Apples on the Road, A True War Story

I’ve never written this down before, and honestly, I’m getting a little anxious even starting this sentence. First and foremost, this is a recounting from my memory, and my memory alone. If you asked several different Soldiers, their perspective on the situation, they would all say something different. Second, I am intentionally leaving out some details that could potentially be classified. I am retired now, so I don’t fear retribution from higher, which would have most assuredly come had I written this when I was active duty; but I don’t want information I place in here to be used against us in the future. Last, if by some chance, someone does read this, and I need to correct something I will be happy to do so.

We were stationed at the Combat Outpost (COP) Hutal in Maiwand, Afghanistan from December 2012 to September 2013. Fighting season had already started. It was brutally hot and brutally dry. I had been positionally promoted from Recon Platoon Sergeant to Company First Sergeant about three weeks prior. My commander, a beast of a man, had taken command only a couple days earlier.

A couple of notes on my commander, he was one of the only officers who could pretty much out everything me. Most commanders, LTs, and other officers I worked with were no match in some way for me either physically, mentally, or tactically. My new commander was a ridiculous Soldier. Those who know him would undoubtedly say the same thing.

The situation in the area during the fighting season was frenetic. The enemy liked to engage us at long distance with a combination of G3s (Old German Assault Rifles), AKs (Russian Assault Rifles), DShK (Heavy Machine-Guns), and a litany of other weapons. They had recently introduced a B-10 Recoilless Rifle to the battlefield, which was especially dangerous considering our Strykers were not designed to repel anti-armor weapon systems. We never experienced indirect at Hutal, thank God.

Of all the weapons that the enemy brought to bear, none were as effective, both psychologically and physically as the IED.

For the prior ten plus years, the enemy had perfected the art of emplacing IEDs. For those who are not familiar with the acronym, an IED is an Improvised Explosive Device. Essentially either a command or victim detonated mine. IEDs were and probably will continue to be the number one casualty producer on the battlefield.

I had experienced IEDs in Iraq, but the Iraqis had nothing on the Afghanis. Iraqis typically used old munitions, whereas Afghanis used homemade explosives. Iraqis liked to engage soft targets, like supply convoys, Afghanis engaged the Infantry or Route Clearance Patrols.

Our area in Hutal was responsible for all of the city center west out to the Helmand border, north past Demaiwand, and south to the Kandahar River. In the center of our brigade size area, was Main Supply Route One ( MSR 1), or Highway 1.

Hutal Afghanistan, MSR 1 is shown bisecting the town.

The highway is one of the few key pieces of infrastructure and lines of communication that runs through southern Afghanistan. It is an artery for Kandahar and was a huge focus for the battalion.

Naturally, higher — meaning Battalion and Brigade — had it in their best interests to keep MSR 1 open.

Near the Helmand border, on its way to Kandahar, a truck turned over carrying a load of apples. Some of the apples had spilled onto the road. Now, of course, if the truck had turned over and blocked traffic, we as a company would instantly go and clear it up, in order to get the lifeblood going again. But the truck had been moved harmlessly off to the side, and about five hundred apples had made their way onto the blacktop, only to be finely ground into applesauce. They caused no blockage but were indeed an eyesore.

This could not stand.

Let me explain. An Afghan National Army (ANA) vehicle had been hit by an IED on MSR 1 a few months prior. Second Platoon and Recon Platoon went out and not only recovered the damaged vehicle, picked up the scrap metal that would cause tire damage to civilian vehicles, we literally swept the road with brooms. Imagine a group of pissed Infantrymen, sweeping a fucking road with push brooms. That was how much higher had a hardon for area beautification in Afghanistan.

So when whatever random Unmanned Aerial Vehicle (UAV) happened to be flying over MSR 1 that Saturday, higher saw through its feed that there was a stain upon their precious highway.

Battalion called my commander, to explain to him that Brigade needed us to clean up the stain. My commander explained that the stain was not impeding traffic, that the truck was off the road, and that every time we send a unit out, they get into an engagement.

I want to reiterate, my commander was not only intelligent, he was a bulldog. He knew he was tactically, morally, and logically correct. When he was correct, he dug his teeth in.

Battalion called back thirty minutes later, after presumably speaking with Brigade, and informed us that we had no choice.

So the commander and I discussed the best COA. We had a platoon on patrol, one on QRF, and one on guard. You don’t send QRF out on patrol. Recon Platoon, my old platoon, of which I was just the Platoon Daddy, the Platoon I had raised from a clusterfuck to a combat-ready unit in two years was the only available asset.

I recommended sending them. My commander concurred.

