My First "Field" Trip

I’m going to start this post by simply stating that my hat is off to the men and women that are serving their country in some of the most austere conditions I have ever witnessed in my life. Of course my hat first goes off to those defending the Constitution of the United States of America but also to the men and women of the twenty different nations making up the coalition force here in Afghanistan. I am a spoiled diplomat in a soldier’s uniform and I learned that to the "nth" degree on Sunday and Monday. This is going to be a long one since I truly just spent an entire week of my life in two days. Grab a coolie and enjoy.


One of my colleagues was putting together a trip to leave Kabul on Sunday morning for the southern province of Zabol. There were a total of five individuals going and were being split between two armored vehicles (Land Cruisers). On Saturday evening I returned from the Italian Armed Forces Day reception and had an uneasy felling about the make-up of the convoy and thought it better if I inserted myself to keep an even number in each vehicle. Also, since I theoretically own the vehicles, I felt more comfortable if I was one of the drivers – even in the rear since I didn’t know my way to Zabol from Kabul or Kabul from Zabol or how to find McDonalds in Kabul (there isn’t one but I sure miss it.)

We departed the Embassy compound at 6:00 AM sharp and following a brief pit-stop at the adjacent ISAF compound to pick up British Army Captain who was making the trip with us, we were on our way. Our office translator/driver was commanding vehicle number one and I was following very closely in vehicle number 2. We had 3 folks in each vehicle and of course the Brit Captain was riding with me.


Our first stop was going to be the PRT (Provincial Reconstruction Team) outpost in Ghazni which is about a 3 hour ride from Kabul. There we would get breakfast and gas and continue on to Zabol which allegedly was a further 3 hours on. Leaving Kabul was relatively uneventful and once we got on Highway 1 (Kabul – Kandahar Ring Road), it was pretty much a straight shot (no pun intended). Highway 1 is an adventure in itself since it is honestly the only paved highway in the country. I use the term “highway” very loosely since it is in fact equivalent of two lanes wide but at times this can be 3 vehicles side by side all heading in the same direction or 2 vehicles in one direction and a third vehicle in the opposite. There is no law to driving here and taking the advice of a predecessor – get to where you’re going as fast as possible – I called the lead vehicle on the radio and said step on it. The method of driving here is truly chaotic and I think I will never again have to give up the wheel to my wife in Paris, Rome or any of the other places where I was once nervous to attempt navigating.

Pretty close to right on schedule we arrived at the PRT in Ghazni. This “base” is stuck in the absolute middle of nowhere and is encircled with more barbed wire than may exist in all of the United States. It is nothing more than a dust field covered in gravel and 5 dozen plywood huts stuck on top. One of the larger plywood huts was the mess hall and I was ready for some good ole Army cooking. The PRT outposts around Afghanistan are controlled by different countries belonging to the coalition and Ghazni happens to be U.S. Army so I knew the chow was going to be quality. We grabbed our paper trays and plastic bag of utensils and headed for the line. One good thing about eating in Afghanistan is all meals are free. I can eat as much as I like and never have to worry about how much this may cut into my daughter’s college fund.

The poor Army Private cooking eggs was having a heck of a time keeping up with the demand and I almost felt bad ordering something from him but the slim pickings on the rest of the line forced the order for “Ham & Cheese Omelet”. This is a major staple of mine at any government messing facility since this is how I rate them. Private Smith was doing the best he could but I couldn’t help but notice the grimace when he saw our group of “diplomats” walk through the door to his chow hall. I ordered my normal and proceeded down the line after about a five minute wait watching him literally demolish my all time favorite. He placed it on my cardboard tray and I picked up some fried potatoes and two sausage patties that resembled small hockey pucks. Cup of joe and I was on my way to the table. The consensus once every one arrived was that PVT Smith was not a cook and had probably just arrived and was put on mess duties as there was no one else. The larger bases here in Afghanistan have contractor provided mess halls but not on these little outposts. I’m sure when PVT Smith was done cooking breakfast he was given a full days worth of additional menial tasks that no one else wants to do. Poor kid – I really did feel bad for him.

