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A Battle Won by Handshakes
The Story of Alpha Company 1/5
By Lucas A. Dyer iUniverse LLC
Copyright © 2014 Lucas A. Dyer
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4917-3200-7
CHAPTER 1
THE LARGEST HELO-BORNE AIRLIFT INSERT SINCE VIETNAM
If we're not successful here, you'll have a staging base for global terrorism all over the world. People will say the terrorists won. And you'll see expressions of these kinds of things in Africa, South America, you name it. Any developing country is going to say, this is the way we beat [the United States], and we're going to have a bigger problem. A setback or loss for the United States would be a tremendous boost for jihadist extremists, fundamentalists all over the world and provide a global infusion of morale and energy, and these people don't need much.
—Bob Woodward, Obama's Wars
July 2, 2009
The day had finally arrived when all of the training leading up to this deployment, and all the extra training we had put in at Camp Leatherneck, would pay off. I have always said that combat for an infantry Marine is our Super Bowl. There are no other opportunities for us to test our skills in a real-world manner like there is in combat. I often discourage the sports/Marine analogy because one is for fun, and the other is life or death. However, in this case, the bottom line is that combat is our main event.
We all had worked extremely hard for this and were beyond eager to have our infantry skills put to the test. The information on the exact time of the launch was kept quiet, and nobody knew the exact details. Months out, we knew we were going into Afghanistan, specifically Helmand Province. Weeks out, we knew we were inserting via helicopters, CH-53E (or commonly called a "bird") from Camp Bastion somewhere south. Days out, we knew we were leaving sometime in the first week of July, and twenty-four hours prior, we were confined to our company area as a battalion for one final formation. This formation was held by the Second Marine Expeditionary Brigade (MEB) Sergeant Major Ernest Hoopii.
The battalion had gathered around in one big circle, and it was dark; the only lights were those that lit up at night around Leatherneck. Some of us couldn't see much, but we could make out a tall figure with a pistol across his body. Marines were quiet, eagerly awaiting the final motivational speech commonly associated with the last few hours before crossing into the shit.
"Marines," he yelled. "Are you ready to kick some Taliban ass?"
We all cheered back, "Ooh-rah!"
The sound of one thousand plus Marines echoed all through Leatherneck. We were so loud that I think the enemy heard us down in Nawa. We were so loud we most likely disturbed the POGs (persons other than a grunt) who were sound asleep, complaining on Facebook that Leatherneck was rough and dangerous, or bitching because the chow hall had run out of ice cream.
"That's freaking outstanding because here in a few hours, you are going to insert behind enemy lines and put your skills to the test!" Sergeant Major Hoopii continued to yell so we all could hear him. "Gentlemen, shortly you will stand where no Marine has ever stood!" He pointed south in the direction of Nawa. "So button your chinstraps, and let's do what Marines do!" He looked around at us all as we cheered and screamed "Ooh-rah," "Errrrr," "E-Tool," "Kill," and other little nonsense sounds Marines make, which only Marines understand. "Know that tonight, before you jump on that bird, the enemy is waiting. The enemy is ready, and the enemy is praying to his god. I highly suggest you do the same to show them our God is more powerful. I want you to grab your rifle, hold it high above your head, and shout their god's name so he knows we are coming! Allah Akbar! Allah Akbar! Allah Akbar!"
I must admit it did feel a little awkward yelling "Allah Akbar." I had never really said it before. I would never have had a reason to yell it, let alone say it, but it felt good hearing the roaring sound travel from all of us war-hungry Marines, rifles in the air, waving our arms around like the terrorists did on TV. I felt for a brief moment as if I was literately screaming at their god, showing him that we were not scared and ready for battle. Sergeant Major Hoopii proceeded to tell us how proud and honored he was to be led by such fine Marines with such great reputations and wished us luck.
After the formation, we were all dismissed to our respective companies and fell out into our staging area next to our company tent. Our packs were all covered down and aligned, looking sharp; a few glowing flashlights were moving about as Marines looked for last-minute items, followed by some chatter and laughs.
