Ubiquitous Presence - The Art of Disrupting Influence

Lest ye think that I'm so buried in the minutia of redundant tactical communications, I thought I would spend this BLOG abstracting to the strategic level and provide a little glimpse of a tremendous cultural shift that the U.S. miltary has, until very recently, voraciously opposed in the name of Operational Security (OPSEC)...

Nine years ago, I was the military lead at the Marine Corps Office of Science and Technology Integration (OSTI) for a Government contract that was to bring the Marine Corps Warfighting Lab (MCWL) into the 21st century by providing its leadership with a "knowledge management" system. The lead contractor on the job and I scoped the project and delved into the requirements analysis. "Ubiquitous access to information" was the gospel we preached to key leaders at MCWL, the Naval Research Lab, the Office of Naval Research, DARPA; etc. Our charter was to "eliminate the information stovepipes that exist within the Department of Defense", by creating a "System of systems" that would be interoperable with the myriad of similar systems throughout the agencies we regularly interacted with. A tall order for a young captain and an even younger, although brilliant, contractor/software developer.

He and I spent nearly two years on the project. He was a tremendous visionary - a master at spanning the organization and kludging disparate functional areas into a cohesive requirements document; then taking that document and turning it into a web-enabled, database-driven solution that enabled all members to have instant access to a vast repository of well-organized information pertaining to the organization.

Since the system we were creating was web-enabled, it could be accessed from anywhere; and with the recent advent of tablet PCs and PDAs, we had visions of taking that to the extreme - MCWL personnel instantly calling up critical Lab information from field sites, in board rooms, at conferences and in presentations throughout DoD, academia, and industry... ubiquitous access to information - any time, any place.

After two years of diligent effort, the team he and I created had ginned up a relatively useful product for the employees of MCWL. It fell far short of our lofty expectations, largely due to OPSEC concerns and the immaturaty of the technology and infrastructure; but the end product was still useful for the Lab and was, I believe, a cost-effective use of tax dollars.

In 2002, the two of us parted ways - I was promoted to Major and headed off to the Second Marine Logistics Group (2nd MLG) and onward to Iraq; and he started a new company that would become a DoD "Strategic Communications" powerhouse.

Over the next few years, I immersed myself in communications, from the tactical battlefield level with 2nd MLG and later Second Marine Division, to the strategic sub-unified four star command level at U.S. Forces Korea. The phrase "Ubiquitous access to information" seemed to fade into the background as we worked diligently to simply give commanders access to information where and when we could, vice where and when they needed it.  We were intently focused on our ability to lock down networks, often at the expense of operational capability in order to prevent the enemy from gaining access to sensitive information.

In 2007, at the Joint Forces Staff College, I was introduced to the concept of Strategic Communication, which instantly reminded me of conversations my friend and I had as we plugged away in the Warfighting Lab.  Jeffrey B. Jones - former Director for Strategic Communications and Information on the National Security Council, describes strategic communication as "The synchronized coordination of statecraft, public affairs, public diplomacy, military information operations, and other activities, reinforced by political, economic, military, and other actions, to advance U.S. foreign policy objectives."  So, what does this mean?

At the national level, it entails an unprecedented degree of coordination across governmental and non-governmental agencies in order to produce a cohesive communication strategy... It means the National Command Authority, politicians, State Department, CIA, DIA, NSA, USAID, Department of Defense, Homeland Defense, etc all coming to the table with their piece of the puzzle, first in an attempt to "see the elephant" for what it is; second, to come up with a unified strategy to achieve victory; and, finally, to implement this strategy across all elements of national power (Diplomatic, Information, Military, and Economic) and throughout the phases of conflict.  Strategic communications constitutes the set of messages we send to our adversaries, to our allies, and to the onlookers about what we intend to accomplish as a Nation, or most often these days, as a coalition of Nations.