After some lengthy meetings and a security briefing from the post commander we were once again mounted and riding off towards our final destination for the day – the city of Qalat in Zabol Province. We were told during our meetings that IED attacks were frequent on a couple different stretches of road so to be careful. Thanks – I’ll do my best.


We attacked the open highway at a very nice pace (often nearing 100 MPH) and arrived in Zabol Province with my skivvies unmarked. Along the way the scenery was actually quite remarkable with mountains literally appearing out of nowhere and reaching 5-6,000 feet skyward. Granted there was no snow on them, no trees or grass. Nothing but rock and the god awful sand that I believe is purposely put here to invade my nostrils and create near cement boogies in my nose. We passed busses with people heading wherever they were heading but honestly packed to the brim. I saw one bus that had chairs somehow attached to the roof and people were actually sitting in the chairs. No seat belts of course. Where were Ponch and John when you really needed them. One bus had not only a car but a small utility truck attached to the roof. Good thing there are no other highways since that could possibly require an over/under pass and these mammoth vehicles aren’t fitting through that obstacle. I wish I had pictures to add but driving nearly 100 MPH with the threat of IED attacks just doesn’t leave time for a Kodak moment. At one point along the journey we came upon a truck that was just as packed as the previously described busses but this truck tried to take a turn or something because it was on its side in the middle of the road. We slowed to see it but quickly beat feet to continue on our journey.


We arrived at the PRT in Qalat in just about 3 hours and were told that the Inn was full and we needed to seek a bunk at the Field Operating Base (FOB) which was about a mile away. At this PRT the main function is police training for new Afghan recruits that desire to become local FIVE OH. It is a Romanian PRT but the police academy is run by mostly retired U.S. Police Officers. There is a support FOB that is also Romanian but has a small contingent of U.S. Army that act as further support to the Romanian Army. Our main goal from our trip was to meet with the trainers and get their impression prior to graduation on Monday in which our Ambassador was flying down to attend.


With no rooms for our "delegation" we headed to the FOB and were greeted by the billeting NCO (U.S. SGT) who truly had just stepped off the idiot ledge and hit every idiot rock on the way down. The worst part is when he hit bottom it was an idiot hole filled with idiot water – I think you get the picture. He informs us that he has a place for us to stay and to follow him. We walk to his “office” and then he walks out. I asked – "SGT should we follow you?" – and he replies – Duh, uh, oh, yeah. Now read back to my description of the PRT in Ghazni and this FOB is the same but dustier and bigger (about 3 times the size if not more). We walk behind SGT Genius and he points to the first white sort of building we come to and he says – "That’s a shower and sometimes there’s no one in it and it has hot water." We continue walking and after about 500 yards he points to another white building and he says – "don’t use that shower, there’s never any hot water and right down there is another shower but don’t use that because its always crowded with our Romanian neighbors." We then turn left passed the loudest generator (the PRT and FOBs have to make their own electricity) I’ve ever heard in my life. It stands about 12 feet tall and takes up a hut larger than many houses. I thought to myself – we must be close to our beds and sure enough, right behind the generator is what I like to call a “coop” but the Army calls a B-hut. The reason I call it a coop is because it’s made of nothing more than plywood and they put as man of us chickens inside of it as possible. He opens the door and says – "the whole place is yours." There are 8 sets of bunk beds in a space the size of my Nissan Altima. SGT Smart Guy says he’s sorry but he’s got no blanket or sheets and I have no sleeping bag. Everyone else brought their sleeping bag but never told me I needed one. I guess I thought we'd be sleeping at a Marriot or at least a Holiday Inn Express. I also thought a top bunk would be warmer so I slapped the mattress of my choice and a mushroom cloud of dust the size of Montana rose from the mattress and my mind says – this is going to be fun. The generator noise, the dust, the stench and the graffiti all over the inside of this coop made me feel very welcome. No Holday Inn Express on this trip.


