Letters from John...

I know I haven't updated my blog in about 6 months but I would like to post all of John's e-mails on here for anyone to read. If you weren't aware, John has been deployed since May of 2012 and will be returning home to us in a few weeks... WE ARE EXCITED!!!! The emails will be posted in consecutive order so you'll see his most recent first... just scroll down or go to the last post that says #1.

LIfe at a VSP #6

12/23/12 

LIfe at a VSP  

I travel a lot.  I've been to every FOB (Forward Operating Base -

usually large) and every COP (Combat Out Post - usually small) that

falls in my jurisdiction.  Most of them multiple times.  This week, I

was requested at a VSP (Village Support Post - ridiculously small).

These are locations where a team of 12 Special Forces stay along with

a handful (there were another dozen here) infantry support stay.  That

is it.  No one else.  Just you, the team and the surrounding village/s

you support.  One of the SF guys broke a tooth and it needed to be

fixed.  They called and asked if they could pull it, but it sounded

like it could be fixed, so I volunteered to visit and help with the

"winning the hearts and minds" mission for a couple of days.  I would

see American Soldiers on the first day, Afghans on the second, then

come home.  Too easy.

Plans change...but I digress.  Let's start from the beginning, shall

we?  So there I was...the start to any good story...  The head medic

from the SF group on Sharana, where I stay, came and asked if I could

call the VSP, which I did.  After volunteering to go, the logistics

needed to be worked out.  Since I would be flying to a location that

we did not service, air transport would be arranged by the SF.

"Finally", I thought, "I get to fly in a Chinook!"

The Chinook is the large double-rotor helicopters that the SF uses for

transportation.  I had been wanting to fly in one since I got here.

Awesome.  The medic would work his channels and then call when

everything was set.  It usually takes a couple of days to get things

lined up, but he was trying for a quicker turn around because of the

situation and weather. So I waited for the call.

The phone rang.

"This is Captain Brady."

"Hey, this is Jason."  ...oh yeah, they are all on first name basis in

SF...my bad

"I've got some good news and bad news... The good news first: We have

you on a flight in one hour so we can beat this storm.  The bad news:

there's not room for your assistant.  Can you go alone?"

"Sure, no problem."  I mutter.  My tech is going to be heartbroken!

How could they have filled up such a large bird so quickly?  Oh well,

we have to move quickly...

"Great, I'll pick you up in 20 minutes."

After apprising my tech of the situation, he's upset, but is still in

good spirits.

"Don't have any fun while you're there", he says.

"Of course not", I reply, "I'm going to be spending all my time trying

to figure out how to work this equipment!"

The ride comes and we're off.  Driving to unknown parts of the FOB.

As we approach a new area, the driver is visibly confused.  We stop at

a gravel area about the size of half of an end zone on a football

field.  Hardly large enough for a Chinook.

"I think this is it", the driver states nonchalantly.

"You think?  Don't you guys fly out of here all the time?"

"No, to get you out fast before this weather, we found a small

contract company to take you.  They are the only ones flying right now

in this weather."

"I need to use the restroom..."  (I didn't actually say that...I have

to save face, of course, but I most certainly thought it!)

Ten minutes later a little tiny helicopter like those they use to

cover the news comes flying around the corner and lands there in the

gravel.  The pilot has one of those furry hats on with the ear flaps

hanging out like wings.  He looks the type just crazy enough to fly in

this kind of weather.

My suspicions of his mental status were confirmed when we took off.

The bird was only large enough for the pilot, two passengers and our

gear.  The other passenger was already on when it picked me up.  I

loaded my gear and sat in the back.  He motioned for me to put on the

headset that was dangling in the back.  I should have put my seat belt

on first...

"Are we ready to go?", the pilot asked.  This is a normal question for

a normal pilot to ask before take off.  He was not a normal pilot.  By

the time the question, traveling at the speed of light through the

wires, reached my ears, we were sideways.  I don't claim to know how

to fly helicopters, but as I was looking at the ground fly by as if I

were being dragged from a horse, I wondered to myself if I should have

taken a convoy...

Apparently he was trying to beat the weather...

I mentioned that this was a contract helicopter.  They have different

rules of flying.  He flew in a straight line to his destination

instead of following the routes of the commercial flights.  That

seemed safer to me.  He flew low to the ground and REALLY fast to

catch anyone wanting to do us harm by surprise.  That seemed safer to

me.  With all that, he still had the look of a crazy man....  That did

not feel safer to me...

