Abbott and Afghanistan

Afghanistan.  Superpowers have marched these mountains and deserts since Alexander the Great. Flying over it a few times and looking down, I cannot for the life of me imagine what made anyone...ever...tie up his camel, look at his wife and say:  "Honey....we're here!  This is IT!"  

Fortunately for me, my mission this time is pretty much "inside the wire".  It is really difficult to conjure legal reasons to get outside the wire on a mission.  I am vaguely irritated by this.  

My wife is not.

I have battles of a different sort as we prepare to withdraw, downsize or "descope" in the popular military parlance of the moment.  After hundreds of billions of dollars, we are now parsing every nickel and need.  Because we are the Army, we created a bureaucracy to help. Bureaucratic entities working to reduce bureaucratic bureaucracy leads to exchanges such as this:  

Higher HQ: I need something, but I don't want to be seen asking for it.  I order YOU to ask me for the thing I want so that I don't have to ask me for it. 

Subordinate Unit: Um..Yes sir.....Sir?  I would very much like to have the thing you want so that I can give it to you.

Higher HQ: Nay, Nay! Your request is disapproved. Why would you ask me for such a thing? Now, come back later, ask me again and tell me WHY I want it.

Abbott and Costello couldn't have done it better themselves. If it weren't so wildly entertaining at times, it could drive you absolutely insane.  The problem is that if you went insane, it is unlikely that anyone would immediately notice.  But just as you're walking out of the meeting, shaking your head and wisecracking, you notice the flags.  They are now at half-staff. 

There is a real war going on "outside".  A fallen hero has arrived on base.  In a few hours, we will send him on his way home.

And there it is.  That's Afghanistan.  It takes you from humor to madness; frustration to sadness; grief to brotherhood; and from loss back to laughter..  

Time keeps moving.  The days are long, but the weeks are fast.  Before you know it, it will be time for someone to ask me to ask them if its time for me to go home.  They might say yes.

The Ollie and the Ivy

Here it is.

The 4th Infantry Division Patch on my right shoulder.  Steadfast and Loyal.  Soldiers call it a combat patch. It's the mark of having served in a combat zone. The Ivy is a play on the IV of the Roman numeral 4.  Clever, huh?  I'm proud to wear the patch, but any patch on my right shoulder is an honor.  My 23+ years seem vindicated.  The red tab above it is part of a tourniquet.  We all wear it in the same pocket, so that should it be needed, you know right where to look.  Given the dangers that I am exposed to on a daily basis, I suspect having it is overkill.  I can't fathom the paper-cut or staple stab that might require me to staunch the flow of blood at its arterial source.  I am not kicking in doors, calling for fire or close air support. Mostly, I am reviewing government contracts, policy letterszzzzzzzzzzzz, oh, sorry.....proposed operating procedures, and the transfer of property between NATO Framework nations and guarding pots of money.  It is a very complex command environment.  My new friend Ollie understood this and helped by sending this:

Ollie isn't too great with letters, but he is clearly a strategic thinker, an organizational genius, and a fiscal wunderkind.  His note came in an "Any Soldier" care package.

As you can see, he included the NATO organizational chart.  It is a perfect depiction of the complex international positions and command relationships.  He has also color-coded the lines to better chart the "colors of money" that enable our mission here in Afghanistan.  As you can see, lots of green goes in at the top....and lots of red comes out at the bottom.  Somewhere in the middle things get a little bit messy, but somehow it works.  We're going to complete this mission having done our best for the people of Afghanistan.  Ollie indicates this with what is probably a heart, but  after 5 months away from home looks a little bit like cleavage to me.  I digress. Ollie clearly knew that it was my job to help make all of this work and wanted to help.

Clearly uncertain of what to do with all this, Ollie concluded with "I love you?".  Note the question mark.

Its okay Ollie. It can be a bit confusing, but the 4th Infantry Division and I are doing our best.

I love you too?

Thanks for the box of Savannah Smiles.

Jesus and the Soldier

Have you seen this statement?  "Only two defining forces have ever offered to die for you.  Jesus Christ and the American Soldier.  One died for your soul, the other for your freedom."  I just saw it again on Facebook.

I appreciate the spirit and sentiment the words intend.  Though as I sit here in Afghanistan in a uniform doing my duty on the day before Easter, it has made me think.  It’s not entirely true.  The truth is I'm not thinking of you at all.  I love my country, and I will die for it if I must, but I won't likely be thinking of YOU.  You haven't even sent me a care package!  My wife and kids perhaps…but ask any Soldier and the truth is that in a "fight" we think of the Soldiers to our left and right.  Should I be killed in battle, I will be proud to have died doing my duty, but I can assure you it was a total surprise to me and completely unplanned.  With a nod to General Patton, I was doing my level best to make the other guy die for your freedom.