As a communications officer in the U.S. military, it is my job to provide my commander with systems that enable the "conduits of influence" through which these strategic messages flow.  One goal of the modern strategic commander is ubiquitous presence (our message is everywhere, all the time); and my commander is as modern as they come.  It has been said that there are only two degrees of separation between Lieutenant General Caldwell and evey leader in the United States... frankly, I believe it.  His address book is unlike any I've ever seen; and his demand for high bandwidth, unfettered communications presents one of the best challenges I have faced in my 22 years as a Marine.

Who would have thought that blogging would be considered a mission essential communications requirement levied upon any J-6 staff?  Access to streaming media in a country whose literacy rate is somewhere around 28%?  An in-theater web presence capable of streaming video out?  In country BlackBerry service with local email accounts for the first time in the history of Afghanistan?  Readily accessible commercial internet?  Content managers?  Over 100,000 feet of CAT6 for three buildings?  Hotspots?  Air cards?  ...and you want it when, sir??

Throw the OPSEC manual out the window - we're in the clear.  It's time to rewrite doctrine and to reconsider the concept of maneuver warfare.  We're going deep into the heart of the enemy's OODA loop (decision cycle) this time.  This isn't about disrupting his supply chains, his lines of communication, or even his ability to command and control.  This is about disrupting something much more powerful and dear to him... his influence.  And the space we're operating in is unprecedented. 

To the terrorist, influence is everything; and he is willing to use any and all means at his disposal to that end... Jihad (the radical variety), violent attacks on civilians, improvised explosive devices, suicide vests, covert training camps, media outlets... the internet.  The terrorists we fight care deeply about advancing their causes through influence - and we have found a way to delay, disrupt, and ultimately defeat them.

Strategic communications is all about leveraging the best content delivery systems the world has to offer in order to overwhelm the enemy with information that runs counter to their cause.  My boss always tells me to use the highest bandwidth means of communications first when you have something to say; and he prioritizes them as:  Face-to-face, video teleconference, phone, and then email.  As a nation (or coalition), we engage in strategic communications in like maner - we visit minisries, cities, villages, and homes and converse with the local populace; we produce media, embed the press, and grant interviews; we broadcast radio segments; and we leverage the internet - a space no previous war has encompassed.

Although strategic communications is about more than I've highlighted here (the information gathering aspect, for instance, is something I haven't even touched on), it's fairly easy to see how pervasive an approach it really is; and how taxing it can be on our infrastructure. 

So there it is... strategic communications, ubiquitous presence - the bane of my existance as of late; and the catalyst for the destruction of a terrorist regime.

Where is my friend now, you ask... he retired in his 30's and now funds high tech start-ups - living the dream.

Incidentally, today my crew activated the first BlackBerry enterprise server ever operated on a domain located in Afghanistan.  An incredible feet considering where we were with the project a month ago.  Well done CJ-6 Ops.

“Fire the Communicator”

A week ago, NTM-A/CSTC-A (the command I work for) sent a team to an Afghan village to investigate, I believe, allegations that coalition forces caused the deaths of several Afghan civilians. The team was headed by a two star General, and consisted of a small cadre of military members. The task to my branch (CJ-6 Operations) was to set this team up with a stand-alone network (self contained… not connected to the outside world) that would enable them to collaborate while they completed their due diligence.

A Navy Lieutenant Commander (0-4 equivalent to a Marine Major) heads up, among other things, my “CG’s Comm Team” – the team of military members responsible for ensuring that the Commanding General has ubiquitous communication capability. His first task was to recommend which communicator would accompany the team and set up this network upon arrival. Since the General assigned to this investigation had already completed one with a communicator that was still in the CJ-6, the recommendation was easy. The decision was made, coordination completed, and that communicator reported to the LCDR to begin preparing the equipment. The communicator knew exactly what was taken on the previous trip, so he simply stated his requirements, the LCDR initiated the tasking, and the communicator collected the equipment.

When the LCDR briefed me that everything was assembled and ready, I directed him to set everything up in the conference room and prep a demo for me to ensure that everything worked. Upon completion of the successful demo, the LCDR and I proceeded to brainstorm all of the redundancies we could build into the equipment set to ensure that the team could still operate in the event of catastrophic equipment failure… thumb drives for file transfers, extra batteries, cables, laptops, hard drives, ink cartridges for the printer, etc. To my relief, the LCDR and the communicator on the team had already covered these bases. Then it dawned on me that we only had one network switch to connect everything; so I told the LCDR to round up another one.

