Convoy

An example of one of the armored SUVs used to drive around in Afghanistan.  Fairly standard looking, except for the tailgate behind the tailgate (look closely), the antennae, and the protruding, armored grille on the front-end.

If you are my wife, or someone that is going to tattle on me to my wife, you can stop reading now.  Close the blog, step away from your computer, and forget about this post.  Come back in a few days and there will be a new one for you to read.

Go on.  I'll give a few minutes before I continue.

By reading further than this line you are implying that you are not my wife, nor are you going to get me in trouble by telling her what I am about to reveal.  If I get grilled about this tomorrow, I will know one of you squealed, and I will find you.  Capice?

I got to drive in my first convoy today.

When I got to Kabul back in June, I landed at the airport a few miles from Camp Eggers.  Obviously we couldn't walk to our final destination, so we had a convoy of armored SUVs (Suburbans and Excursions) come and pick us up.  Each directorate at CSTC-A has a few vehicles for this purpose, as well as delivering people to various destinations around the city as the mission requires.  Today's convoy was a little of both.  We were dropping off two soldiers for a flight down to the south, and picking up one more arriving for a year-long tour.

It is unofficially required to go to driver school here.  The leadership wants everyone to be qualified to drive should the need arise, but the accountability for the training isn't enforced.  For those that do go through the training, there are two parts: classroom and practical exercise.  Upon completion of both sections, you get a drivers license certifying you as qualified to drive in Afghanistan.  I attended the classroom piece of the training not long after I arrived on Camp.  This portion included briefings on driving tactics (aggressive, not defensive driving), paperwork required to get clearance for a convoy, requirements for personnel, weapons and vehicles, familiarization with the roads around town, how to operate the jamming systems, what to do if you're in an accident, what to do if you're attacked, etc, etc.  In total, it was an hour and a half of fairly dry presentation of important information that I struggled to stay awake through in order to absorb.

For the practical test, I was required to arrange a time to go driving with someone that was already qualified and in my directorate.  Usually you just drive down the street to ISAF or the embassy.  More than a month after my classroom driving training, I still hadn't had time to do this.  This fact came up in conversation a few evenings ago, after one of the guys who drives all the time for our directorate participated in his 100th convoy in just under 6 months in country.  He told me that he'd try and work me in to one of the convoys in the near future so I could finish my qualification.  As it happened, that day was today.

Any time you go outside the confines of security around, you're supposed to be in a group of at least two vehicles.  (Not following this rule ended up being a fatal mistake for two sailors recently.)  Additionally, there are rules about how many rifles you have with you in the convoy.  I'm not certain of the classification of these rules, so I'll be unspecific.  Let's just say that a bunch of guys with pistols can't pile in a van and drive wherever they please.  Of course each person is required to wear their body armor and kevlar helmet, but you are also required to have gloves and ballistic eye protection.  I foolishly turned down these items when I went through CRC, so I had to go buy some today at the PX (post exchange, the military version of Wal-Mart).  Note to self: don't ever turn down safety equipment, even if a recently returned, previously deployed civilian tells you you won't need them.  As was pointed out a few posts ago, when it comes to deployments to Afghanistan, your experience may vary.  Take the stuff anyway.  Thankfully, I didn't have to spend that much money in the first place, and actually was able to get a $20 discount on the goggles because they were mislabeled.  They'll be good safety glasses for back home, or if I ever get into paintball again.

At noon we met outside the office and suited up.  35 pounds of body armor, helmet, gloves, goggles, combat first aid kit, ID card, weapon...well, not for me unfortunately.  This was the first time I found myself wishing I had a pistol.  On camp it would only get in the way, but when venturing out in the wild it has a purpose.  Alas.  I did have the others in the group show me where the quick release was located so I could pull the gun away from their body armor if needed, as well as where the safety and bolt were on the M-16s we brought along.  Just in case.  No sense in not being prepared.

On the way to the airport, I was the "TC".  This acronym technically means Tank Commander, but in normal convoy ops has come to mean "shotgun".  I was responsible for radio communications with the other vehicle, alerting the driver, a 20 yr old, female, private first class with 200 convoys worth of experience, to potential road hazards like careless drivers or preoccupied pedestrians, and watching for potential threats.  Vehicles with sagging suspensions are the number one thing to look for threat-wise.  A sagging suspension means there's a lot of weight in the car, which could indicate a possible vehicle borne IED, or VBIED (pronounced vee-bid). 

Once we were outside the gate, I found it hard to concentrate on my duties.  This was the first time in 6 weeks I had been outside the wire.  The people, the traffic, the buildings, the mountains.  I was trying to absorb them all at once while also trying to help out my driver.  Several times I had to force myself to stop gawking at the scenery and pay attention to the road.  I was extremely glad I wasn't driving yet.

