the football around, go to the gym, and then just hang around and talk. We talked about random , stupid crap , but we mostly talked about home.
Four o’clock brought the start of shift with it, and I was on the east wall again tonight. There were a few random gunshots here and there, but nothing of any major concern to us. Before I knew it , shift was over, and now I a m writing this and getting ready for bed.
Most of the guys in the squad get along pretty well, but I can see that all of our relationships are becoming very strained. We all feel the same way about life in this place, and we a re all being torn apart in our own way. No one ever talks about how they feel, and it seems to leak out in other ways. I can see guys becoming upset or depressed over the silliest shit. Mail will come , and if someone did n o t get a package, they wi ll become upset. Sometimes, we will go to dinner and there will be no more sport drinks left, making someone furious. It i s always one stupid thing or another setting someone off . It may sound kind of crazy, but that is just the way it is here. When you have absolutely nothing to look forward to , except a stupid sport drink and nothing else, it becomes an enormous letdown when it i s not there. Each and every one of us is do ing our best to get through this, and we a re always there for each other. I guess that is what is really important and not a drink.
April 8, 2003 :
Right next door to our compound is a German-run school for young girls. Every day we see the children walking to and from school, and the little girls are all wearing the same uniform. It i s a very conservative looking, long , felt-like dress, with a white head scarf covering their hair. The idea of girls getting an education is not well accepted in Afghanistan , and the school is very unpopular with a many local Afghans. Taliban supporters have openly denounced the school and criticized its being.
Just as my squad was getting ready to go on shift, at about three forty-five, I heard three rapid gunshots, right at the gate. They were followed by a quick burst of automatic gunfire. As we got to the gate, I could n o t believe what I saw, and I do n ot think I wi ll ever be able to understand it.
A man was lying dead in the street, having just been shot by one of the Afghan guards from our gate. Before he was shot, he walked up to a group o f young girls leaving the school, pulled out a handgun, and opened fire. The Afghan guard reacted by firing at the shooter and killing him.
One girl was struck in the stomach, and she was on the ground screaming in pain. Another girl was struck in the side of the head, with her white scarf almost completely red as her lifeless body just laid there. I could see her eyes were wide open, and they looked like she was staring at something far, far away.
Doctors came rushing out, and everyone started trying to help. A large crowd was gathering, but they were almost completely sil ent, with many praying. By four- thirty, the injured girl had also died, and we were instructed to go to our assigned OPs and go on as normal. I always love when something like this happens and they tell us, “Go about business as normal.”
The whole story is actually a lot longe r and with a lot more detail, but this is all I care to write about it . There are other things that I normally would have written, but I guess it does n o t really matter that I went to the gym or played with a football. What does any of that matter?
April 9, 2003 :
Today started off around seven- thirty. I got out of bed, got my gear together, and grabbed a quick breakfast before heading out for our patrol at eight. Because of yesterday’s shooting, the patrol assignment for today was all d ay long, right up until four o’clock .
On the four to midnight shift, the beginning of the shift is very busy. The streets around the compound are packed with people , so if you are in an OP you need to keep your eyes open and watch for
Four o’clock brought the start of shift with it, and I was on the east wall again tonight. There were a few random gunshots here and there, but nothing of any major concern to us. Before I knew it , shift was over, and now I a m writing this and getting ready for bed.
Most of the guys in the squad get along pretty well, but I can see that all of our relationships are becoming very strained. We all feel the same way about life in this place, and we a re all being torn apart in our own way. No one ever talks about how they feel, and it seems to leak out in other ways. I can see guys becoming upset or depressed over the silliest shit. Mail will come , and if someone did n o t get a package, they wi ll become upset. Sometimes, we will go to dinner and there will be no more sport drinks left, making someone furious. It i s always one stupid thing or another setting someone off . It may sound kind of crazy, but that is just the way it is here. When you have absolutely nothing to look forward to , except a stupid sport drink and nothing else, it becomes an enormous letdown when it i s not there. Each and every one of us is do ing our best to get through this, and we a re always there for each other. I guess that is what is really important and not a drink.
April 8, 2003 :
Right next door to our compound is a German-run school for young girls. Every day we see the children walking to and from school, and the little girls are all wearing the same uniform. It i s a very conservative looking, long , felt-like dress, with a white head scarf covering their hair. The idea of girls getting an education is not well accepted in Afghanistan , and the school is very unpopular with a many local Afghans. Taliban supporters have openly denounced the school and criticized its being.
Just as my squad was getting ready to go on shift, at about three forty-five, I heard three rapid gunshots, right at the gate. They were followed by a quick burst of automatic gunfire. As we got to the gate, I could n o t believe what I saw, and I do n ot think I wi ll ever be able to understand it.
A man was lying dead in the street, having just been shot by one of the Afghan guards from our gate. Before he was shot, he walked up to a group o f young girls leaving the school, pulled out a handgun, and opened fire. The Afghan guard reacted by firing at the shooter and killing him.
One girl was struck in the stomach, and she was on the ground screaming in pain. Another girl was struck in the side of the head, with her white scarf almost completely red as her lifeless body just laid there. I could see her eyes were wide open, and they looked like she was staring at something far, far away.
Doctors came rushing out, and everyone started trying to help. A large crowd was gathering, but they were almost completely sil ent, with many praying. By four- thirty, the injured girl had also died, and we were instructed to go to our assigned OPs and go on as normal. I always love when something like this happens and they tell us, “Go about business as normal.”
The whole story is actually a lot longe r and with a lot more detail, but this is all I care to write about it . There are other things that I normally would have written, but I guess it does n o t really matter that I went to the gym or played with a football. What does any of that matter?
April 9, 2003 :
Today started off around seven- thirty. I got out of bed, got my gear together, and grabbed a quick breakfast before heading out for our patrol at eight. Because of yesterday’s shooting, the patrol assignment for today was all d ay long, right up until four o’clock .
On the four to midnight shift, the beginning of the shift is very busy. The streets around the compound are packed with people , so if you are in an OP you need to keep your eyes open and watch for
Similar Books
