“Hey, I just heard one of your boys got wasted!” …Yeah, that’s the right way to tell someone.

11 July 2009: It’s been a long day driving across the open desert from base to outpost. Dennis and Aaron came out to the truck to greet us and it’s nice to see some friendly faces as we dismount. They take us to where they’ve been crashing the last few nights; it’s not well established because they’ve been assigned to route clearance lately and aren’t around. We share some: shade, the hot breeze created by a fan, and the MRE we pretend is gourmet. Conversations cross the entire spectrum of subject and intellectual level ensuring you get in a few digs as you thump your own chest. A young Marine enters the room informing our friends that their convoy is departing in an hour, trucks need to be fueled and staged. As quickly as we met, we parted ways again. Sitting alone in the room Tony and I talked for a while before sweating ourselves to sleep.

12 July: Up, chow eaten, we are closing our packs as our presence is requested in the COC. After a small family reunion with a CWO, who was a SSgt with me at our previous unit, we get down to business. A local national reported seeing what appeared to be part of an IED in the main (dirt) road a few Kilometers south. We fall in with a cobbled together security element and depart friendly lines. It turns out to be nothing and we return to base just in time to join our convoy and continue heading south toward Helmand.

It’s a crash course in desert off-road driving and at certain points no one is getting through the deep silt without a stout pull from the 7-ton trucks.

There’s a halt and we don’t know why. We are in the middle of nowhere- there’s nothing except this one donkey who is standing with his head down looking like he wants to die. Twenty minutes and he didn’t move. Slowly he changed position and then after another 20 minutes motionless, he moved again. Why are we stopped?

Tony had gotten out awhile back to check the outer compartments and survey the situation. He had been back in the truck for only a few minutes when suddenly his door started to open. He jerked the door shut, combat locked it, and unholstered his sidearm. With a brief, albeit heated, clarification through the armor, the door is opened by us this time. We were in an unmarked truck so U.S. personnel must have told them we were EOD. We confirmed what the Afghans were trying to tell us via the radio and dismounted to join a group of local forces and Marines all staring at a missile smashed into the ground in the middle of nowhere.

We approach safely, ID it and report. Now we are told that they want to leave without destroying it. Some strong words are exchanged about the fact that we’ve been halted for almost two hours, just now heard about this, and there’s a sudden rush to leave explosives for the enemy to use against us later. After the successful destruction of UXO everyone mounts up and we get rolling again.

A few Klicks out from our final destination a halt is called again. We are going to complete the movement in the morning- WHAT? We’re almost there and they want to spend the night in trucks- higher up the chain of command these things might make sense but sitting in this truck in the open desert at night, it doesn’t.

13 July: The river valley is greener than the day before. The Combat Outpost is just a school by a corn field with machine guns at several designated “corners”. We dismount and are talking to the command staff when we are informed of more UXO in a house nearby. I leave with a small detachment to reduce the hazard and return shortly.

I haven’t been back long when a Sergeant comes out of the COC and says, “Hey, I just heard one of your boys got wasted!” Despite the fact that I want to punch him in the face, I remain calm and ask if he knows who it was. Though he doesn’t have a name or kill number he knows that it was someone on a local route clearance team. There were only two guys it was likely to be: Dennis, who I just saw two days ago, or my friend David Spicer.

Things get blurry here- I can’t remember how I found out it was Dave. I just know it was a sobering punch to the gut. Dave was a great friend. He and his wife, Kate, welcomed my wife and me to the EOD community. We had some great times. When it comes to anniversaries like these, I know many vets who struggle. We often engage in self-medicating and or reckless/destructive behavior, a sign we haven’t dealt with the trauma. These last few years I’ve had some real breakthroughs. This year I will celebrate his life, not morn his death.
We need to live for those that have gone on before us. Today I have named “Dave’s Day.” No longer will I dwell in the darkness of loss but I will have a party to honor his life. Steaks, fine spirits, and a CAO cigar (one of his favorites) will make this day great.
OVER.

Isaiah 57:1-2 “Good people pass away; the godly often die before their time. But no one seems to care or wonder why. No one seems to understand that God is protecting them from the evil to come. For those who follow godly paths will rest in peace when they die.”

Drew OUT.