We arrived at the airport a little early, so we went and had lunch at the DFAC near the terminal building.  This was the location of my first meal in country, just a few minutes after touching down in Afghanistan.  As I was eating lunch today, I was remembering my first impressions of the place.  My astonishment at the number of flies buzzing my food.  My unease at being served pork bacon by a Muslim.  My anxiousness at having to wait for a convoy much like the one I was participating in today.  Six weeks wiser, none of these things were a surprise to me anymore.  I guess I've been here a while.  (That means its time to go home, right?  Right?)

Once our new passenger's plane arrived, we helped her load up her stuff.  There were a couple more soldiers on the same plane headed to Eggers, so we grabbed them to come with us, too.  I didn't tell my two passengers that this would be my first convoy driving experience.  I figured they would realize this fact eventually, and didn't want to draw attention to it, lest I make them nervous.

My TC for this leg of the trip was an Army Major that works in the same office as I do, the same one I had the conversation with to spark this experience into motion.  He gave me a few pointers on how to handle the vehicle, how to navigate turns so as to block traffic from coming between myself and the lead vehicle, and on what the proper distance was between the two trucks.  In his words, two car lengths was too much as "at least three donkey carts could fit in there."  Yes, donkey carts.  They exist on the roads of Kabul in far higher numbers than you would expect. 

Learning to drive this beast was an experience.  It took me back to my high school days, when I learned how to drive on my mother's conversion van.  The weight of the vehicle was tangible in my foot on the pedals.  It really shouldn't have surprised me.  The glass on these vehicles is at least three-quarters of an inch thick, maybe more.  When I rolled down the window to talk to one of my convoy-mates, it took seven seconds to lower the window to the height of my nose.  And each and every section of the body of the vehicle had ballistic plating behind it capable of stopping most small-arms projectiles.  My realization that the vehicle was going to drive heavy was very much a Captain Obvious moment, but I was still surprised.  There seemed to be about a half second delay on acceleration and braking.  The lag took some getting used to. 

 This picture was taken after a car accident involving U.S. contractors killed one Afghan civilian and injured three others.  Those who witnessed the accident rioted in retaliation to the civilian death. The vehicle belonged to ISAF HQ just down the street, and is very similar to what I was driving.  Notice the rocks and the pipe in the hands of the men in the foreground.  Now notice that not a single window is smashed through, and the body panels are still intact.  Solid stuff.  Thankfully, I brought back my vehicle in pristine condition.  Not even a scratch.

Just before our vehicles left the airport, we passed by some unincorporated land which housed several dozen people in hand-built mud and clay huts.  We were passing behind these buildings, looking into the backyards criss-crossed by low clay walls and dotted with vegetable gardens.  In one of these fields, two boys, one maybe 10, the other probably 5 or 6, were flying a kite.  There is much significance in this action.  During the rule of the Taliban, kites were strictly forbidden as they were viewed to be an "un-Islamic" activity.  If you were caught participating in this banned form of play, the Taliban would beat you and destroy the kite.  Now, it's likely these children were born after the fall of the Taliban in 2001.  But the fact that they do not have to fear enjoying a windy day, and that their parents are supporting their activity, is a welcome and positive sign.  As we drove past, I murmured encouragement to the two boys: "Fly on, little man."

Once off the airport, it was absolute chaos.  Kabul has no traffic laws.  At all.  The people also are not shy about walking across to road, or down it's middle, or sitting on it's shoulder singing, playing, basket weaving.  You think I'm joking.  If only.  My saving grace was my lead vehicle, a buxom blonde Mario Andretti at the wheel, driving with authority, dragging me through seemingly impassable traffic by sheer bulk and force of will.  The traffic circles were four-deep with cars, jockeying for position like riders on a horse track.  Holes too small for some NFL running backs to fit through were my road.  I hugged the lead's bumper so tightly she could have been towing us.  My wife would definitely have disapproved.

My biggest takeaway from this experience: I'm not certain drivers in Afghanistan are aware they have side-view mirrors.  It's even possible they've never discovered that their heads are able to turn to the left and right, giving them greater visibility of their surroundings and allowing them to see the GINORMOUS ARMORED SUV BARRELING THROUGH THE SPACE THEY ARE ABOUT TO OCCUPY AND OH MY GOD HE'S CLOSE MAYBE IF I HONK MY HORN REALLY REALLY LOUD I'LL SCARE HIM AND HE WON'T RUN ME OVER.  Seriously.  Oblivious has new meaning for me after today. 

The trip back to Eggers was only a few miles in distance, so it was over in not long at all.  I survived, and no Afghans were harmed in the making, so I considered the drive a success.  Having someone with so much experience telling me where to go, what to do, and calling out the hazards really made the experience pretty painless.  There are obviously several things I could improve on, but that will come with time and practice.  What?  You're not surprised I'm going to do this again, are you?  They always need drivers, and that was too much fun not to make a habit of it.  The people we dropped off this afternoon are coming back into town in a few days, and we may drive to a small base on the outskirts of Kabul on Friday to eat Italian and French food.  I plan to participate in at least one of those.  I will keep you updated on my progress as a crazy convoy driver.

That's all for tonight.  Out here.