After an exhaustive search, he came back to tell me that we had no spares, which came as a shock to me. With only one week on the ground at the time, I assumed that we would’ve had a stockpile of comm equipment for the myriad of similar missions that we are tasked with. I made a mental note to review our outstanding equipment orders; and to have my staff put the paperwork together for any future requirements that were not already on order. I told the LCDR that we couldn’t send this team out without an extra hub or switch, to which he replied that the mini-exchange (retail store) on the compound sells a small hub for $40 that could serve as a back-up. I gave him the $40 and told him to buy it. He came back a few minutes later and handed me my money back, saying that the hub was too small to support all the devices that would be on the network. Disappointed, I tasked him with double-checking with every communicator on the compound to see if one would surface. Unfortunately, it was already too late to send someone to another base to pick one up.

I thought to myself as I sent Tony off on this wild goose chase, “Is it really that big of a deal? What are the odds that the switch, of all things, would fail on this five day (or so) trip?” Then I recalled an occasion in Iraq where the unthinkable happened… I was dual-hatted as Headquarters and Service Battalion Executive Officer and Communication Company Commander. On one particular day, one of my Comm Company leaders came to me and said, “Sir, both of our generators are about to fail” (he used a different phrase, but I’ll err on the side of political correctness here). We had two 350Kw commercial generators pushing more power than we could possibly use on our compound; but we were in the desert (for the engineers reading this, no, the generators weren’t wet stacking); and the generators we were using, as well maintained as we kept them (at the time, the brother – great guy - of the Commandant of the Marine Corps was our generator maintainer; but that’s another story), were not equipped for the 24/7 dusty grind that we were putting them through.

Since the Battalion Commander was travelling, and I was his second in command, I happened to be the Battalion Commander on that particular day. Coincidentally, there happened to be a Commanding General’s (CG’s) staff meeting that morning; and, because I was “acting” Battalion Commander, I had a seat at the table and a briefing role. When my turn came, I said, “Sir, you are about to lose all communications throughout the Al Anbar Province.” He said, “What’s going on?”. When I briefed him on the situation with the generators, he said, “What do you need?”. “Triple redundancy, sir. I need another 350Kw generator”, I replied, wondering if that was really the correct term – if you have two backups, is that considered double redundancy or triple? But Marine speak seemed most appropriate, so I went with triple because it has the number three and I needed a total of three generators.

The CG looked at the Engineer Battalion Commander and said, “Make it happen, Joe”. I was in awe of the trust the CG had placed in my advice; and at the speed with which he made the decision and was able to effect the change. In a very short time, another huge 350 watt generator was plopped onto the Comm Company compound; and, as the engineers were connecting it, the unthinkable happened… both of the existing generators failed. I wondered if the engineers made this happen for effect, but quickly dismissed the thought as I realized that the 2nd Marine Logistics Group had just lost all network connectivity to the outside world; and we had convoys out all over the province. Fortunately, the total outage was no more than fifteen minutes, since all of the pieces were in place, and the engineers were in the final stages of connecting the third generator… a few minutes of downtime for something that could have taken hours or even days, thanks to the moral courage and foresight of my Marines; and to the decisiveness of the General and the quick response of the Engineer Battalion.

The lessons I learned that day were forever etched in my memory. So yes, there must be an extra switch… we cannot send this team out without one. I didn’t want to be responsible for any delays this team might face, potentially keeping them in harm’s way long enough for a suicide bomber to kill them all. Sure, we included thumb drives; and the team could have used them to transfer files between the computers, but it would cost them time that I didn’t think they had.

Tony returned with no luck. I knew by the look on his face that he had done everything he could. “Here, go buy the hub”, I said. Tony and I knew that the hub was the next best redundant solution. The hub was purchased, the gear packed up, and the team left… fire and forget. We then went on with our mission as the team of investigators headed off on theirs.