Little did I know, that I had just sentenced five of my Soldiers to death.

We brought my old counterpart, 1LT Brandon James Landrum and his new Platoon Sergeant into the CP to let them know the orders.

We did not sugarcoat it. Something I do not disagree with, even today.

Our Command Sergeant Major had a history of issuing ridiculous directives. He was the type of CSM with a buzzcut, who thought the world’s most egregious sin was to be out of uniform. He wanted us to wear DAPs while on foot patrol. He pushed for the replacement of our plate carriers. He was the epitome of the “Marne Standard.” He was also an idiot. I place a lot of blame on him, mainly because he was incapable of providing tactical or social advice to the Battalion Commander, who I have nothing but respect for.

The Recon PL and PSG, wargamed how they were going to get the apples off the road. Det cord was the solution we came up with.

So they grabbed Explosive Ordnance Disposal (EOD), three Strykers, and left to clean up the road.

I cannot emphasize enough how opposed to the mission my commander and I were at the get-go. Anytime you leave the wire, especially in Afghanistan, you are asking for a fight. Every time I left the wire during the fighting season, I got shot at.

Recon cleaned up the apples.

On their way back the second truck was hit by a very large deep buried IED. It was estimated to be bigger than five hundred pounds. It split the Stryker in half. An IED that took months to emplace. It was May 4th, 2013.

I went through the aftershock. I was numb. All of the Soldiers were damn fine men. All of them had amazing futures. I know a lot of people say love your enemy, or try to understand the enemy, but these weren’t Germans or Russians. The people who killed the Soldiers were individuals from a stone-age culture who got a little bit of technology. They were pieces of filth who don’t allow women to be educated, marry their daughters off once they have bled once, and kill each other over some sort of perceived slight.

One of these Soldiers was infinitely more beneficial to the planet than any number of those backward savages.

The aftermath of the strike was not just terrible for me but terrible for Recon, and the entire company. We received platitudes, condolences, and innumerable visits by the various stars up the chain of command.

The most memorable moment was when the two-star commander came to the Battalion FOB and interviewed the commander and me.

He asked, “How are the men in Recon Platoon?”

I responded with, “They are good sir.”

He responded, “I’ll be the fucking judge that!”

I looked at his counterpart, the division CSM, for help and guidance. I was a lowly SFC in a 1SG position, and a two-star general just bit my head off.

Now I like to think he was trying to make me angry, so I wasn’t mopey. I can tell you when the Division CSM came to my COP from then on out, he never went through the normal inspections, he simply went to the Aid Station and spoke with the medics.

We went to Kandahar Army Airfield (KAAF), where I saw my boys get loaded up on a plane.

We went to the memorial. I spoke for 1LT Landrum.

I got on Facebook and did my best to explain to the world how we lost some good people.

What I never did, was say how we lost those good people because of some dog and pony bullshit, that wasn’t tactically necessary. I never said how the Battalion and Brigade Senior Enlisted Advisers were so fucking incompetent, I am surprised they survived shaving.

The most embarrassing detail, however, was my failure going forward. I had lost my tactical nerve. I had lost my ability to make rational decisions. I had lost my bite. I second guessed myself on everything. I redeployed and drank. I went from a 360 PT score to a 250. I lost faith in the Army, and faith in America. While we were at war, getting shot out, the average American was learning about a new royal baby, the Harlem Shake, and something about Bieber.

I never gave my fire back to the Army. I realized the military I was stuck in, was still more concerned with SHARP training, 350-1, and other inane bullshit, instead of combat training. I learned that if my wife is drunk and we have sex, I have just raped her, according to the Army. I learned that it is more important not to cuss in a fucking Infantry unit than it is to pass an Army Physical Fitness Test (APFT).

I learned that standards no longer mean anything unless they are administrative standards. I found out that one of the first sergeants who never left the wire, and had no idea that head space & timing was factory set on an M249, got selected to be a CSM. I learned that it is more important to be in Fighting Load Carrier (FLC) and Helmet (no body armor) on a range than to conduct the range itself.

I could go on and on about the incompetence of the mid-level leadership in the Army. When I retired in June of 2018, it hadn’t changed.

I hope someone finds meaning in this anecdote. I pray that future Soldiers will read this, and think, what could have been different? I hope that senior enlisted advisers are promoted for tactical prowess and competence, and not just the ability to be yes men. Most importantly, however, I pray America goes back to deserving the American Soldier because right now, She does not.

Recon Platoon, 1st Battalion 36th Infantry Regiment, COP Hutal Afghanistan April 2013.