Blog: Fight or Flight; Part 1

CAMP BEATLEY, AFGHANISTAN-- I was half sitting, half leaning when I woke up. My arm was numb, and my body ached from all the walking we did the day before. I sat upright and stretched my legs hard, half of my tent was on post at the guard stands around Beatley, the guys that were still there were sleeping.

I fiddled around in my bag, and made my way to the COC, I thought I'd hop on Facebook and check out what was going on in the world. I walked in to see the computers taken, but to my surprise, two of the three were watching stories I'd done in the days before. I knew I was getting somewhere.

I walked up the dirt stairs and out of the homemade cardboard door, looked toward the food table, breakfast again. I headed back to the tent to barter for a Pop-Tart. I rifled through my bags and found a half eaten granola bar, I'd settle for that. I felt like every part of my body hurt, just sore and achy. I rummaged for some Tylenol but didn't find any.

I pulled out my lap top and started sorting through yesterdays interviews. Interviewing that many people, you'll end up with around an hour of footage. It takes some time to go through all that, so I figured I'd give myself a head start.

I knew I was going on patrol today, but I wasn't sure what the story would be, I was hoping one of these interviews would give me a little inspiration before I left, but I wasn't having any luck. I put my stuff away and walked around camp making small talk.

The tent I was in is home to 3rd Squad, with 2nd right next door. Since I'd spent the majority of my time with 3rd, I thought I spend this day with 2nd Squad, to get a feel for how they operated.

The Captain walked by and mentioned we planned to leave shortly, so I needed to get my things together. My legs hurt so bad, I'd given some serious thought to asking about staying at Beatley for the day, but knowing that he'd made the phone call to keep me here, I figured I'd better not push my luck.

I suited up, got in line, and headed out the front gate.

The weather in the country had changed dramatically since I first arrived. In Kabul, it was cold, and rainy, remnants of winter still visible around town. At Beatley, every day was t-shirt weather, and this day was no exception.

I'd worn my 'new to me' pants, and a grey t-shirt underneath my bullet proof vest and helmet, I was hoping to get some kind of a tan before I made it back home.

The bottles of water loaded into my backpack today felt heavier today, though I was probably still shaking off my sore muscle blues. The day before I'd brought along my smaller handheld camera, but I wasn't a fan of the quality, so today I opted to lug around the big one.

Probably not the best move, considering the Captain told me we'd be walking double what we'd done already, but I was going to have to manage.

We'd gone 500 yards when we hit our first canal. The Taliban had become keen on planting IED's along the main roads, so leaping, jumping, crawling, and swimming were often a part of these patrols.

We walked through fields of poppy, dry ones at first, but the more we walked the muddier they got, so thick if you weren't careful it would pull your boots right off of your feet. I couldn't let that happen, so I was taking extra care with each step to make sure I came out with boots on my feet, and that I didn't end up face down.

The Captain was telling me about the poppy fields and how this stuff grows, but I was so consumed with placing one foot in front of the other, I wasn't listening.

-Pop, pop, pop-

But I heard that and in an instant I knew, it wasn't a good sound at all.

I went face down, and watched the Captain and Ricky Bobby take off into the field.

The metallic sound of machine gun fire was ringing in my ears, when it trailed off all I could hear was the sound of my own breath. I took out my camera, sat it on some poppy grass, pressed record and collected my thoughts.

It got quiet enough to hear the birds chirping in the distance, the poppy my face was lying on smelled peppery and fresh, the way a green grass lawn smells after its just been cut.

I looked around, our translator was 100 yards to my left, I couldn't tell if anyone was behind me, but I saw what looked like one of the Afghan National Army guys, ANA.

More gunfire, a lot more, I couldn't catch my breath, I buried my face in the mud, I was trembling all over, I started cussing and praying simultaneously.

I looked around again, our translator was gone, I heard someone running behind me, and I looked back to see the ANA running through the field heading toward the horizon.

From what I could see, I was all alone. I started thinking about what everyone had told me before I left; "Listen to the Marines, you'll be fine," or "Just stay behind them, they'll keep you safe," "Of course," Id say, "I'm not crazy." Yet here I was, alone in a field, surrounded by Taliban, no weapon, no Marines, nothing.

The only thing I was certain of was if I stayed here, I was going to die.

I looked up to see the shooter, I couldn't see a thing, I wasn't even sure from where the gunfire was coming from to me it sounded like it was every direction.