Last night, as I returned from a terrific Q&A session that the CNO (Chief of Naval Operations) and MCPON (Master Chief Petty Officer of the Navy) held with the Marines and Sailors of NTM-A/CSTC-A (the subject of a future BLOG), imagine my surprise when Tony said, “Sir, the switch failed on the last day of the investigation.” “Damn”, I thought, we failed them… forgetting in that instant that we actually did have the base covered. Tony smiled and said, “They pulled out the hub and were back on line in a minute." He then proceeded to tell me how the team had to leave the printer unplugged until they needed to print, at which time one of them would have to give up their network connectivity so another could print; but they still had full network capability. What a relief.

I still don’t know how the General perceived the failure of equipment and rapid recovery – he may have been pissed that he couldn’t print immediately; but that little hub represented a fairly sizeable victory for the CJ-6 ops branch. Unfortunately in our profession, victory comes in the form of transparency… if comm is up, nobody notices and very seldom is the team praised for such success. When comm goes down, everybody notices and criticisms abound.

Brigadier General Craparotta, Assistant Division Commander of the Second Marine Division, and a Marine for whom I have great respect, has a three part saying for fixing communication problems – wisdom that he imparted upon me during a staff meeting when I was his G-6 (senior communicator) after an important Video Teleconference (VTC) between him and the Commanding General (his boss) in the desert had just failed. I don’t remember the first two lines; but the last one resonates with me… “Fire the communicator”.

Not today boss…

"Three a Letter... Four Something Better"

Three days ago, Brigadier General Smith, Commander of the Army's Fifth Signal Command stopped by the NTM-A/CSTC-A CJ6; and we briefed him on our top priorities as a multinational handful of officers from General McChrystal's staff at International Security Assistance Force (ISAF) sat around the table.  As General Smith spoke, his aide, and Army 1stLt, sneezed.  After the first sneeze, the General, knowing his aide, said, "They always come three in rapid succession".  Sure enough... three quick sneezes.  The General then looked at the Canadian Lieutenant Colonel and said, "How many times do Canadian's sneeze?"  To which, the LtCol replied with a straight face as if the General had asked him to recite his fifth general order, "We're only allowed two, sir."  "How about the Poles?", asked the General to the Polish Major sitting behind me.  There was a noticeable pause, and the Canadian jumped in again, "Poles don't sneeze, sir."  Finally, the General turned to the Brittish Leftenant Colonel... without pause, the Colonel mused as if it were something he had been taught from first grade, "One a wish; two a kiss; three a letter; four something better."  The room erupted with laughter. The whole thing played out as if it were scripted and rehearsed.

Christmas Day, 2009

As I sit here in my small concrete room the night after Christmas on Camp Eggers watching Al Jazeera after my first whole day of work at the CJ6 for NATO Training Mission - Afghanistan/Combined Security Transition Command - Afghanistan (NTM-A/CSTC-A), I am reflecting on the events of yesterday - Christmas Day, 2009.

My day started on Bagram Air Field at 0300, when I awoke to the wonderful sound of nothing, thanks to the noise canceling headphones I had picked up in North Carolina for the deployment - if you haven't tried them, you should. Nevertheless, I was still suffering the effects of transiting too many time zones from the U.S. East Coast to Afghanistan in just over a day; so there I laid, tucked into my two layer sleeping bag in the "DV" tent full of single beds, wall lockers, and a multinational mix of relatively high ranking men from all branches of the service - killing time in lieu of sleep. Me and a fellow CJ6er, Matt, were to be staged and ready to load our Mine Resistant Ambush Protected (MRAP) vehicle at 0700. I figured I would get up at 0400, shave & brush my teeth, head to the MWR building to check email and see if Paulette, one of the kids, or anyone else in the family was online; and then go back to the tent and quietly finish packing so I would be ready for the chow hall at 0545; getting us out in time to drag our gear over to the staging point.

