Sleeping with a Speak N Say

Letter from Michael:
May 16, 2008

I had the opportunity to go outside the wire again the other day. This time, I was blessed with the good fortune of spending the night. I had to go to where one of our platoons is located to do some “lawyer stuff” as the grunts like to call it. We had detained some individuals and they were probably bad guys. My mission was to make sure that all of the evidence (i.e. photos, seized items, sworn statements, etc.) was as it should be so that when the bad guys eventually get transferred to an Afghan facility, they don’t just release them citing lack of evidence. We want to make sure that the bad guys don’t end up back on the streets once we’ve captured them. It took longer than anticipated, so I had to spend the night. I pack very light, but I had the foresight to prepare for just such an occasion. I brought my little travel toiletry bag, a sleeping bag liner, and a little net to go over my face. Also in my small backpack were baby wipes, a notebook, and a kneepad. We wear the kneepads in combat because when you get shot at, you need to get down fast. Sometimes you go flat on your belly, sometimes, if you have a wall or something in front of you, you take a knee. With all of our gear and ammo on, we are easily carrying an extra 40-50 lbs, and trying to get up from your belly isn’t always easy, especially if you need to do it fast. So we prefer to kneel, except that kneeling for long periods of time can really start to hurt. Enter the kneepad. A small, lightweight device that provides much relief.

Once I came to the realization that I needed to spend the night, I had to find a place to sleep. The platoon I was with was staying in a farmer’s house. It can only be described as a little mud hut with a little stable attached. The houses here have thatched roofs, and birds and bugs like to burrow in them. I decided to take my chances outside, where there is fresh air and a view of the night sky, but I wanted to be behind a wall (we were very close to enemy territory). So I chose to sleep in the stable. Bad move. Although there were no animals actually in the stable, there were certainly animal smells. I slept on the hard ground, and struggled to get comfortable between the small rocks that dug into my back, the straw and hay that poked into my back, and the constant buzzing of insects that would not leave me alone. I was very thankful that I had brought that little face net. Finding a soft place for my head proved impossible, and then, in a stroke of genius, I turned my kneepad upside down and found that my head rested nicely in the padded part. Kneepads, it turns out, can serve as emergency pillows in a pinch.

I can’t really describe my condition at that point as comfortable. Pain-free is probably a better term. And so I tried to fall asleep, mindful not to move my body even an inch for fear that I would lose that pain-free equilibrium that had taken me the better part of 10 minutes to find. At last, I started to doze off when, all of a sudden, the animals. It was as if I had taken a Speak n’ Say to bed with me. You remember the Speak n’ Say? The little kids’ toy that has an arrow that spins in a circle and each sector of the circle has an associated animal. Whatever animal the arrow lands on will make its noise. “The cow says…MOOOOO. The sheep says….BAAAAAA. The rooster says….COCKADOODLE DO!” Apparently, Afghan roosters can’t tell time, because they were crowing all night long. In the distance, stray dogs were talking to each other. Needless to say, I didn’t get much sleep.

Another fascinating part of my little excursion was seeing how the Marines were doing. These are the real warfighters. These are the Marines that are at the absolute tip of the spear, on the front lines. It really is a surreal phenomenon how quickly the human body can adapt to adverse conditions. It was only my second time outside the wire ever, and yet I was already beginning to adapt. I understood that the enemy usually strikes us at particular times during the day, and that the Marines have come to learn and even eagerly anticipate the next firefight. I was there to do my bureaucratic duty, but it would have to wait, because the Taliban would be shooting at us soon. The Marines looked forward to it. Partly because it’s what they’re trained to do, and partly because it is without doubt the only respite from an otherwise boring day. I even found myself anxious out of morbid curiosity. When I arrived in Afghanistan , I was horrified at the thought of someone else shooting at me. And here I was just weeks later eager to experience the adrenaline-fueled moment. Luckily, I was able to take a step back, evaluate the situation, and realize my folly. I reminded myself to exercise caution and that this was no game, that life can be snubbed out in an instant at 500 yards. After coming to my senses, I tread carefully, and kept my head on a swivel. Minutes ticked by, eventually an hour or two passed, and no action. I was half relieved, half let down. A fellow Marine once told me that “you never feel as alive as when someone is shooting at you.” I guess a part of me wanted to feel as alive as possible. But the other part of me wanted to not only feel alive, but to stay alive.

Before heading out to their location, I had passed around a box and asked the others “back at the office” to chip in and donate anything that might make the lives of those Marines on the front lines easier. A pack of cigarettes, a British “adult” magazine, some gummy bears, some powdered Kool Aid, a water pistol(?), and a deck of cards. Of all those items, most prized were the pack of cigarettes and the deck of cards. In the end, I was able to get my job done. I thanked the Marines for their assistance an hospitality. They thanked me for the box of goodies, and we parted ways. I returned to the safe confines of our forward operating base, they to their machine gun nests and outposts.