Read Online The Long Walk: A Story of War and the Life That Follows by Brian Castner - Free Book Online Page B
Book: The Long Walk: A Story of War and the Life That Follows by Brian Castner
Read Free Book Online
Authors: Brian Castner
Tags: History, Personal Memoirs, Biography & Autobiography, Military, Biography, War, special forces, Iraq War; 2003-
Ads: Link
be.”
“Just blow it by itself—you can cap in here,” he said, pointing to the little strip of det cord.
My curiosity got the better of me, and an hour later my teammate Finch and I were back at Balad setting up a disposal shot on the abandoned infield between the two main runways, our designated demolitions area, as it was the only empty space on an otherwise crowded American complex.
“What the hell do you think this is?” I asked Finch, who had been around a lot longer than me.
“Dude, I have no idea, but we’re moving back,” replied Finch. He had attached the blasting cap to the indicated cord as I was setting up a radio receiver that would electronically initiate the explosion.
“How far back do we need to go?”
“All the way back,” said Finch, as he hopped in the truck, and we drove off.
I pulled out the heavy green radio transmitter once we arrived at our safe area, a protective shelter a sufficient distance from the freshly dug pit that contained the black football.
“Fire in the hole,” I said, far more quietly than usual, as I peered around the steel wall and pressed the final button.
Thunder and hellfire and a plume of black smoke ten stories high. The crack of the shock wave engulfed our metal box and rattled my lungs. The control tower on the far side of the airfield shook. Windows broke in the flimsy, Iraqi-made administrative buildings dotting the complex. Back at the EOD compound, the phone rang about a possible attack on the airbase.
That explosion lived up to Hollywood expectations.
My tour at Balad did not last much longer, though it ended over transportation paperwork, not detonating unidentified explosives recovered from strangers. For minor offenses in the military justice system, the General plays prosecutor, judge, and jury. For reasons unknown to me to this day, my charge was ultimately reduced and my penalty dropped to a reprimand that would be placed in my official record. The real punishment, however, was my removal from the unit. I was fired, disgraced, headed home on a plane less than a week later. The C-130 ride back out of the box—back to three-a-day beers and sun and safety and little Air Force girls in bikinis by the base pool in Qatar—was the longest, least welcome flight I have ever taken. I landed alone, lucky to be simply bereft of my command and not headed to jail. But I found my blessings hard to count.
When I arrived in Qatar, home of Central Air Forces headquarters, the top engineer on staff met me at the plane. He said there was a change of plans. He shredded my paperwork and said I’d serve out the rest of my tour working for him. My work-release package involved a purgatory of shuffling virtual papers in a cheap office trailer, in the rear with the gear, answering phones and going to meetings and “working issues” and “providing the leadership with an accurate sight-picture” for their metaphorical radar screen. Every day I read the incident reports detailing missions that my brothers in Balad had completed. Every day I dreamed of a return up north that I knew was impossible.
I had a taste of it now. The rifles, armored trucks, love, Brotherhood, detonations, IEDs, camaraderie, robots, bearded special-ops guys, and incoming mortar fire were all really there. I knew the life I wanted was possible in that exploding dustbowl.
I had to get back. I needed to get back. But how?
I dutifully served my penance until one day, four months in and nearly done with my staff tour, the phone rang. It was a fellow EOD officer, the commander of the largest EOD unit at that time in the Air Force, at Nellis Air Force Base outside of Las Vegas.
“When you get back to the States you’re moving here to take over for me,” he said in a tone that allowed no debate.
“Didn’t you hear, sir? I got fired. I’m done,” I replied.
“Yeah, we heard what happened. Tell your wife you’re leaving Cannon and coming to Nellis as soon as you get back. We’ll get
“Just blow it by itself—you can cap in here,” he said, pointing to the little strip of det cord.
My curiosity got the better of me, and an hour later my teammate Finch and I were back at Balad setting up a disposal shot on the abandoned infield between the two main runways, our designated demolitions area, as it was the only empty space on an otherwise crowded American complex.
“What the hell do you think this is?” I asked Finch, who had been around a lot longer than me.
“Dude, I have no idea, but we’re moving back,” replied Finch. He had attached the blasting cap to the indicated cord as I was setting up a radio receiver that would electronically initiate the explosion.
“How far back do we need to go?”
“All the way back,” said Finch, as he hopped in the truck, and we drove off.
I pulled out the heavy green radio transmitter once we arrived at our safe area, a protective shelter a sufficient distance from the freshly dug pit that contained the black football.
“Fire in the hole,” I said, far more quietly than usual, as I peered around the steel wall and pressed the final button.
Thunder and hellfire and a plume of black smoke ten stories high. The crack of the shock wave engulfed our metal box and rattled my lungs. The control tower on the far side of the airfield shook. Windows broke in the flimsy, Iraqi-made administrative buildings dotting the complex. Back at the EOD compound, the phone rang about a possible attack on the airbase.
That explosion lived up to Hollywood expectations.
My tour at Balad did not last much longer, though it ended over transportation paperwork, not detonating unidentified explosives recovered from strangers. For minor offenses in the military justice system, the General plays prosecutor, judge, and jury. For reasons unknown to me to this day, my charge was ultimately reduced and my penalty dropped to a reprimand that would be placed in my official record. The real punishment, however, was my removal from the unit. I was fired, disgraced, headed home on a plane less than a week later. The C-130 ride back out of the box—back to three-a-day beers and sun and safety and little Air Force girls in bikinis by the base pool in Qatar—was the longest, least welcome flight I have ever taken. I landed alone, lucky to be simply bereft of my command and not headed to jail. But I found my blessings hard to count.
When I arrived in Qatar, home of Central Air Forces headquarters, the top engineer on staff met me at the plane. He said there was a change of plans. He shredded my paperwork and said I’d serve out the rest of my tour working for him. My work-release package involved a purgatory of shuffling virtual papers in a cheap office trailer, in the rear with the gear, answering phones and going to meetings and “working issues” and “providing the leadership with an accurate sight-picture” for their metaphorical radar screen. Every day I read the incident reports detailing missions that my brothers in Balad had completed. Every day I dreamed of a return up north that I knew was impossible.
I had a taste of it now. The rifles, armored trucks, love, Brotherhood, detonations, IEDs, camaraderie, robots, bearded special-ops guys, and incoming mortar fire were all really there. I knew the life I wanted was possible in that exploding dustbowl.
I had to get back. I needed to get back. But how?
I dutifully served my penance until one day, four months in and nearly done with my staff tour, the phone rang. It was a fellow EOD officer, the commander of the largest EOD unit at that time in the Air Force, at Nellis Air Force Base outside of Las Vegas.
“When you get back to the States you’re moving here to take over for me,” he said in a tone that allowed no debate.
“Didn’t you hear, sir? I got fired. I’m done,” I replied.
“Yeah, we heard what happened. Tell your wife you’re leaving Cannon and coming to Nellis as soon as you get back. We’ll get
Similar Books
