The War Marches On

By now, you’ve seen it in the news about the Chinook going down in Afghanistan. Five Soldiers died. It was from our base. I knew one of the guys. He was in my unit. He lived two doors down from me.

Sunday morning started just like any other day. Same thing every day. Shortly after 0330, we got word of a gag order. Grrrrrreeeeaaaatttt.

These gag orders were on the verge of becoming routine. No one ever got hurt, and usually, even the aircraft was ok – just limping back to base.

Then I was called up to the office to monitor the phones. I could already feel a different electricity in the air. I asked Top which aircraft, and he said a Chinook. Whew (not an Apache.) Crew’s ok, right, Top? No… they’re not ok.

Stunned.

I understood what he wasn’t saying. Even if injured, you’re “fine” or “you’ll be alright”. Not ok means only one thing.

Still didn’t have names… and while sad at the news, Chinooks are a different unit. We only slightly have a connection to them with a few of our Soldiers working on them. They’re in the hangar next to us, we see them all the time, but… different unit.

In the meantime, the impounds began. All records related to the helicopter are sealed and in this case, locked up in our office since we had a safe. So, locked it all up. And then…

I was asked to provide ALL records of any kind on one of our Soldiers (for obvious reasons, his name won’t be used, but in the spirit of Dear Abby, I’ll call him “Fred”.)

As soon as they asked for Fred’s records, I knew. I knew he was on the chopper, and I knew he was now dead.

So much for this deployment. I’d truly hoped that we’d make it through without a scratch. Why not? We’re mostly Aviation maintenance, and rarely directly exposed to fire. This unit made it through the beginning of the Iraq conflict 100% ok… why not Afghanistan? After all, as they say back home, the war’s been over here for years.

So much for this deployment.

I spent most of my day standing by the phone, coordinating messages. Gag order of course, but in this case, even more so. They shut down the base’s internet completely. Made the office work a bit more difficult to do, but then, I was barely concentrating anyway.

Church was just a place to be that day. Our regular Chaplain was in the rear on leave, and this guest Chaplain… well, I just wasn’t listening that closely. He was up there smiling and going on with his sermon, while over half of the group in the chapel were hurting inside. I’m sure he’s a nice guy, but… one of the first rules of public speaking is “Know your audience”.

After awhile, the numbness sets in. After all, the war goes on. Work still has to be done, helicopters repaired, and now… there’s the business of shipping Fred (and the 4 others) home.

This morning, I came to work surprising myself how quickly we just move on. It’s so much more accelerated here. Perhaps because we don’t have the luxury of (forgive the term) “wallowing” in our grief. As the President said (correctly), “I have to get on with my life.”

Then the announcement came. Ramp ceremony – 0820Z. I’ve watched several, but from a distance. Now, we were in it ourselves.

I changed into my best, pressed, starched uniform. SHARP creases. We all cleaned our weapons to remove even a hint of dirt, and they all shined. We removed all the extras that we’ve hung on the weapons and our uniforms until we were picture-perfect Soldiers.

Time came, and we went over to the TLS (Taliban Last Stand) building to form up. Very quickly, we realized this was going to be a big deal. Usually, for a ramp ceremony, it’s just the unit affected, and maybe a few others symbolically. Showing up for this ceremony was everyone affected by our Task Force’s efforts. Units included:
Task Force Storm – all units
The USAF contingent on KAF
173d Airborne Infantry
82nd Airborne Infantry
Special Forces
Task Force 3-1
Afghan National Army
Dutch Army
Romanian Army

All showed up since they have most likely been ferried by Chinooks, or supported by our Task Force. It was an impressive turnout. Easily 1000 troops… probably more.

The Air Force parked a C-130 in the usual Ramp spot. We could see it there…. Waiting. As usual, it was a dedicated flight, no other cargo.

I was selected to be part of the “Quartering Party”… Our group was part of the ceremonial group next to the plane. In plain terms, I’d have a front row view.

We marched over. It took 20 minutes to march all the units over… and to listen to all the commands in different languages.

There was a bagpiper there.

All the brass on post were there.

And in huge formations, were all the troops. Stretched out, behind the aircraft, flanking on both sides… with an aisle formed up in the middle… for the caskets.

We stood there for about 10 minutes awaiting the arrival of the five. Humvees drove up, and it was time.

The whole group came to attention, and as the first casket was brought through, we all went to Present Arms (salute). The way the ceremony works is that it’s mostly non-verbal, and is the military’s way of sending off the fallen Soldier. Only one Soldier is moved at a time, and we all salute him. Everyone salutes. Not a word is said. None needs to be.

I could hear the pallbearers coming… it struck me that their stilted marching step sounded like the ants marching in a Looney Tunes cartoon, but… wasn’t laughing now. In fact, as I looked over the faces of the formation looking back at me, quite a few tears were being choked back as we stood at rigid attention, saluting our fallen comrades.

The first casket passed… one of the pilots judging by the rank of the pallbearers. After the first casket was secured, then the second began.

Each had 8 pallbearers, plus the escort (the Soldier who would escort the casket all the way home to the burial.) Each had a crisp, bright Flag covering the coffin.

The third passed… then the fourth… still, no one moves… while it takes a long time for all of the caskets to process through the formation and be loaded and secured… a little discomfort on our part is… worth it. And let me be clear, literally no one moves. Not a fingertip, not a cough. Nothing. The salutes are held to show the respect and honor deserving these Soldiers.

The fifth casket approaches. I recognize the pallbearers and know that this is Fred. I presume my face now looks like those that I saw looking back.

The casket is secured. I can hear a Chaplain inside speaking – his words remind me of a burial service.

Then, the Colors march away. As they pass, we salute… the effect is like a wave moving through the formation.

And as soon as the Colors leave, it’s over. Our ceremonial group marches on board the aircraft to pay respects… it’s a small aircraft, and the five caskets seem to take up all the room. We pass by… and are back off.

We march back to the TLS building… and then, it’s time for lunch.

And the war (and let’s be clear that that’s what this is) marches on.