When A Boy Becomes A Man
I was leaning against the side of the mountain when the first blast of machine gun fire tore through the air. My lieutenant looked at me and in confusion asked, “What was that!” It was his first firefight. I immediately knew we were under attack. Without hesitation I sprang into action and began to return fire on the hill side. My buddy Falls came next to me quickly and began to return fire. It looked as if mice were scurrying across the fine Afghan dirt in front of my feet. I then realized these were bullets from the enemy, his aim luckily not accurate. The fire ceased and there was an eerie calm that surrounded us. Someone yelled, “Head back to the trucks!”, and we began to move back.
Just then an Afghan soldier emerged through the smoke. It was dusk now and it was getting harder to see. The soldier was holding his head and walking slowly. Falls and I ran to him to see what was wrong. He had been grazed on the right temple; blood ran down his face. He had also been shot clean through the left shoulder. Falls and I frantically applied pressure dressings to his wounds. The blood was warm and smelled of iron. Another Afghan soldier ran through the fog carrying a soldier on his back. The Afghan soldier had been shot through both calves and was unable to walk. Our medic quickly came to his attention and applied tourniquets to both of his legs and began to pack them. The wounds were so large he could fit his fists in them. We loaded in the trucks and headed back to the outpost.
It was two days prior to this that I met my new platoon leader Lieutenant O for the first time. I had recently come back from pass in Qatar. I was 20 and in the middle of a war zone. Two years prior in 2006 I was just graduating high school. Now all I could think, was what did I get myself into. Lieutenant O was a replacement for our previous lieutenant who was injured a few weeks ago while on patrol. My first impression of him was that he was cocky and trying to prove himself. After all we had been in country for 6 months and every day we had been in contact with the enemy. My helicopter couldn’t even land to bring me back to Combat Outpost Najil from pass because the enemy was attacking at the time. Two days later was no different. Photo by Pixabay from Pexels
On our way back to base with the wounded carefully loaded in the ford rangers, I watched as the soldier who was shot through both legs began to lose consciousness. His head bobbled effortlessly as we navigated the rough terrain. His eyes rolled into the back of his head and all I could think is that he wasn’t going to make it. As soon as we arrived to base a team came running out to get the wounded. They rushed them into the aid station to further first aid. Within about a half hour you could hear the roar of the MEDIVAC chopper through the valley. That old familiar feeling that help was on the way. A team of soldiers loaded the wounded onto the helicopter and off it went.
The next day Lieutenant O came to Falls and I. He began to speak slowly and said, “You know that was my first firefight. They pulled a body off the hill; you boys did your job.” I felt proud and astonished at the same time. Did I really take someone’s life? Was it my shot that killed the enemy? I tried not to think about it as Falls and I congratulated each other. My father was also in Afghanistan serving on the main airfield in Bagram. Lieutenant O said, “Harman do you mind if I tell your father what a good job you have done?” I replied, “No sir.”, still feeling proud. A few hours later I called my father. We spoke of the fight the night prior. He began to laugh and said, “Boy I heard you can’t hit the broad side of a barn!” Proudly I said, “I got him dad.” He said, “I know son, you did good.” His words seared into me.
I had never had a close relationship with my father. The only thing we had in common was the military and serving in war together. For the first time in my life I felt like my father was proud of me. We then got a radio call that the locals were burying the body of the man we had just killed. My feelings of pride and accomplishment were quickly swept away, and I was filled with anger and hate. How could they do this? He was trying to kill me! From that moment on the war changed for me. I no longer felt as if I were helping the people of Afghanistan but instead fighting for my life to get home.