For the most part, the majority of us were quiet. We had already called home to our family and said our good-byes or "talk to you when I can next." There wasn't much more to say really, and we were not exactly sure when we would have the opportunity to make another phone call. All we knew was that for five to seven days, we were surviving off what we packed. No resupplies of any kind. From there, it would take at least a month, according to Captain Day, our company commander, to establish a permanent operating post. I was actually prepared to not call home for seven months; letters were fine.
On Wednesday night, we arrived at Camp Bastion around 1800 and immediately went over to our staging area. We organized into manifest sticks of twenty-one Marines in each manifest per bird. Sitting on the flight line, which was the final staging area before we took off and inserted into Nawa, we talked about sports, told stories of all the wild times we had, and just enjoyed the final hours. We didn't talk about the battle we would soon be in. We didn't glorify firefights or speculate about how many kills we were going to have. There was no need since our level of professionalism was beyond that. Every Marine knew this was not going to be won by attrition warfare, which doctrinally in the Marine Corps means victory through the cumulative destruction of the enemy by capturing terrain and killing them and to overwhelm the enemy through sheer force. We were told by many that this insert would be the largest helicopter insert since Vietnam. Knowing that Vietnam was a large insert, it was difficult for me to truly appreciate and understand exactly how big it was going to be until the final piece of the planning came together.
The sounds of helicopters started to fade in from the night sky. Small blinking lights started to appear in a long row flying toward us. The CH-53s started to come in one after another, landing on the flight line, which seemed to stretch a mile. As one would land, so would another, then another, and then another until the runway was filled. It was then that it all became reality and hit home. The stated purpose directed down by International Security Assistance Force (ISAF), the mission, the planning, and the long hours all hit at once. I finally realized that Alpha Company 1/5 was officially part of President Barack Obama's twenty-one-thousand-troop surge into Afghanistan, and I finally understood the concept of exactly how large this air assault was.
Our stick strapped up and moved out toward the tarmac in a single-file line. We headed toward the back of the ramp, which was lowered for us. There was so much downwind coming from the rotors that when I got within fifteen feet, I was forced back. The intense rotor wash in the already hot climate felt like I was walking into an oven. To make for an even more unpleasant situation, I had to take a knee just short of the ramp to count my Marines as they loaded up. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5.
It was quite painful stepping up onto the bird, and the back of my neck and face suddenly felt like they were on fire. I peeled up onto the ramp and sat down right next to the door gunner as the ramp closed. I looked around, gave a thumbs-up, and everyone replied back with thumbs-ups. Just prior to inserting, we would go completely blacked out, using only our night vision goggles (NVGs) and natural light from the moon. The bird began to lift off into the dark Afghanistan night.
We all knew the flight would be about thirty minutes, but we were unsure of what we would be expecting as the helicopter landed. Of course, we prepared for enemy contact at the landing zone (LZ) just in case we did take small arms fire (SAF).
I was looking out the back down at the ground from the bird, and for the first time, I saw the actual layout of the environment we would be operating on. You could prepare all you wanted by looking at a map and photos, but nothing was better than seeing it firsthand.
Our platoon sergeant, Staff Sergeant O'Brian, was sitting across from me. We both noticed a string of waterways running all over the ground. The canals ran in every which way, ranging in depth from waist-high to over our heads. It looked like a topographical view of a major city's highways. We both looked up at one another.
"Hey, Dyer. Do you see that?" He pointed down at the canals.
"Yeah. They look completely different than what we planned for!" I yelled back, trying to scream over the sound of the bird.
Behind us, there were helicopters as far as the eye could see at night. It was surreal to be a part of this organization that was minutes away from inserting deep into enemy territory. The sky was clear, and the moon was almost full. The light illuminated the ground and shimmered off the canals. It was fascinating to see, knowing that in just a few minutes, we would be stepping foot on that very ground.
The one minute out from insert mark came. The crew chief signaled to us with his pointer finger. One minute. Everybody looked around, acknowledging the sign.
Our NVGs went down, and we took a few deep breaths. My heart rate started to increase a little, and it got even more surreal. As the bird started to descend, making its way toward the LZ, I was anticipating at anytime a massive amount of enemy fire engaging us in an attempt to shoot us down.
