doughboy1956
10-22-2006, 05:20 PM
From The Homefront:
Dealing with being home from Kandahar
(Oct 16, 2006)
It has been 2 month and 2 days since I deployed to Afghanistan, with 8
Platoon, Charles Company, 1 RCR. I was honored, as a reservist augmentee,
to be attached to such a great group of probably the best soldiers our
country has to offer.
In the three short weeks I was in Afghanistan, I learned more about
commitment to my military family than most soldiers learn in a life time.
It seemed both unfortunate and amazing that it took battle and blood shed to
forge such a strong bond.
It has been 1 month and 12 days since I was wounded and pulled from
the battlefield. When I was in the hospital in KAF, I had hoped that I would
stay in Afghanistan to recover. Why would I want to stay in such a horrible
place that almost claimed my life? I didn't want to leave my family.
Germany and Toronto (hospitals) were a blur of Morphine, Demerol,
Fentanyl, IV lines, wound packing's, shrapnel removal surgeries, catheters,
bad food, and good care. I think back on it and it seems dizzying. But when
I close my eyes, only 2 images flash and they take me back to where I'm
supposed to be.
I see Panjwayi; the fields of pot. Rockets and bullets. The smell of
burning and the heat. Then all I see are the bodies of soldiers I helped
carry to the CCP. 2 covered by body bags (WO. Richard Nolan, Sgt. Shane
Stachnik) and 2 on stretchers; my platoon warrant (WO Frank Mellish), and a
soldiers I new only casually from living in the shacks in Petawawa (Pte.Will
Cushley)
While at the CCP I find out that a very close friend (from my reserve
home unit) had been wounded by shrapnel from Taliban RPGs. His sections LAV
had been left on the battlefield. For a long while, I didn't know how badly
he was wounded. (He's still over there, thus no names) I'll never forget
the feeling; the sense and fear of loss. I will never forget those who were
lost that day.
I try to think of the good times I was privileged enough to have with
my Platoon. WO. Mellish made me the unofficial piper of 8 Platoon, (shortly
there after; Coy piper) and I played reveille as per his request (and
everyone else's distain) anytime I was able. In dreams I still hear him
shouting "Piper!!! Black Bear!!"... The last tune I played on my pipes... at
panjwayi. (I still don't have them back)
When I close my eyes, I also see the morning after Panjwayi. Sparks,
smoke, fire... then the burp of the main gun of the A-10. I remember the
feeling of panic as I crawled for my Weapon and PPE, thinking we were under
attack. I can still feel the burning on my legs and back, the shock of
thinking my legs were gone.
I can see the faces of the injured... the twice wounded soldiers of
Charles. I see the face of the soldier who saved my life by applying
tourniquets to my legs and stopping the bleeding from my back and arm... (He
will remain nameless for now)
From then, everything's a blur until I'm back in KAF. I remember
asking if everyone was 'ok'... Reaching from my gurney to other wounded
soldiers walking by, trying to peace together what had happened... more
confusion. I asked again and again...
Pte. Mark Graham. An inspirational man whom I only really started to
get to know shortly before deploying, a brother in our family of warriors,
was dead. My heart sank even more.
Our CSM (who was also wounded) came over to me and asked if I was
going to be able to play the pipes for the ramp ceremony the following day.
I held up my right hand, which was numb, and looked at my fingers. The tips
of 2 of them looked like they had been chewed up in a blender. I felt tears
run down my face. Not because I thought I'd never play again, but because I
couldn't play for my departed brothers the next day... I would have given
both of my hands and more for their lives.
I had hoped to attend the ramp ceremony the next day, even if I
couldn't play, but I couldn't move my legs and they couldn't put me in a
wheel chair because of the shrapnel in my back. I was sedated that day, and
came to on the plane to Germany.
I couldn't attend any of the funerals of my fallen family, and I feel
no closure.
It has been a month and 12 days since I lost my brothers in Panjwayi
and it might as well have been yesterday.
When I close my eyes at night I not only see the ones who have paid
the ultimate price, but also the ones who are still there... and I feel as
though I am betraying them.
My life seems to be dragging me on. My fiancé and I are planning our
wedding and future. My family and I get together often. I've been able to
socialize with my friends... and yet each thing I do here makes me feel
guilty, because I shouldn't be here to enjoy this.
I wake up every day and plan and plot. I think of only one thing; how
can I get back to my family... How can I get back to Afghanistan? My wounds
are almost healed. Only 3 holes left and they're almost closed. I can walk
pretty well now, but I need to run.
My family and friends don't understand. They don't want me to go
back. My fiancé has threatened to end our relationship if I chose to
return... and yet this doesn't dissuade me. I have to get back to my boys.
I have to get back and do my part no matter the cost to me. I love my
family here in Canada, but no one's shooting at them.
Every time I see more soldiers killed over there a piece of me dies,
and I feel the urge to return grow stronger. And each day I enjoy in my
freedom here, I feel as though I have betrayed their memory. I need to
finish my job over there. I need to go back.
I can only think of the families of those who have died, and I can
only say this, and hope it provides some solace:
A warrior's sword is made from the finest steel, forged by hammer and
anvil to create and edge, baptized in hot coals and flame for strength, then
quenched in cold water to harden it.
Our brotherhood of Warriors, the finest of men, has been forged by
Battle; Baptized by fire and Quenched by tears...
We became and will always be a fraternity of blood with a bond
stronger than death.
Pro Patria
I hate to rant, but I need to vent. It's been a hard road, and I know
there are a few others here who have seen it and may or may not feel the
same (HoM).
To the mods... feel free to delete this post if you find it pointless.
- Piper
Brotherhood of Warriors
Forged in battle
Baptized by fire
Quenched in tears
C Coy, 1 RCR
Panjwayi
Support
Our
Troops !