Well, we made it safe and sound after traveling all over the AO (area

of operations).  I greet those at the HLZ (helicopter landing zone)

who are there to pick me up and we walk my equipment to the aid

station.  It's a thirty second walk.  This VSP is the size of a home

with a decent sized yard...because it was someone's house.  The SF are

just renting it while they are there.  We put my gear down and they

inform me that daylight hours are for site improvement.  That means,

while the sun is up and it's still warm, we do projects to improve our

living conditions there.  It's a good thing I spent those summers

working construction with Grandpa and all those Saturdays working with

handy dad!  While I was there, I built a sniper tower, two desks, a

few sets of shelves and put floors in two of the rooms.  Yes...I'm the

dentist...

At about 1800 (6:00 pm), the sun went down and it got cold...really

cold.  They decided it was time to do some dentistry.  We went inside

and I took care of all the people that needed work.  There were only

about six Americans that needed work, so things went pretty quickly.

As I was putting my stuff away, the head medic informed me that my

guard shift was the midnight to 0100 shift.

"I'm sorry, I didn't hear that", I chuckled.  "I thought you just said

my guard shift was from midnight to 1:00 am!"

"Yeah, you'll be with Nate.  He's a good guy."

Perfect, I feel better that he is a good guy...

Midnight rolls around and I head up to the roof.  I see Nate.

"Since there are two of us at night, one of us stays here and the

other goes to the gate.  You've got the gate tonight."

"Okay", I say, "I don't have any coms...how do I let you know if

someone is coming?"

"At this hour, no one should be coming.  If you see someone trying to

get in, shoot them."

Gulp!

No one came...lucky for me.  Had someone come, they probably would

have been lucky, too, knowing my pitch-black, midnight shooting

abilities!

The next day brought more projects.  To break it up, one of the guys

decided to take me on some driver's training.  He pointed to the four

wheel drive ATV with a .50 cal machine gun and asked if I knew how to

drive it.

"Long skinny one on the right?", I asked.

"That will do...let's go."

I started the engine and we drove out to the HLZ.  He told me to do

some cookies and test out the capabilities of the ATV.  After a few

minutes of what I thought were a successful run, he turned to me and

said, "You are going to have to learn how to DRIVE this thing...I've

seen these things up on two wheels before!"

Don't worry, mom, I didn't oblige him...

"Take a left here", he said.

A left looked like it would take us the opposite way of the post....it did.

As I left the HLZ, my SF turned tour guide companion decided to point

out all the homes of those he new in the village.

"That's where the Elders live...over there is the house of one of our

informants...that the police chiefs house..."

And that was how my driver's training went.  I feel trained.

I also got to watch a supply drop at 2300 (11:00 pm) one night, but in

comparison, that was just a regular occurrence.  A big airplane flys

by really low and out come a bunch of boxes on parachutes.  I also got

to go do dentistry on the locals that were around the area.  That was

pretty neat, since most of them had never seen a dentist.  The guys

all got to practice taking out teeth....yeah, I took them on

"dentist's training"!

The weather did not cooperate with air travel, so I ended up staying

there a week.  No showers, no heat...it was roughing it!  When the air

finally went green and helicopters were flying again, they got me a

trip back to Sharana...in a Chinook!  The experience came full circle!

 I must say, however, that the news helicopter was a lot more

"entertaining"....

The pictures are of the mud house we stayed in, followed by my "weak"

week attempt at growing a beard.  The next one is the ATV I was

telling you about followed by the first of many projects I completed.

If you can't tell...it's a desk.

I love you all and have a great Christmas!

Travel Channel #5

11/8/12 

What's the sound of artillery

BOOM BOOM

Raining down on the enemy

BOOM BOOM

Hello again, family and friends.  For those of you who have spent time

in the military or know some cadences, you might recognize the opening

cadence.  Since the last letter, the Groundhog Day effect has been

alive and well.  A day seems like a month and a month seems like a

day.  It is all the same...until the last week and a half!  In the

last week and a half, I've traveled to myriad locations and have been

able to see a bunch of interesting things which I will mention here.

Also, I completed a full marathon, was asked to re-enlist a soldier on

a Blackhawk and have sworn off running until I die!  (Just kidding

about the last part, but this was a marathon to remember!)

So let's get started with traveling adventures....

First of all, I want to paint a picture of the conditions of travel.

You all may think this is a harsh country with war raging all around.