Jesus Christ is a totally different story.  He knew He would be ridiculed and reviled immediately and for centuries to come.  He gave Himself anyway. He knew he would be unjustly convicted, beaten and killed.  He gave Himself anyway.  In the very moment that He did, he thought of you. You.  The you your spouse hasn't met, your friends don't know and your parent would be shocked to meet.  You.  He gave Himself for you anyway, but that’s not the best part.

The best part is that He did both.  He died for your soul and He can give you freedom.  Even better?

He is risen.

The Unknown Soldier

The words echoed across the tarmac.  First in English, then in Romanian.  The darkness hid the source in such a way that it seemed as if the night itself were delivering the orders.

“Attention!”  The word was drawn out, somehow emphasizing each individual syllable.

“Present.  ARMS!”

In unison, everyone in the formation delivered the ceremonial salute, right hands moving slowly to the brow with the hand becoming a knife’s edge, taking three full seconds to make the trip.

I didn’t know him.  This was the first such ceremony my unit had been called upon to perform.  No more rehearsals.  We were sending a Soldier on his last trip home.  Home to his wife.  Home to his one year old daughter.  There is no way to be unaffected by the sight of it all.

His brothers in arms silently carry him toward the plane.  His casket draped in the colors of Romania, but somehow in this moment nationality is at once everything and nothing.  We are all Romanians and they are all Americans.

We just had a BBQ in the Romanian compound.  Maybe I was next to him in line.  Perhaps I sat by him at the table as we ate.  Less than 48 hours later, he was out on a mission, his unit was attacked and he died of his wounds.  Part of their mission is what we call force protection.  In other words, part of his mission was protecting ME.  It is likely selfish to consider myself at all in this moment or to search for some connection.  I couldn’t share the emotion that was so evident amongst the troops with whom he served.  They knew him.  He was theirs, but reality, mortality and perspective tend to strike hard in these moments.

While he was on patrol, I was likely busy doing a completely unimportant legal review of an event that no one will remember.  I remember a line from Saving Private Ryan in which CPT Miller says to PVT Ryan:  “Earn this.”  As I watch this Soldier’s casket pass by me, I can’t help but wonder:  Is there anything I’m ever going to do that would make these poor people think that I “earned” the absence of their husband, father, son, brother, or friend?  I think not.  He didn’t know me.  He wasn’t thinking of me.  Nonetheless, we are bonded now he and I.  I don’t think I can ever forget him.  A Romanian Soldier unknown to me, but forever remembered.

I find myself challenged spiritually as well.  The thought almost unavoidable in the face of such sacrifice.  When Christ died, he WAS thinking of me (and you).  He knew I couldn't earn it.  He did it anyway.  What have I really done about that?

The last strains of taps disappear in to the darkness.  A final ceremonial salute.  A Soldier's thank you.

“Dismissed.”  Now to find a way to earn it.

Murphy.  He is real and he may be Taliban.

Every Soldier knows that Murphy will attack the moment they leave home.  We know this with the same certainty that you will hit every red light when you’re running late or that having Taco Bell for lunch is delicious but will cause gastrointestinal apocalypse within 20 minutes.

Our experience was no different.   A few days before my flight, we discovered that the icemaker supply valve failed, creating a lovely waterfall in the basement living room.  Hours after my departure, my wife had my beloved dog at the vet for what we thought were allergies.  It was cancer.  She then had to plan his care and a loving end alone.  Arriving home, she noticed water under the washing machine.  This, of course was just before a massive snow storm, which made repairmen scarce.  It also meant it was a great time for the garbage disposal to fall out of the sink.  The same snowstorm led her to drive my previously trusty SUV ...until the window and door latch broke leaving her to climb though the passenger’s side to drive it with the window down in a snowstorm.  This forced her back in to the other car, which already required a screw driver to get it in to gear (I swear I was gonna get to it).  You can just imagine her relief when a helpful neighbor pulled up and informed her that her brake lights weren’t working.  Sadly, this just added an errand when, the next day, two of the four kids became ill.  Meanwhile, the hotel the Army had me in was providing only oatmeal raisin cookies and not chocolate chip.  No, I didn’t tell her that.  Yes, I helped in whatever telephonic ways I could.  I’m not nearly as dumb as I look. 

