The following was written as an assignment from my therapist.  It has been added to, edited, and updated a couple times based on her direction, but only in an effort to draw more healing from its writing.  The dates, areas and units listed are accurate, however the names have been changed out of respect for the family of the fallen and out of professional courtesy for a Marine who is still serving.  I share my story with you now in hopes that you don’t wait a decade to get help with your trauma like I did.  You aren’t hard when you hide an injury, physical or mental. You are only exacerbating future problems.  Go, now, before it’s too late.

The Horizon of My Mind

12 April 2012

Nearing the end of my third combat deployment as an Explosive Ordnance Disposal Technician (EOD Tech) I witnessed and experienced something that I carry with me and relive every now and again.  

The deployment started in Oct 2011 supporting K Co, 3/6 and G Co 2/9 in the southern districts of Marjah, Helmand Province, Afghanistan.  Though this support was listed as General Support on paper, my team member and I lived with these Marines turning our relationship nearly into Direct Support.  My relationship with those Company Commanders was pleasurable at best and easily tolerable at worst.  

Following a professional disagreement between the Company Commander of W Co 2/9 and another EOD Team Leader from my section, I was moved from G Co to W Co. The other EOD team and I swapped places in an effort to “keep the peace in the Battalion” as far as EOD support was concerned.  I was not happy with the situation.  

I was angry because my ability to be professional, personable and proficient once again meant I was making up for someone else’s shortcomings.  I was disappointed that I had to leave the tent we lived and worked in. My team member and I had put so much work into “improving our fighting position”. Now we were to venture into an unknown space again, with the knowledge of a toxic working environment looming heavily in the forefront.

The relationship with the W Co Commander, Capt Adams, was toxic from day one.  He pulled my team member and I into his office space upon arrival and laid out his policy.  He informed us that we worked for him and his calls and orders were final.  A much more political way to say “your life is mine to do what I want with” like he told his former EOD team.  

That isn’t at all how our relationship works (remember earlier when I mentioned GS?), but I let it alone for the time being; I was sent to smooth things over after all.  Did I mention it was toxic?  Capt Adams’ men despised him; they called him “Bob” (his first name is Robert) behind his back, worked the minimum amount possible and often did things to spite him.  Even his right-hand man, the Co 1stSgt, let slip his true feelings to me a couple of times.  

Bob’s Marines went on routine patrols and occasional probing missions, leaving my team at the Combat OutPost (COP).  I protested my lack of inclusion and requested many times to join these patrols for situational awareness of the area of operations and to observe the Tactics, Techniques and Procedures (TTPs) of the Marines.  I can’t offer professional guidance and training if I don’t know what his Marines were doing right and wrong.  My requests were roundly rejected time and again.  So, it was even more frustrating when I requested to stay behind on a mission and he insisted I go; a mission that would end the life of a fellow Marine and change mine forever.

A few days before the team from 1st EOD Co was due to fly in and replace my team, some General conducted an aerial tour of his Area of Operations (AO), forcing unscheduled changes to rotary air travel across the battlespace.  These changes forced my replacements to be delayed by a week, leaving my team to cover an upcoming operation that W Co had been tasked with.  

I hated that man; I hated the General that screwed with the air support.  Some nameless authority that screwed all of us on the ground out of something, the lifeline that delivered supplies to his Marines and the vehicle to end my tour with Bob. I hated the situation; another “Green Weenie” for us to take in the back door and smile about.  I was numb, I was ready to go home, I had mentally checked out of work.  Fine; go out for a few days, get back to the COP, pack our shit and get out of that country…
Continued: Part 2 >

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