It may seem that my life is in imminent danger each time I travel

outside the wire...well, rest assured, there could be nothing further

from the truth.  Perhaps you all didn't know, but I'm here on

vacation!  Case in point:  The second and third pictures are of the

resort I stayed at during a trip this week.  As you can see, we had a

lake right outside our window.  The accommodations were a little

breezy, but represented the finest in Russian architecture while they

were here in the '80's! (See pic 3)  The first picture shows another

wonderful building that was already occupied at the time of my

arrival.  As you can see from the two satellite dishes out the

windows, there were no vacancies at that particular resort.  There

must have been a convention there that weekend, because all the best

rooms were taken!  You have already heard that I get shuttled in a

private helicopter each trip, but did you know they dispatch an entire

cargo plane when I arrive to ensure the upmost comfort will be

afforded during my stay?  As you can see from my fourth picture, all

the modern conveniences are being brought in...all for the traveling

dentist.  I'm kind of a big deal, apparently.

Now, referring back to the cadence at the beginning.  I am a dentist,

but far too often it is forgotten that my official self-given title is

that of Combat Dentist.  With that title comes the great

responsibility to test out all the latest defense mechanisms these

particular locations have.  It was, of course, imperative that I

tested out the mortar pit for accuracy.  Hence the BOOM BOOM of the

cadence.  At night, they fired illuminating rounds over the battle

field so the enemy couldn't hide.  I was right there to drop a few

rounds down the tube.  Their one word of caution, "When you drop the

mortar, move your hands.  You'll want to keep those."  Good call.  If

you notice, teh BOOM BOOM is always in all capital letters.  There is

a reason for this.  The reason is very simple.  It's loud.  I know,

big shocker.  Well, no one but me had ear protection in.  No one else

but me had hearing at the end of the night.  They claimed the 60mm

canon was child's play and that no hearing protection was required.

After the first drop and the intense ringing that only Quasimodo

personally doing his bell tower thing inside your head could create, I

decided the only way to proceed was with full coverage.  By the time

we got to the 120mm canon, they all agreed with me and put in some ear

plugs.

The second weapon system I was obligated to test was the .50 Cal

mounted machine gun.  If time had permitted, I would have also fired

the stand alone Barrett .50 Cal.  Maybe next time.  I digress.  The

instructions for the weapon was, "Push the lever and shoot that

mountain."  Sounds simple enough.  3-5 second bursts with a large

mountain in front of me.  What could go wrong? Luckily, my aim was

true.  Not as true for the psychologist traveling with me.  Note the

lack of "combat" in his title...  Anyway, I hit the mountain with

great zeal for as ling as the weapon would fire.  This was a test fire

of a weapon that had been having problems.  It was still having

problems.  Some might be tempted to blame the operator here.  That

would be a grave mistake.  Everyone is entitled to their own opinion,

however...

Now, let's move on to another subject.  The marathon.  There's really

only one way to sum it up.  II ran until I got tired...then I finished

the remaining 25 miles I had to go!  Contrary to popular opinion, a

marathon is not a 26 mile race.  It is a 6 mile race with a 20 mile

warm up.  Our race was a two lap race with 13.1 mile laps.  I was

worried I would just want to stop at the first lap, but I did not.  I

did, however, bring my cot to catch a nap mid-race if it was not going

as planned.  Luckily, I felt great at the halfway point and then

pushed on.  I should remind you, I'm in Afghanistan.  There are

mountains in Afghanistan.  Many mountains.  These mountains are an

integral part of the base here.  They must be conquered.  At the

halfway point, the hills start out again.  I had forgotten about them

throughout the rest of the first lap.  I was reminded of them again

about 3 minutes after leaving the safety of my mid-run cot.  It was

too late to turn back.  I was going forward.  At mile 15, I was

cursing my running shoes for having been there that morning.  Then the

hills got worse.  The highest point on the course came at miles 7 and

twenty.  II already mentioned that this is a 6 mile race with a 20

mile warm up.  By mile 20 I was fine.  I found it to be beneficial

that I no longer had feeling in my legs.  I now know what an epidural

feels like.  Focusing on the road so that I could watch my feet fall

on the ground was the only way I made it through.  I was afraid that

if I didn't actually see them land, they wouldn't.  However, after the

20 mile mountain, the next 3.5 miles are down hill.  Oh, elation!

Feeling returned to the legs, air to the lungs.  I was alive again.

In rare form, I passed three more runners in the last 6 miles to claim

my victory!  Victory in this case being to finish...not necessarily

the first to do so.  I now have a standard to measure all other races

by...

"This was a tough race!"

"Yeah, but remember that time in Afghanistan?  It could be worse!"