I had spent part of the previous day with my brother, Jay - touring his area, meeting his Marines and command element, taking a few pictures, and then heading over to the exchange court for some chow and a little shopping... it was Christmas Eve and we were two brothers in the heart of America's highest priority war at the time...

Along the one mile route, SSgt Vrable inadvertently saluted an enlisted soldier who had initiated a salute that was destined for LtCol Vrable. The SSgt quickly withdrew his salute and commented that he couldn't see the rank until it was too late. Subdued rank on officers (worn in combat environments) is difficult to identify, since it is the same color as enlisted ranks. This results in a myriad of erroneous and sometimes comical salute exchanges. In Iraq a few years ago, I remember saluting a soldier that I thought was a one star general; but as he drew closer, I finally looked up at his smiling baby face to see that he couldn't have been more than 19 - he returned the Marine Major's salute smartly and probably went on to tell his buddies about this dumb-ass Marine officer who saluted him.

Jay bought me lunch at Burger King in return for a couple of pairs of insulated drawers I brought him from home to take the chill off as he worked the flight line. As we walked through the exchange area, it seemed that all eyes were on us... the bulked up SSgt and the balding LtCol - both with similar faces and the same name sewn onto our uniforms. Two European-looking men dressed in civilian clothes who seemed particularly enamored with us asked if we were brothers. We confirmed and one of the men said, "Two very different paths".

Jay and I parted ways at 1330 as I headed off to an introductory meeting with the Task Force 82 J6 and Jay went back to work. That night, I paid for the expeditionary whopper and fries I had eaten with an unpleasant emergency visit to a dark "latrine trailer" that had lost power moments before. Matt thought it was quotable that I had said, "I just had a miserable experience in a dark shitter." ...back to Christmas morning...

When I checked into the MWR front desk and asked for a computer, the lady behind the counter gave me a little square wooden block with the number 13 displayed prominently. As I headed over to computer #13, I recalled that just the day before, I was given the same number for a phone that I used to call Paulette and the kids with. "What are the odds?", I thought to myself. The family wasn't online and I still had some time to kill, so I shifted over to the movie room and caught the end of "Blades of Glory" - desperate times...

When the credits began to roll, I headed back, finished packing and left with Matt for the chow hall. "Merry Christmas", Matt said with a smile as we made the chilly trek. "Merry Christmas, Matt... Almost forgot". The chow hall in Bagram was decorated by local and third country nationals with big gingerbread houses and hand crafted static displays representing the holiday. I was compelled to take a picture of the houses, since the day before I had watched an Afghan patiently place green icing on one of the houses as if it were his Mona Lisa. He wasn't the most accurate with the tube; but he obviously took great pride in his work.

"Afghanistan, at the crossroads - on Al Jazeera"... I had no idea what to expect as I turned the channel to the English version of Al Jazeera last night when I started writing this BLOG. I am shocked at the quality of reporting this network provides. Reporters are well researched and credible; stories are compelling and well produced; and there is no sarcasm or flip humor. I find myself wishing there was an American network like this; but quietly hoping that Al Jazeera will show me something that justifies the apparently jaded view of the network I had prior to ever watching it.

As Matt and I walked to the staging point, I looked at him and said, "I drew number 13 this morning at the MWR building... that's twice since I've been here." The uneasy look on his face was priceless. I know, you shouldn't screw with an Air Force guy before they jump on a convoy in hostile territory; but I couldn't resist. Hell, it was already screwing with my head a little... my first convoy in Afghanistan, first ride in an MRAP, it was Christmas day, and I drew the number 13... not once, but twice. I can't say the thought didn't go through my head that this could be it. Why wasn't anybody online this morning?

As we waited for the three MRAPs to arrive after fueling up, Matt and I took pictures of each other as the sun peeked over the snow-capped mountains in a beautiful panoramic scene behind us. Shortly after, a female soldier came up with a German Shepherd, a rather large break-down plastic kennel, and a few bags. "Is she riding with us or inspecting our bags?" I thought. The dog and owner were both young and unassuming. I invited the dog over, squatted down and encompassed it gently with my arms as I patted and talked to it in an attempt to show both dog and owner that there was no cause for concern here.