In action movies, the gunfire is often loud, and comes along with sparks and smoke, so the hero knows just where the shooting is coming from, and where to fire back. In real life it's more of an enigma. The shots ring off of solid structures, the echo leaves you wondering where to look, no sparks, no smoke, just the cold hard reality that the next one, may be for you.

I drifted off again, thinking about family, my fiancée, I did not want them to have to go through this. My biggest fear about coming to Afghanistan was not of death or injury, but what those things might do to my family. I worried about how my parents would react, would they be able to handle it? Would my family harbor anger at me for putting myself in harms way?

I started to cry, I didn't know what to do, where to run, or how to help myself, I was starting to give up.

"Chrrrriiiissss," Sgt. Holton yelled. I looked up and saw him 500 yards away across the field. I waved my hand, and Sgt. Powell, 2nd Squads leader, stood up to come get me. He moved about 10 feet, and a huge blast of gunfire sent him back behind cover.

They call areas like this field a kill zone. Go several hundred yards in any direction, and still all you had was open field. They knew this field was flooded, they knew it would be difficult to navigate, and they knew it would take us time to find cover, this was a perfect ambush point.

I turned the camera on myself, If something was going to happen to me, I wanted to say one last thing before it did. I told my parents and my fiancée I loved them, I told the viewers what had been happening, and then I let it roll.

Sgt. Holton called my name again, I waved my hand, and he said something I couldn't understand.

"Did you hear me," he screamed.

"No," I yelled back.

"Go back to where we came from, or run to the canal to your left, you can't just lay in the middle of a field."

Oh my god, I was going to have to stand up, and do this, I honestly didn't know if I could, no gun, no guard, no nothing. My legs were shaking so hard I could hear my knees knocking together. I pulled my backpack tight, tossed the camera over my shoulder, and for the first time ever, I ran for my life.

The next thing I knew, I was in a canal with Sgt. Holton, Ricky Bobby, Sgt. Powell, and the Captain, all four of them were genuinely glad to see me safe, alive. To my surprise there was a long passage of time between that moment and the field, but my memory of it is only what my camera showed when I got back.

"Look at me buddy," Sgt. Holton said, "You doing alright?"

"I'm fine," I said, my voice still quivering, still trying to catch my breath, "Just a little shaken up that's all."

"Do you have any candy on you, you need to eat some sugar."

"I think so," I said reaching into my pocket, I pulled out Dum-Dum's I'd brought along to give to the kids, they were covered in mud, "It's all mud."

"No biggie, take some gum," he pulled a pack out of his pocket, "take a few pieces."

I chewed the gum, and sat back for a minute. To my left Sgt. Holton was still barking orders at marines who seemed to be hanging on his every word.

To my right the Captain was on the radio trying to communicate with Command at Camp Hansen, Ricky Bobby was waiting to coordinate air support.

"How's that gum treating you," Holton asked, "best gum you've ever had?"

I nodded, astonished, that a guy who seemed as gruff and angry as Sgt. Holton, would take the time in a moment like this to make sure I was doing ok. I chewed on the gum, and he handed me a cigarette, mine had become mud cigarettes, and they're not as easy to smoke.

I smoked, what was likely the best cigarette I've ever had, and watched as the silence set in.

It had been a while since we'd heard gunfire, but we were still waiting on air support before we moved.

"Listen Chris," the Captain said, "We're not leaving this canal until we get heilos (helicopters) overhead."

He repeated this into the radio, "Every time we go over this incline, we get shot at. I'm not letting a marine leave this canal until heilo's are overhead."

"We could send Chris," Ricky Bobby (A.K.A. Capt. Steve Nyland) joked, I responded with several choice words and laughed, it was good to laugh.

Sgt. Holton came back and sat across the canal from me, propped his feet up on the other side of the bank, and leaned back.

"How you doing," he asked.

"I'm fine"

"You got enough water?"

"Yeah, I got a few bottles in my backpack"

"You need to drink one of them"

I pulled a bottle from the backpack and drank it in one fell swoop.

"Your legs feel heavy," the Captain hollered from down the canal.

"Muddy, but not other than that."

"I looked down, still trying to rationalize what just happened."

"Hey," Sgt. Holton said, "Look at me, talk to me, what's up whats going through your head?"

"Just trying to calm down," I explained.

"What's up man, you got anybody back home."

This was not the right question to ask, I was in a state of flux at the time and I didn't want to be thinking about home, I couldn't think of it, but I was. I looked up at him, I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes, I clenched my jaw, and barely muttered out a yea.

