Fallen Hero

Three thirty in the morning in the valley of the Hindu Kush. With no moon the mountain peaks are shrouded in darkness but the landing field at Bagram Air Field has plenty of light tonight. There are shadows that break in straight lines looking like the set of a film noir movie in the 50’s. Soldiers are lined up on both sides of a runway and a C-17 airplane cargo bay is open. We are here for a Fallen Hero ceremony where a soldier just a few weeks in theater is going home in a casket. No one knows for sure how he died. Someone mentioned a sniper another and IED. Dead is dead.




The General is here standing at the end of the formation. A humvee drives up slowly - stops. The soldiers move with absolute precision each footstep measured as they unload the body. The casket is draped with the Stars and Stripes. There is a small army band playing in the background. The trumpet sounds plaintive the notes fall and the soldiers march the casket towards the plane.



We give a sharp salute as the soldier pass by us. The silence of the moment drowns out the steady drone of diesel engines. Everyone is at attention. Soldiers and their weapons are still. There will be frost in the morning and the cadence of soldiers footsteps doesn’t vary as they move inside the cargo plane setting the casket like a jewel.



The First Sergeant gives the order to break formation and we scatter into the night burying sorrow under the stars.

http://www.lewisandclarkexpeditions.net/

The Big Voice

The Big Voice comes on anytime day or night unannounced issuing warnings. The first time you hear you feel like telling someone to turn down the radio. The Big Voice does not get tuned down. The most common announcement is letting us know the airfield is hot. This is followed by distant booms as bombs get detonated.



The Big Voice the other night announced an amber alert. I thought how wonderful a light show - wrong. Amber alert is stay put and wait. The new prison was under attack. Attack can mean rocks are being thrown, rockets are being launched or there is a Calvary charge. The Big Voice is not nuanced like God at Sinai there are just a few imperatives the Big Voice utters.



I work the night shift and the Big Voice keeps me company at three in the morning letting me know I am not alone.



This week at Bagram: rumor there was a suicide bomber at the gate. They closed the bazaar where the local vendors come on Friday to peddle their wares. A helicopter was shot down. The Red Cross get two new computers, a couch and some more movies. Troops are arriving. The New Orleans Saints win the NFC Championship and I come close to breaking even in 18 straight weeks of betting on football games. Not much snow or rain in the Hindu Kush - drought?



I am on hold waiting for the Big Voice

http://www.lewisandclarkexpeditions.net/

on god

God to earth - "Oops !"

http://www.lewisandclarkexpeditions.net/

thoughts on life

When in doubt castle.

http://www.lewisandclarkexpeditions.net/

Mom Meatloaf !

Movies are the main source of entertainment. Soldiers are watching movies on their computers, at the Red Cross or in their offices. They sell hijacked DVD copies for $3.00 a piece at the local Hajji market which does a brisk traffic in ripping off Hollywood. A movie is a place a soldier can go and get a laugh, see a pretty girl or bump into a truth.

Any movie with Jessica Alba in a bathing suit is an immediate crowd pleaser. Soldiers have been talking about “The Hurt Locker” which I thought was excellent. Tyler Perry movies have a big audience but I think Will Ferrell rules over here. We all wonder how the Oscar could have passed him up for his understated performance as Ricky Bobby in Talladega Nights or his short but brilliant performance in Wedding Crashers. Laughter is good medicine on bad days.

http://www.lewisandclarkexpeditions.net/

more Li Po

Bathed and Washed
 
"Bathed in fragrance,
do not brush your hat;
Washed in perfume,
do not shake your coat:
 
"Knowing the world
fears what is too pure.
the wisest man
prizes and stores light."
 
By Bluewater
an old angler sat:
You and I together,
Let us go home.
 
Li Po
 
I make a living as a fishermen.  I know how to wait and be patient.  I wait for the fly line to peal back and straighten before returning home to the water.  I stare endlessly at the water waiting for a fish to dimple the surface.  I am waiting for spring with my mind floating like a cloud over the mountains.

Some are going others are coming.

It is almost January and the weather has remained good. The mornings are ushered in with cool temperatures and warm pinks on the peaks. Today, the wind comes from the north clearing out the dust and pollution in the valley. The mountains sparkle like jewels.

Some of the soldiers are going home. They are going home after years in Iraq and years in Afghansitan. They quietly go home. We fight wars with no parades. Heroics and heros are never affirmed.

Other soldiers are coming some with multiple deployments and some are new. The enemy is never going away and odd kind of job security. No one is waiting for a parade.

return to sender

Two nights ago there was a rocket attack.  People rushed to the bunkers.  I was in what I call "The Reading Room" to be exact the last stall in the latrine.  Like everyone else I heard the boom.  My first thought was this where Elvis ended it in a bathroom.  So, like "The King" I decided to make my stand there.  Then I wondered if Elvis was singing "Return to Sender" when he headed into the afterlife. 

on the edge of the empire

The following is a poem by the Chinese poet Li Po.  I discovered him over 30 years ago in a book of poems translated by Ezra Pound.  Tonight the moon is full over the Hindu Kush Mountains here at Bagram Air Base with Li Po's voice whispering from the peaks.



Taking Leave of a Friend



Blue mountains lie beyond the north wall;
Round the city's eastern side flows the white water.
Here we part, friend, once forever.
You go ten thousand miles, drifting away
Like an unrooted water-grass.
Oh, the floating clouds and the thoughts of a wanderer!
Oh, the sunset and the longing of an old friend!
We ride away from each other, waving our hands,
While our horses neigh softly, softly .

Li Po 701-762

http://www.lewisandclarkexpeditions.net/

planting for spring

The winter in the Hindu Kush has been very mild and warm.  There is snow on the high peaks at sunset they are hot pink.  They remind me of the Mission Mountains near Flathead Lake. In spring the fiery pink is called Alpine Glow.  An Afghan is oiling his Enfield rifle like his great-grandfather did when the British were here.  After he oils his weapon he carefully wraps it like his father did when the Russians were here.  Right now he is going outside to bury it while the Americans are here.  In the spring, he will show his son where to dig it up.