no longer than a week.