Dealing with being home from Kandahar
(Oct 16, 2006)
It has been 2 month and 2 days since I deployed to Afghanistan, with 8
Platoon, Charles Company, 1 RCR. I was honored, as a reservist augmentee,
to be attached to such a great group of probably the best soldiers our
country has to offer.
In the three short weeks I was in Afghanistan, I learned more about
commitment to my military family than most soldiers learn in a life time.
It seemed both unfortunate and amazing that it took battle and blood shed to
forge such a strong bond.
It has been 1 month and 12 days since I was wounded and pulled from
the battlefield. When I was in the hospital in KAF, I had hoped that I would
stay in Afghanistan to recover. Why would I want to stay in such a horrible
place that almost claimed my life? I didn't want to leave my family.
Germany and Toronto (hospitals) were a blur of Morphine, Demerol,
Fentanyl, IV lines, wound packing's, shrapnel removal surgeries, catheters,
bad food, and good care. I think back on it and it seems dizzying. But when
I close my eyes, only 2 images flash and they take me back to where I'm
supposed to be.
I see Panjwayi; the fields of pot. Rockets and bullets. The smell of
burning and the heat. Then all I see are the bodies of soldiers I helped
carry to the CCP. 2 covered by body bags (WO. Richard Nolan, Sgt. Shane
Stachnik) and 2 on stretchers; my platoon warrant (WO Frank Mellish), and a
soldiers I new only casually from living in the shacks in Petawawa (Pte.Will
Cushley)
While at the CCP I find out that a very close friend (from my reserve
home unit) had been wounded by shrapnel from Taliban RPGs. His sections LAV
had been left on the battlefield. For a long while, I didn't know how badly
he was wounded. (He's still over there, thus no names) I'll never forget
the feeling; the sense and fear of loss. I will never forget those who were
lost that day.
I try to think of the good times I was privileged enough to have with
my Platoon. WO. Mellish made me the unofficial piper of 8 Platoon, (shortly
there after; Coy piper) and I played reveille as per his request (and
everyone else's distain) anytime I was able. In dreams I still hear him
shouting "Piper!!! Black Bear!!"... The last tune I played on my pipes... at
panjwayi. (I still don't have them back)
When I close my eyes, I also see the morning after Panjwayi. Sparks,
smoke, fire... then the burp of the main gun of the A-10. I remember the
feeling of panic as I crawled for my Weapon and PPE, thinking we were under
attack. I can still feel the burning on my legs and back, the shock of
thinking my legs were gone.
I can see the faces of the injured... the twice wounded soldiers of
Charles. I see the face of the soldier who saved my life by applying
tourniquets to my legs and stopping the bleeding from my back and arm... (He
will remain nameless for now)
From then, everything's a blur until I'm back in KAF. I remember
asking if everyone was 'ok'... Reaching from my gurney to other wounded
soldiers walking by, trying to peace together what had happened... more
confusion. I asked again and again...
Pte. Mark Graham. An inspirational man whom I only really started to
get to know shortly before deploying, a brother in our family of warriors,
was dead. My heart sank even more.
Our CSM (who was also wounded) came over to me and asked if I was
going to be able to play the pipes for the ramp ceremony the following day.
I held up my right hand, which was numb, and looked at my fingers. The tips
of 2 of them looked like they had been chewed up in a blender. I felt tears
run down my face. Not because I thought I'd never play again, but because I
couldn't play for my departed brothers the next day... I would have given
both of my hands and more for their lives.
I had hoped to attend the ramp ceremony the next day, even if I
couldn't play, but I couldn't move my legs and they couldn't put me in a
wheel chair because of the shrapnel in my back. I was sedated that day, and
came to on the plane to Germany.
I couldn't attend any of the funerals of my fallen family, and I feel
no closure.
It has been a month and 12 days since I lost my brothers in Panjwayi
and it might as well have been yesterday.
When I close my eyes at night I not only see the ones who have paid
the ultimate price, but also the ones who are still there... and I feel as
though I am betraying them.
My life seems to be dragging me on. My fiancé and I are planning our
wedding and future. My family and I get together often. I've been able to
socialize with my friends... and yet each thing I do here makes me feel
guilty, because I shouldn't be here to enjoy this.
I wake up every day and plan and plot. I think of only one thing; how
can I get back to my family... How can I get back to Afghanistan? My wounds
are almost healed. Only 3 holes left and they're almost closed. I can walk
pretty well now, but I need to run.
My family and friends don't understand. They don't want me to go
back. My fiancé has threatened to end our relationship if I chose to
return... and yet this doesn't dissuade me. I have to get back to my boys.
I have to get back and do my part no matter the cost to me. I love my
family here in Canada, but no one's shooting at them.
Every time I see more soldiers killed over there a piece of me dies,
and I feel the urge to return grow stronger. And each day I enjoy in my
freedom here, I feel as though I have betrayed their memory. I need to
finish my job over there. I need to go back.
I can only think of the families of those who have died, and I can
only say this, and hope it provides some solace:
A warrior's sword is made from the finest steel, forged by hammer and
anvil to create and edge, baptized in hot coals and flame for strength, then
quenched in cold water to harden it.
Our brotherhood of Warriors, the finest of men, has been forged by
Battle; Baptized by fire and Quenched by tears...
We became and will always be a fraternity of blood with a bond
stronger than death.
Pro Patria
I hate to rant, but I need to vent. It's been a hard road, and I know
there are a few others here who have seen it and may or may not feel the
same (HoM).
To the mods... feel free to delete this post if you find it pointless.
- Piper
Brotherhood of Warriors
Forged in battle
Baptized by fire
Quenched in tears
C Coy, 1 RCR
Panjwayi
Support
Our
Troops !