"True"

Finally, the re-enlistment.  To re-enlist.  A soldier needs an officer

to perform the ceremony.  I was chosen for this particular honor and

the desired location was the back of a Blackhawk helicopter.

Normally, we would do the ceremony serenely flying over the

countryside.  The enlistee had different plans.  We did the ceremony

while the bird was still on the ground.   As soon as we were done, the

gunners got out and opened the doors.  So, Vietnam style, we took off.

 While hanging out the door barely strapped to anything, I wondered if

this was a good idea.  Turns out, it was not.  The pilots then thought

it would be a good idea to test the birds systems and capabilities to

make sure everything was functional.  I soon learned that boots and

helmets hold more than just feet and heads...apparently you can shove

a stomach in there, too.  It fits quite nicely, but getting it out

afterwards proved more of a challenge.  I've been on roller coasters,

but I've never been flying 70 miles an hour straight forward, then

immediately have that changed to straight up!  Then, just to show off,

the pilots decided to fly along the surface of the earth.  I think

I've mentioned that Afghanistan has a few mountains....  As I'm

hanging out the door, they bank hard toward my side.  I see the ground

and I actually reach out because I am sure I can touch it.  Luckily I

couldn't; that would have made me more nervous!

All in all, it's been a busy few weeks, and now there are adventures

to share!  I hope you are all doing well and know that I love you all

and pray for you from Afghanistan.  I hope your week has more time

spent on the ground than mine!  Until next time...

Confessions in Afghanistan #4

9/6/12

Confessions in Afghanistan

Hi.  My name is John.  I have small pox.

 This is probably not the confession you were all suspecting from the

subject, but it's true.  For those of you fortunate enough not to have

 ever had to go through the ordeal, I will inform you as to the process

 required for inoculation/vaccination.

 I had heard of this diminutive virus and it's effects on the unwilling

from many Soldiers who had previously deployed.  I would not be one of

them.  I had the right "exceptions to policy" and every time it came

up, I made sure to conveniently schedule that emergency appointment

that I could not miss.  I figured, once I got to Afghanistan, supplies

would run out and I would be forced to miss the boat.

That was my plan....

Then they found me.  I was minding my own business, as most dentists

do, and I heard my name. "Brady, you're next."  Next in line for a

cookie?  Next in line to go home early?  My mind was racing with all

the possibilities!  They handed me the form that had gotten me off the

hook so many times before that I was not worried.  "Do you have any

children living with you under the age of 12 months?"  "Of

course...Blah, blah, blah...too easy!"  I filled it out and handed it

in.  Another successful dodging.

“Brady, show me the kid."

"What do you mean?"  I retorted.  "She's at home!"

"So is your exemption...you're next."

Well, there was no getting out of it.  I was going to get small pox.

As I entered into the room, all the medics pushed and shoved for the

opportunity to stick my arm.  "What did I ever do to them?", I

thought.  Oh, right.  I'm a dentist.  I've stuck half the company.

Lots were cast and the lucky medic stood eagerly by my side.  With

more excitement than was appropriate, she explained the process.

"First, I take a little needle, get the medication, then stick you

fifteen times in a circle on your arm!"  Sounds fun.  In her

excitement, she failed to mention a few details.  First, it is not a

needle...it's a triton.  A three-pronged chunk of steel looking like

it belongs on the set of a greek mythology movie.  People complain

about the size of dental needles.  My needles had nothing on this guy!

The second detail she failed to mention is that the vaccination is

administered by dipping the triton in a vial of liquid, not by the

typical syringe-type injection.  It was not a cool effect.  Triton

> goes in to the vial of liquid and comes out dripping like saliva off

> the tooth of a rabid beast.  And they say I'm inhumane...

> "Here come the pokes!", she says with a smile.  "One...Two...Three..."

> "You'll get the same effect by counting in your head", I mutter through gritted teeth.

> "...Four...Five..."

> Oh well.  It's all done.  That wan't so bad.  What could all the fuss

> be about?

> Small pox is highly contagious.  That means, you must isolate the

> virus from everything else.  That includes yourself.  The first week,

> I had to wear a waterproof bandage...always.  The virus inside does

> not bother you this first week.  The bandage, however, is devastating.

> It itches.  It burns.  You can't touch the bandage for fear of

> spreading it somewhere.  The skin underneath becomes red and

> inflamed...then comes the second week.