Ah, the first week done.  Fifty more to go. 

Before you begin sending sympathy checks (remember, my name is with a Y not an I), know that people were there for us.   Some fantastic friends helped move kids, fix cars, find ceiling fixers, lent vehicles and more.  I even have nurse friends volunteering to provide first aid when I come home on pass and Marsha punches me in the face for deploying.  In all of it, we begin to see that we aren’t alone.  Sometimes when people say “call me if you need anything”, they mean it.  Sometimes the church is the Church.  Sometimes, when you ask God for help, He looks an awful lot like a neighbor just watching your daughter for a couple of hours.

Thanks to those who helped us and who help any Soldier’s family.  When you help my wife fix a car door, you have her back.  When you have her back, you have mine.  When I know my back is covered, I can focus on covering another Soldier’s back.  Thats how we all make it home so our spouses can punch us in the face.

Seriously though, oatmeal raisin…THAT is hardship.  Looks like a cookie.  Contains raisins.  Unfixable.

I Need What?

Rather than moving cases along in my regular docket, I spent the day drawing my combat gear.  Talk about a change of pace.  I use the term "combat gear" rather loosely given the slim chance of a lawyer seeing "combat".  The gear however, is the same, so there you have it.  This process is called "RFI" for Rapid Fielding Initiative".  Bear with me here.  This is a program that quickly evaluates lessons learned from the theater of operations, identifies equipment that will assist Soldiers in accomplishing their missions while maximizing safety, and then quickly acquires and issues that equipment to the Soldiers who need it.

You may now understand my reaction when I was issued an "Improved Groin Protection System".  This causes me concern on a number of different levels.  First, the name implies that there was a previous Groin Protection System that needed to be improved.  Did it not work?  In what ways did it fail?  Can someone explain to me the criterion for "fail".  Seriously, I think I deserve to know.  A second concern quickly followed:  I NEED A GROIN PROTECTION SYSTEM?  I'm virtually certain that targeting that area is a foul in most sports and violates the law of war.  Must we have such a thing?  I don't know, but what I do know is that I'll put it on at the first hint that anyone thinks it might be a good idea to do so.  I have no desire to be the first beneficiary of a "Don't ask, can't tell" policy.

As I think about it, I am filled with an even greater patriotic fervor for my Nation.  How wonderful to realize that the things my country values and the things that I value are so very perfectly aligned.   Thank you America.  Thank you indeed.

"Are you going to be here tomorrow?"

This innocent question has become part of the night time routine. Spoken in the cutest 8-year-old girl voice you’ve ever heard, it echoes like the war drums that will soon change my answer to her question. 

I would prefer to tell you a story of the courtroom or some silly criminal caper, but this blog is about what I’m doing, and what I’m doing of late is more about preparing to deploy with the Army.  Perhaps in some way I can take you on the roller-coaster with me.  I suspect there will be a great many ups and downs, but hopefully, in the end, it will have been worth it. 

I’m not doing anything that a half a million other Soldiers and their families haven’t endured before.  I’m neither special nor different.  I will likely be as safe as one can be in Afghanistan.  Lets face it, if your lawyer is returning fire…something has gone horribly wrong.  My job is not inherently dangerous.  There will be no movie entitled “Lone Solicitor”, though I think Daniel Craig would do a marvelous job if he can manage a Midwestern accent.  The thing is…its still hard. 

It is a hard thing to leave your wife, even when you know that others are there to support her.  It is a hard thing to leave your children, even when there are others who will help care for them.  It is a hard thing to put aside your cases, handing them off to co-workers (who have yet to complain of it in my hearing).  I am supposed to be there to do all of those things.  I won’t be. 

It is not my intent to whine (even though I am, just a little), but rather to document what I think every Soldier, Sailor, Airman and Marine feels when the Nation calls.    It can leave you downright schizophrenic.  The Soldier is eager to test his training and vindicate his service.  The husband and father laments every missed teacher conference, wrestling match, choir performance, or dinner time conversation of the year that hasn’t yet come.  For the most part, it has been so incredibly busy, that there has been too little time to dwell on what is to come.  Perhaps that is a Divine mercy.  As the day approaches though, it is the small things that are beginning to penetrate the noise.  Small things like the innocent questions of a little girl trying to understand what it all means.

“Yes, sweetie, I will be here tomorrow.”  

“Okay, goodnight daddy…see ya in the morning.”   That may be the secret to making the best of the whole thing; taking it one day at a time. Even so, I already dread the night my answer will be different.

Seriously though, I think Daniel Craig would be a good choice.