"Ok," he said cautiously, "Let's not talk about that. You're doing ok buddy, you're gonna be fine. You're gonna stick to me and we'll get you out of here just fine."

I wanted to believe him, but I wasn't there yet. When big things happen to me, I tend to get reflective. Just because I'm not talking doesn't mean I'm breaking down, I'm just remembering, so I can tell the story later. I've been that way for as long as I can remember, and I was doing that now.

"I bet you wish you were a sports reporter right now, don't ya?"

I laughed, no I didn't, and clearly I had not explained to Sgt. Holton how bad I was at sports.

Half an hour went by and after some back and forth between us and the COC, the helicopters showed up, and fired on the enemy. They weren't hit and took off running.

It takes a while to get authorization to fire because before a shot is fired you have to have PID, positive identification. The helicopters stayed overhead but the enemy was moving from building to building, they'd stay hidden for a few minutes and then go back on the run. The problem was, though the guys were wearing the same clothes, and carrying something under their shirts, there was no way to be sure that these were the same guys. 98% was as high as it got, and that was not enough.

Mistakes happen, but in an area where most of the people are behind you, one wrong shot can sacrifice months of work, and put these Marines in even more danger.

The helicopters circled for a while, and we stood up to leave. I packed my camera away, I needed to focus on making it out alive

-Pop, pop, pop, pop, pop-

Down again. The choppers saw the shooter but they hid as soon as they fired. They tried for another 20 minutes to get PID and return fire, but never could.

We finally moved from the canal, and headed toward where they thought the initial shooting came from. A last minute decision to turn left and head to the other side of a tree line, and the shooting started again.

This time it was closer, bouncing off of trees around us, zinging past my head. My initial reaction was to go down, but I looked up in time to see Sgt. Holton dive through the tree line and into a canal. I followed suit, jumping in almost head first, and realized this canal was filled with sewage.

"Did you hear that," the Captain said, "Those things were right on us. I felt them zing past my ear. Did you hear that Sgt. Holton."

"Oh yeah."

I was exhausted, the ups and downs of this were killer. They had assured me the enemy wouldn't fire with choppers overhead, so I was feeling better during this last walk, they were wrong.

"That was good," Sgt. Holton said to me, "You don't ever want to lay out there like you were earlier."

Agreed.

"I told you just follow me and you'll be fine."

I was starting to believe him.

Another shot fired, this one undeniably close. My ears were ringing, my nerves were shot, where were these guys.

"ANA," a couple guys yelled.

"Jesus," I thought, "These guys don't get it."

Our interpreter yelled something to the ANA leader that was with us, and the man jumped out of the canal and took off running toward the man who fired the shot, screaming something to him in Dari. I'm not sure what he said, but judging by his tone, it wasn't pretty. Sgt. Holton made his way to the guy as well, he stayed inside the canal though; a safer bet. Holton told him the next time he fired a shot he better have an enemy head between the crosshairs.

I liked this guy.

The heilos circled and after what felt like hours, we finally got back on the move, I jumped at every branch cracking under my feet.

"If you don't do that," Holton said, "You ain't seen nothing"

I walked along side Sgt. Holton, with the Captain and Ricky Bobby bringing up the rear. The guys up front were moving fast, and the Captain hollered at them to slow down. We needed to maintain a semblance of formation.

We took a small detour by a house the Captain thought may have been the shooters first position. The man inside was tending to his poppy crop when I walked in.

ANA scoured the house inside and out, climbing onto the roof looking for any sign that the shooter had been there.

The Captain asked the man what he knew about the shooting this morning. "Nothing," the man said. I'm not sure if he was lying or scared, maybe it was both.

The Captain told him he didn't appreciate the lies and that they would be back to talk to him again. As we left the mans wife and child cowered in the corner of the field, the man wouldn't even look up.

We left and finally headed back for Beatley, and not a moment too soon.

The more we walked, the better I felt. I was still in back and the guys up front were moving much quicker than we were. I was jealous of how far ahead they were. The Captain called them over and over, telling them to slow down.

Maintaining a presence was important he said, we needed to look strong for the enemy. Holton added that being that far ahead, if something else happened, they wouldn't be in a position to cover us.

We navigated over an irrigation canal, and the Captain's screaming was finally heard. Sgt. Holton was headed toward the front to lead the pace and told me to stay behind with the Captain.

--Pop, pop, pop, pop, pop –

I hit the ground, again.