We're not in Kansas Anymore

BOOM!!!! It was the loudest sound I'd ever heard. Last summer I sang with the Boston Pops on the Esplanade and was very close to the large guns the National Guard traditionally fires over the Charles River during the "1812 Overture." It was louder than that.

The sun was shining, as it has almost every day over here, and the air was mild following a mission to a local village. I had a good meeting with elders, ate lunch and caught up with a friend at another location along my route. I felt good about what had been accomplished that morning. We left to return to my main base and I started thinking about all the things I needed to get done that afternoon. 

I was riding in the back of our truck culling my to-do list which seemed to grow longer every day. I started prioritizing my work as best I could and made some notes for myself to add even more to the to-do list. The back of our vehicles don't allow for a lot of viewing outside because of the limited visibility so there's not much else to do. The ear plugs keep out the drone of the massive diesel engines, the constant rise and fall you can feel through the vibrations in the seat, all of which makes conversation difficult. It seemed like just another day on just another road.

The sound and shock of the blast as it hit our truck shook me out of whatever quiet thought I had. The force of the blast slammed by head against the back of the truck, my helmet pads crushing under the force. I looked over at the other person in the back and saw his eyes widen dramatically as we looked at each other trying to get confirmation that what just happened, well, actually happened.

Seconds passed like minutes. The truck lurched both back and to the right simultaneously as I reach out for anything I could hold on to. My seat belt locked into place as my body started to push forward as the vehicle slowed so suddenly. I tried to grab the tether belt of the gunner with a free hand in a vain attempt to be ready to drag him down into the truck. It was a drill we'd done over and over in training, but my locked seat belt kept me from being able to reach him.

The truck slammed back to the left and righted itself as our driver hit the gas to get out of the danger area. I felt myself fall back again, grabbing my rifle as I had let it go to try and grab the gunner. Finally we came to a stop, we looked around, and then the time felt as if it was accelerating as much as it had slowed in the seconds before. The smoke from the blast was all around us and coming into the truck from the hatch, the distinctive smell of explosive stinging my nose.

"ARE YOU ALRIGHT?!??!" "YEAH, YOU?!?!" "(Expletive), YES! DAMMIT!! (Explitive)!!!" The shouting kept up - no PG rated version is possible to recount - until we were all sure we were ok. We got lucky, there weren't any serious injuries. It took a few seconds of radio checks and then the call came in, "FIND THE TRIGGER MAN!!!"

The back door was lowered and I was the first out of the truck and exited towards the site where we were hit. My sergeant and I headed to a building to look for any signs of people. I can't even remember all that we did, but we cleared a building where a shop was and then headed into an open area. We found recent footsteps and the likely place where someone jumped over a wall. Another team that had exited found the command wire and traced it down, but we never did find the ones responsible for this.

The next half hour or so we spent looking around the area, interviewing people who were near the blast site to see what they knew, and trying to calm down the locals and ourselves. We pulled security and kept our eyes open for anything unusual. Everything about that half hour is a blur, the only tangible memory I have is what I had written down interviewing, collecting information about the location and the situation, taking notes on what I could of the pieces that were left, and generally looking for anything, anything at all that looked out of place or that shouldn't be there.

When everything finally calmed down, I had a moment to look back at the site where we were hit, the pieces of truck and parts of IED strewn across the road. Our truck didn't look all that bad, it was damaged but we would be able to limp home. I was amazed at how strong and safe that truck proved to be, I'll take a ride in that down any road in Afghanistan. It's about as safe as you can get while traveling in this place I've come to try and help.

I looked down the other end of the road in the direction we were heading and saw young Afghan kids looking at us. They reminded me of the picture of my three girls I keep with me everywhere I go. I took the picture out and stared at it, for how long I'm not sure. "I love you" were the only words I could say to that picture I held in my free hand, my rifle still locked and loaded, the smell of diesel and explosive residue thick in the air. I kissed the picture and put it back in my pocket. It was time to get back to work, clean the mess up, and get all of us back home to the base.