> The same bandage must be worn through the second week, but by now, a

> blister has formed.  You thought the itching was bad the first

> week...it has nothing on the second week.  You start scratching your

> other arm in hopes that the scratching will somehow transfer through

> your body to the other arm.  You scratch your back and elbow, hoping

> the relief will travel down the arm to the destination.  You think of

> nothing else but NOT thinking about scratching...then it bursts.

> Week three brings relief from the bandages.  When it pops, you need to

> air it out so it will dry.  It still needs to be covered, but the skin

> under the gauze and tape can breathe.  Finally!  Walking across the

> stage at graduation of dental school was less of a relief than the

> gauze.  I was a new man!  My blister burst, my skin was oxygenating,

> the site was drying...what could possibly make this as bad as the

> first two weeks?

> After bursting, the oozing starts.  I think I now have an appreciation

> for the pain that was the birth of Fred and Wilma, the bott flies!

> Every time it oozed, it felt like life trying to emerge from my skin.

> Little beings burrowing out of my arm to see the light of day, only to

> be scared and retreat with the hope of trying again in another minute.

> Then you have to take a shower.  The waterproof bandage goes with you

> again.  It's not as bad this time.  It's only for a few minutes.  Take

> off the tape.  Put on a bandage.  Take off the bandage.  Put on the

> tape.  Over and over again.  Day after day.  more flesh being torn

> from your body with each tug of the bandage...

> Then it scabs over.  No pain, just a little gauze.  After a full month

> of torture, the scab will fall off.  When that happens, you're good

> for ten years.  One month every ten years...

> If I'm not out of the Army in ten years, please remind me of this.

>

> Well, that was small pox.  I hope you never have to get it.  The

> pictures this time are dealing with some of the missions.  The first

> one is me getting ready to go on mission.  Yeah, I wish.  That is me

> sitting in the pilot seat of an Apache.  We fly on Blackhawks, but it

> is a fun picture anyway.  The next picture is where I live, from the

> air.  We were returning from a mission and I took this picture out the

> window as we were approaching.  It shows all the trees and forested

> areas we have to fight through to get to work everyday!

> I will write about some of the missions in the next letter.  I have

> rambled long enough today.  I hope everyone is doing well, and I'll

> see you soon!  (within the year for sure...)

>

> John

Hello...from your night, my day! #3

7/29/12

Hello...from your night, my day!

> Hello all,

> It has been a while since I last wrote...sorry about that.  I caught a

> bug that was going around and couldn't get myself to do much outside

> of work.

> Anyway, hello to all, including a few new additions to the letter.  I

> hope everyone is doing well.  I certainly am.  Lately things have been

> extremely busy here.  Apparently my advertising that I do cleanings is

> getting around!  I've also been hanging around the FST a lot lately.

> The FST stands for Forward Surgical Team.  It is the "surgery suite"

> here.  I'm trying to get all the "experience" I can, seeing how I will

> most likely not see this amount of trauma again.  On that note, it is

> interesting to see the types of things that come through the door and

> the differences between our countries as far as "war" experience goes.

> When our guy come in, for the most part, the injuries are TBI's -

> Traumatic Brain Injuries along with aches and pains.  As bad as that

> sounds, TBI's are basically concussions.  They usually walk out of the

> FST an hour after being checked out and are back in the fight the next

> day.  On the other hand, the ANA (Afghan National Army) guys that come

> in are much worse.  I have participated in amputations, facial/skull

> fractures, gun shot wounds and other types of trauma.  They don't have

> the same protection in their vehicles, nor do they have the same

> training, as our guys.  It's good to know we are protected with our

> training and equipment.  Right now, we are heavily involved in

> training the ANA guys so they can continue the fight on their own

> soon.  They are making good strides.  One medic said they are as good

> as we are in combat trauma (applying tourniquets, battlefield dressing

> and the like) so the training is helping.

> In spite of the austere environment, I find myself feeling extremely

> blessed here.  My family is taken care of back home by family and

> friends.  I have good friends here to pass the time with.  I have

> plenty to eat and drink.  I have a warm bed to sleep in every night.

> I get to walk home from work every night and see scenes like the

> picture I've attached this week every day!  If you take the Army stuff

> out of the picture, it's really quite a beautiful place.  It's dry,

> with no trees, but the mountains are spectacular.  The air is easy to

> breathe, except the area by the poo-pons (the waste water facility).

> Other than the fact that my family is not here, it's not half bad!

> I should start circulating soon to FOBs (Forward Operating Bases) near

> here in the near future.  I'll let you all know how that goes.  Should

> be an adventure!  Until then, know that I love you and miss you and

> will talk to you soon!

>

> Love,

> John