Thoughts of the convoy started to creep into my head… “Can I sit back and let the convoy commander run the show if something happens?” We are normally directed to do just that - we are passengers and this is his show. I recalled one particular convoy in 2003 that Master Sergeant Donaldson and I had jumped on as we made our way from Kuwait across Breach Point West up into Camp Viper just South of An Nasiriya… the Lt in charge of the convoy got us lost, making wrong turns on two occasions. After passing the same horrendous scene of dogs eating charred human remains not once, but twice, the convoy finally came to a long halt and the Lt walked up to my HMMWV (Hummer) driven by the Master Sergeant and said, “Sir, I heard you have an Iridium, is that true?” “Yes I do, what happened to your comms, Lt?” I said. To which, he replied, “Sir, right now, you’re the only person in this convoy with good comms; and I need to find out where the Hell we are.” So, naturally, I’m a little hesitant when someone tells me to let go of the reigns and just sit by in the “passenger seat” until it’s over.

The convoy team leader was thin, tall, and very serious as he ran through a laundry list of instructions and information about the one and a half hour journey we were about to embark on. He asked if any of us were "CLS". I hesitated, first because I didn't recognize the acronym (thought it was an Army term), then again after I put it together (Combat Life Saver) because I wasn't sure if the quick pre-deployment "refresher" course I had received qualified me to answer in the affirmative... note to self - see doc in the coming weeks for some more training. I have had Red Cross certifications and quite a few hip-pocket Marine-speak classes in the past; but it's all a spotty memory now for this 42 year-old. In that moment, I felt unprepared and embarrassed; yet, at the same time comforted by the competence of the convoy team. These young men have it under control.

The words, "Do not exit the vehicle until you are told to by a member of the convoy team", "Ensure that your seat belt is secured tightly as you may be thrown around in the vehicle", "Should the vehicle end up on its side, the exit hatches are located...", and, "The back hatch weighs about 900 pounds, so you have to push hard if you are required to open it manually" were the most memorable.

The dog owner took a moment to brief us as well... "If anything happens to me, my dog is the priority. She won't fiercely protect me because she's still a baby. She will come to you. Please make sure she is taken care of first if something happens to me. If something happens to her, I will care for her. I have everything I need for her care in my bag." She went on; but those were the memorable comments.

Since Matt and I were helping to load the bags in one MRAP, we were the last two passengers to board without realizing it. I remembered the words, "There are four available seats in the lead vehicle and five in the second!" Matt and I looked at each other and I wondered if the same thought went through his mind, "Is this the defining decision?" I said, "Do you have a preference?" He did not, so I headed toward the lead vehicle... if something happens, the lead vehicle is most likely to be involved, I thought. As we approached, we realized there was only one seat left. I told Matt I would take it and he headed back to the second vehicle.

I was barely able to contain my excitement as the three vehicle convoy departed. The Navy E3 in front of me seemed nervous, so I asked him if there was an in-flight meal. It seemed to curb his distraction as he laughed it off and commented, "I have beef jerky." I pulled out my camera to capture some of the unknown I was about to experience. I snapped pictures and recorded short videos along the route of the beautiful mountains, the local populace embroiled in their daily toil, the tattered buildings, and anything I thought would evoke a sense of understanding.

As we departed, I struck up a conversation with the Army Colonel sitting to my left – he was just returning from a two-week “R&R” (Rest and Relaxation) trip back to the States to finish up the remainder of his year in country. I found out he was a reserve lawyer who looked to be a few years older than me. He was a gentleman with a friendly demeanor and a myriad of random bits of advice for the newcomer. Since he and the soldier sitting in front of him were on a first name basis, I assumed the other guy was a Colonel as well. Not wanting to miss anything, I politely ended the conversation and turned my attention outside the vehicle.

