Read Online One Hundred Victories by Linda Robinson - Free Book Online
Authors: Linda Robinson
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“route clearance package”—units that would drive through with special mine-detecting equipment—had not worked, because after they went through, within hours new mines would be planted. The team hiked long distances around the village and also patrolled the wadi and badlands to the north.
The team members did many foot patrols, loaded with their kits, through rolling dirt terrain. They logged nineteen “TICs,” or troops-in-contact incidents, as combat encounters were officially called. They knew it was important to fight through every encounter, secure the village, and complete their search. They could not always get attack helicopters to provide close air support; in one case, Parker was pinned down by rocket-propelled grenade (RPG) fire, but he held on, knowing that Jimmy, the medic, would blast through to his location.
Hayes started an ongoing fitness contest that he named the 1,000 Pound Club as a diversion, knowing that it would keep the team in good shape for their treks and boost morale. Each team member who managed to bench press, squat, and dead lift a total of 1,000 pounds became a member of the club. Visitors to their Ezabad outpost and other units in Kandahar were invited to participate. Each week, a new spreadsheet with the latest results was posted in the TV room, which doubled as a dining room. Word of the contest spread, and resupply convoys began to time their visits to the qalat to compete in the monthly event. Soldiers would gather around when Brant made his appearance; the intelligence sergeant kept ahead of the pack, one month lifting a total of 1,393 pounds in the three events.
The nature of the threat was subtle, constant, and wearing. The shots could come at any time, forcing the team members to be on alert while simultaneously greeting villagers, kicking a soccer ball with the village kids, and trying to persuade local officials to do their jobs. It required practicing sound tactics every day, every time they swung open the wide iron gate of their qalat. One day half the team and a few infantrymen patrolled on foot to Nasu Kalay. Following procedure, they fanned out in a diamond shape, with Parker riding along in one of the Kawasaki dune buggies. On their return, a shot cracked overhead as they crossed a barren field that would soon burst forth with poppies. The farmers were annoyed that the soldiers tromped across their fields, which were latticed with hand-mounded irrigation channels, but it was the best way to avoid IEDs. The soldiers knelt on the ground to lower their profiles and scanned the horizon. There was no cover between them and the gate of their mud-walled compound. Parker sped off in the direction of the shot, radioing the intelligence intercept team to see what they heard. The soldiers then moved out double-time and reached the gate without incident. No further shots were fired, and the team surmised that the insurgent’s PKM machine gun had jammed. Afghans hiding in the distant treeline sped off on their motorcycles.
These random potshots were a typical low-grade threat. What the soldiers feared most were the IEDs, the buried bombs that were hard to detect and responsible for the vast majority of deaths and serious injuries. To search for explosives, working dogs and their handlers were attached to teams in the highest threat areas: in Ezabad, Mocha and her sandy-haired handler were welcome additions on every foot patrol. Mocha walked point along with her handler, a tall, quiet young man who was aware that he remained an outsider in the team’s close-knit social dynamic. The well-behaved brown female Labrador sniffed out more than her share of bombs.
Perhaps the most valued and versatile aid came from the Afghan special forces team that came to live alongside them in the adjoining compound. One of its members had an uncanny ability to spot the tiniest telltale signs of an implanted bomb—and was equally skilled at disarming the crude devices—usually a wooden clapper
The team members did many foot patrols, loaded with their kits, through rolling dirt terrain. They logged nineteen “TICs,” or troops-in-contact incidents, as combat encounters were officially called. They knew it was important to fight through every encounter, secure the village, and complete their search. They could not always get attack helicopters to provide close air support; in one case, Parker was pinned down by rocket-propelled grenade (RPG) fire, but he held on, knowing that Jimmy, the medic, would blast through to his location.
Hayes started an ongoing fitness contest that he named the 1,000 Pound Club as a diversion, knowing that it would keep the team in good shape for their treks and boost morale. Each team member who managed to bench press, squat, and dead lift a total of 1,000 pounds became a member of the club. Visitors to their Ezabad outpost and other units in Kandahar were invited to participate. Each week, a new spreadsheet with the latest results was posted in the TV room, which doubled as a dining room. Word of the contest spread, and resupply convoys began to time their visits to the qalat to compete in the monthly event. Soldiers would gather around when Brant made his appearance; the intelligence sergeant kept ahead of the pack, one month lifting a total of 1,393 pounds in the three events.
The nature of the threat was subtle, constant, and wearing. The shots could come at any time, forcing the team members to be on alert while simultaneously greeting villagers, kicking a soccer ball with the village kids, and trying to persuade local officials to do their jobs. It required practicing sound tactics every day, every time they swung open the wide iron gate of their qalat. One day half the team and a few infantrymen patrolled on foot to Nasu Kalay. Following procedure, they fanned out in a diamond shape, with Parker riding along in one of the Kawasaki dune buggies. On their return, a shot cracked overhead as they crossed a barren field that would soon burst forth with poppies. The farmers were annoyed that the soldiers tromped across their fields, which were latticed with hand-mounded irrigation channels, but it was the best way to avoid IEDs. The soldiers knelt on the ground to lower their profiles and scanned the horizon. There was no cover between them and the gate of their mud-walled compound. Parker sped off in the direction of the shot, radioing the intelligence intercept team to see what they heard. The soldiers then moved out double-time and reached the gate without incident. No further shots were fired, and the team surmised that the insurgent’s PKM machine gun had jammed. Afghans hiding in the distant treeline sped off on their motorcycles.
These random potshots were a typical low-grade threat. What the soldiers feared most were the IEDs, the buried bombs that were hard to detect and responsible for the vast majority of deaths and serious injuries. To search for explosives, working dogs and their handlers were attached to teams in the highest threat areas: in Ezabad, Mocha and her sandy-haired handler were welcome additions on every foot patrol. Mocha walked point along with her handler, a tall, quiet young man who was aware that he remained an outsider in the team’s close-knit social dynamic. The well-behaved brown female Labrador sniffed out more than her share of bombs.
Perhaps the most valued and versatile aid came from the Afghan special forces team that came to live alongside them in the adjoining compound. One of its members had an uncanny ability to spot the tiniest telltale signs of an implanted bomb—and was equally skilled at disarming the crude devices—usually a wooden clapper
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