We had a couple meetings that evening and of course Romanian Army chow for dinner. It was about 9:00 PM when we finally made it back to the coop for sleep. I was able to scrounge up two blankets and a pillow that should make the night much easier to cope with. I found the bottle of Merlot that I’d stashed in my ruck and proceeded to make myself a couple of wine glasses out of the bottom part of plastic water bottles. Perfect Jamie – I bring a bottle of wine and no sleeping bag. Normal Army is under "General Order Number One" which means – NO ALCOHOL. Thank god for small favors and GO#1 does not apply to your's truly. No one wants to join me in my Merlot so I feel obliged to finish the bottle off alone. I climb up into my tree and put my MP3 player in to try and drown out the generator noise. I lie there for the better part of 30 minutes and decide I need to go for a walk and get some fresh air. I put most of my clothes back on and a jacket and head out into the frosty 45 degree night. The moon is absolutely spectacular and lights up the entire camp. The dust is settling and under the moonlight looks like snow – it truly covers everything. I walk with my MP3 player for about an hour and head back to my coop. By this time the temperature inside has plummeted to the same as that outside and I decide it’s probably a good idea to only remove my pants and sleep in my sweatshirt and jacket. Well the blanket that I was able to scrounge is wool and scratches every square millimeter of my legs so I get my two bath towels and try to alleviate the itch from down there. The music is only barely covering the generator and I’m truly cold but I fight and finally doze off. I awake at about 3:00 AM and need to go the bathroom and remember that it’s far away and its really cold out there. I try and fight the urge but to no avail – I have to go. It’s more or less just above freezing outside and the generator is in full gear. Not making any heat but certainly lots of noise. When I get back to my excuse of a bed – there is no need to try and sleep because it’s not going to happen. I lie in bed and think about anything and everything that I can, while listening to whatever random song my 7,000 track MP3 player sends my way.




Morning can’t come soon enough and at 6:00 AM I decide its time to get up and try for a shower. The closest facility is exactly as SGT Einstein had said no hot water. I don’t know about you but 35 degree temps are just not conducive to a cold shower. I say forget it and head back to the coop. I didn’t bring a sleeping bag but I did bring wet wipes and I proceed to give myself a 25 towel shower. Hitting all the important parts, I get dressed and head for breakfast and much needed coffee. If only to warm up my now near freezing soul. The dust is back and our vehicles look like they have been through a desert sand storm. We drop our gear off at the vehicles and get to the mess hall. Grab our paper trays, plastic utensils and I’m in line for guess what? You guessed it – "Ham and Cheese Omelet please." More hockey pucks and potatoes and I get my coffee and sit near enough to the TV to see New England getting their world rocked by Indy. Sorry FRJ but they just ain’t all that. Sort of like the BOSOX.


Breakfast finished its almost time for the big man to arrive at the FOB for his meetings before heading over to the PRT for the police graduation. My translator and I walk up to the flight line and I tell him that our boss is coming in with the Ambassador on the helos and I’m going to ask to go back to Kabul if there’s room for me. Not because I’m absolutely miserable but because I’ve got so much work back in my office piling up (wink wink). He of course understands and says – whatever you have to do Chief. He’s a super incredible human being by the way but not because he says that but just the way he is and how he believes in what he does and what we're doing.


Choppers arrive and the Ambassador’s party gets out and I immediately spy my boss and rush over to say – welcome to poo central. Small talk proceeds about what’s going on, how’d it go and I shoot the question at him – "Any chance of catching a ride back to Kabul with you?" He says – he’ll see. Reminds me of when I used to ask my mother if I could do something she didn’t really want to let me do – "We’ll see."

I’ll save the ride back for my next submission since this is already much longer than I thought it was going to be but I truly lived a week in two days and I’m only half way done with the tail. To cut your suspense – I did fly back with the boss which was an adventure in itself and I’m alive, breathing and enjoying a fine glass (plastic cup) of Port as I type and sleep is much needed. Until the next entry – keep on keeping on and thanks for reading. If your hesitant on leaving a comment please feel free to email me at cworoberts@hotmail.com.



Stay Kewl.