I had just finished a short video, when I heard a loud yell from the convoy commander - an Army Lieutenant who was half exposed above the vehicle as he occupied the turret gunners position... he was the early warning system for the lead vehicle. Thankful I had done as the convoy team instructed regarding the seat belt, I felt the pressure as the driver slammed on the brakes... "dut dut dut dut dut" I heard, wondering if it was the sound of distant machine gun fire. "Mother-F***er!!!" someone yelled. "What the f***!!". "He's dead! he's got to be dead!" The vehicle came to a complete stop, then backed up slightly. As the Lt was ducking out of the turret, I tried to assess the situation. I didn't see what had happened, but based on the comments, I gathered that we had hit someone. I quickly turned around to look behind us and noticed the second vehicle barreling at us at a rate too fast to stop. My first thought was, "He's going to nail us", but I was relieved to see that the driver of the second vehicle was actually rushing to get his vehicle into the lead position to protect the convoy.

"Somebody get up there!" the Lt yelled as he pointed to the vacant turret seat. Before I could react, another member of the convoy team was already unbuckled and half-way to the 50 cal. The Lt rushed out to the front of the vehicle to assess the damage. "Call for a medevac!" I heard someone shout. The Sergeant who was driving had already jumped out, looked at the motionless Afghan, rushed to the back of the vehicle, looked at me and said, "Get me that bag!". As I handed him the bag, I said, "How can I help?" Hoping that would be my ticket out of the vehicle and excuse to take an active role in whatever this was to become. "I need someone to cover that flank!" he shouted as he snatched the bag and rushed back to the Afghan. Without a second thought, I jumped out of the vehicle, made a quick left turn as I pulled out my pistol and went to condition one (magazine inserted, round in the chamber, weapon on safe, and trigger finger straight and off the trigger). As I scanned the scene with M9 Pistol at the ready, I felt my legs shaking slightly - was it because they were cold from the vehicle or the crisp Afghanistan morning air; or was it the rush of adrenaline? I wondered why the Hell I wasn't issued an M4 - or at least more than 30 rounds for God's sake! "His back is broken!" someone shouted.

"Who's CLS?" I heard the sergeant yell. Without answering, I started moving toward the scene when a Navy Corpsman emerged to my relief… “Thank God”, I thought, as I ran through possible outcomes of trying to stabilize the guy myself. Corpsmen live combat life saving techniques; and have a much higher probability of success than a Marine communications officer. I stayed in position as the Corpsman rushed to the aid of the Afghan.

Traffic was beginning to back up on the highway behind us; and in the oncoming lane as the rubberneckers gawked at a crawl. At that moment, an ANP (Afghan National Policeman) with what looked like an AK-47 strapped to his back ran up to the scene from behind the third vehicle. My grip tensed on the pistol, thumb on the safety as the man approached... "Was the pedestrian's act part of an ambush?" I wondered. Then I saw the ANP's left arm wave in a big sweeping motion telling the passing vehicles to keep moving. It was clear enough to me at that moment that the man's intentions were not hostile. I quickly shifted my focus back to the flank I was supposed to be protecting; then I made my way toward the front of the MRAP just far enough to see what was going on. We must have been close to an ANP checkpoint, because there was already a small crowd of ANP around the U.S. team rendering aid to the Afghan.

"I need a camera! Who has a camera?" The sergeant yelled. "Right here!" I responded. As I handed my camera to him, I wondered if I had just surrendered my right to the dozens of would-be cherished pictures and videos I had taken prior to and since my departure from North Carolina... "The flank!" I thought to myself. As I scanned the scene, three young Afghan children walked by about 50 feet off the road in front of me. The little boy, all of about seven, smiled at me as if he was completely oblivious to the tension in the air or to the tragic scene he had just walked by. All he seemed to care about was eliciting some sort of acknowledgment from me. I obliged with a wink and a slight smile which seemed to make his day... "The flank!"

I noticed motion inside the cab of a fuel truck parked perpendicularly to the road about 100 feet out... "Over 25 yards - can I hit him from that range?" I thought as I recalled the 1,000 practice rounds I fired over the summer in preparation for this. I knew I could hit inside the 10 ring fairly consistently from 25 yards, so chances were good, I thought... or were they? 25 yards at an indoor pistol range with no external pressure is vastly different than 30-50 yards and a chaotic scene in the middle of an unfamiliar war zone. "Keep an eye on that cab", I told myself. I walked around to the back of the vehicle to see a "beautiful man" as my wife would put it, directing traffic. He was an extremely fit, handsome ANP with a confidence that commanded attention. He looked at me with a big smile, hands still waiving traffic through and said with a noticeable break in confidence, "How are you?" "Very good, thank you." I replied. "You do a good job" I said. He nodded and returned his focus to the traffic. "The flank!"

"Sir, take this!" I heard as I turned to see another U.S. military member handing me an M-16. I didn’t know who he was or even which branch of the service he was in… "Thank God!" I thought, as I holstered my pistol and grabbed the rifle. I pulled the charging handle slightly to the rear to observe the round in the chamber; then I slapped the magazine, tapped the forward assist to ensure the round was well seated, and closed the ejection port cover. I recalled how, on the Joint Staff in Korea, we Marines used to joke that if the shit hit the fan, we would never be at a loss for a weapon because someone from another branch would inevitably drop theirs and run... "The flank!"

"Stretcher!!!" someone yelled from the front. "He's stable, but if we don't take him now, he won't make it." I heard a voice say. "Cank the medevac!" shouted another. Vehicles continued to pass by containing people of all sorts... a car full of Afghan men all intently examining the scene and seemingly studying my every move; a family with an old baby seat in the car; a brand new silver civilian Hummer H2 - I thought about my boy and his love for that vehicle... "The flank!"

In what seemed like a moment, the man was carefully placed on the stretcher and was being moved to the vehicle. The convoy commander made a failed attempt to communicate with the small crowd of ANP, who seemed to be ok with the team's actions; but argued amongst themselves about something. I remember thinking they could be arguing about who should accompany the convoy. Once the stretcher was loaded, it was time to get the Hell out of there. I looked in the back of the vehicle I rode in on and quickly realized there was no room... the corpsman had taken my seat. I thought briefly about the two colonels and how they didn’t move throughout the entire event (it seemed). "Go up to the lead vehicle, sir." yelled someone from inside the MRAP. As I headed toward that vehicle, it began backing up with the rear hatch open as if to tell me I was moving too slowly. I picked up the pace and boarded.

After a short time, we arrived at the KAIA (Kabul International Airport) medical facility. We didn’t dare call it KIA for obvious reasons. My thoughts flashed back to my arrival in Kuwait International Airport (abbreviated KCIA vice KIA… the ‘C’ being ‘City’) in 2003. I remember wishing I had my camera for that leg of the journey, since we had entered the city of Kabul; and the sites were much different from those we had observed on the first leg. I watched with envy as Matt recorded the scenes with his video camera... maybe I can get a copy.

We stepped out of our vehicles at the rear of the medical center and recounted the events amongst each other and for the CSTC-A Joint Operations Center (JOC) Army Major who was already onsite prepared to gain as much SA (situational awareness) as he could to pass back to the JOC for the Commanding General. The consensus among those who saw the incident was that the Afghan was standing in the median; and, once the MRAP was so close that its momentum would push it through him, he walked out directly into its path and stood face-to-face with the vehicle driver. He then crossed his arms casket-style, put his head down and absorbed the full impact with his entire body. All of those who witnessed it were convinced the man knew what he was doing and had every intention of dying.

I could imagine only four possible reasons for such an act:

1. The man was convinced that his family would receive a handsome solatia payment if he were to be killed by an American vehicle.

2. The man was mentally incapacitated.

3. The event was the prelude to an ambush, which we fortunately discovered was not the case.

4. The man was compelled to perform the act so the enemy could gauge our reaction, analyze our tactics, techniques and procedures (TTPs), and adjust their future tactics accordingly.

We may never know.

When I asked the sergeant for my camera back, he said, "I already gave it to you, sir." I looked down and it was fastened inside my M16 magazine pouch.