Our bird touched down with ease; there appeared to be no sounds of gunfire. The gate dropped, and I was the first to exit, taking an immediate knee outside the ramp. I counted the Marines off—1, 2, 3, 4—ensuring that we all exited. We had practiced exiting the bird over and over, but a few Marines still found it possible to fall face-first off the gate.
With my NVGs on, and all personnel off the bird, the pilot got the thumbs-up and took off. The morning had never seemed as quiet as it did once the helicopters took off. We were alone with just the gear on our backs and Marines to our left and to our right.
I took my squad to our preplanned spot, making up the twelve o'clock to four o'clock sector of our 360-degree security, or covering the north to east sector. I didn't allow anyone to sleep and kept us at 100 percent; I constantly walked the lines to ensure that my squad was up and alert.
It was two o'clock in the morning, dead silent, and several helicopters had just touched down, inserting hundreds of Marines in the middle of someone's backyard. With that amount of noise, two thoughts were going through my head: Either the enemy had seen us and had started to set up an ambush—or they had gotten scared and ran. As the sun started to rise, we were about to find out.
CHAPTER 2
A DOCTRINAL APPROACH TO OPERATION KHANJAR
It's certainly a clash of civilizations. It's a clash of religions. It's a clash of almost concepts of how to live. The conflict is that deep, so I think if you don't succeed in Afghanistan, you will be fighting in more places.
—Bob Woodward, Obama's Wars
In early summer of 2009, our commander in chief, President Barack Obama ordered approximately twenty-one thousand troops to deploy to Afghanistan. As part of this group, I was first to arrive, heading directly to Helmand Province with the Second MEB to launch Operation Khanjar, also called Operation Strike of the Sword. We were told we would be forging new ground and going to places Marines have never been. Our combined mission was to provide security for population centers along the Helmand River Valley and connect local citizens with their legitimate government, to establish stable and secure conditions for national elections scheduled for August, and to enhance security for the future.
The vision as I saw it was more general: To create a zone of security, economic activity, and increased freedom of movement for the majority of the region's most populated areas within our area of operations (AO). Up until that point, the Taliban fighters had essentially encircled the district of Nawa and Lashkar Gah, launching several daring raids to destabilize the provincial capital. The Taliban insurgency virtually controlled the Helmand River Valley, including key populated districts and towns—from Nawa all the way up north to Kajaki and Musa Qala.
Within our AO, Taliban fighters and narcotics traffickers maintained operational support zones throughout. Insurgents began terrorizing the local bazaars, levying taxes on merchants, and seeding the roads with improvised explosive devices (IEDs). Shopkeepers placed their merchandises behind padlocked tin doors, teachers closed the schools, doctors abandoned the health clinics, and a majority of all the local nationals fled. In general, the insurgents would transit through the Pakistani border and desert until they reached Khan Neshin, which served as the first contact point for insurgents moving north. There, fighters would seek shelter, food, and supplies, such as weapons and IED materials, before making their way back into Nawa to attack coalition forces.
As a small unit leader, I was given a great deal of trust and responsibilities that far exceeded my peers who were working in the civilian sectors. Age at that point becomes minimally important as it truly is just a number. The responsibilities, although different, share a need for mission accomplishment. Our mission was accomplished by understanding the three levels of war (tactical, operational, and strategic) and incorporating many tangible variables. Our training was focused on understanding how all of our actions at the tactical level, which is the lowest level of war, have both positive and negative implications at the strategic level—the highest level of war. It was crucial that we all understood this, and even more important was understanding the not-so-sexy doctrinal approach to combat.
In the planning, development, and training process, we had to incorporate joint-effort scenarios so that we could work within the guidelines that NATO and ISAF had planned. This later came into play when we partnered with Afghan counterparts in a joint effort.
At first glance, training for combat seems relatively simple. If you see bad guys, shoot the bad guys. If bad guys see you and shoot, simply shoot, move, and communicate. The infantry has been doing this since the dawn of the Marine Corps: To locate, close with, and destroy the enemy by fire and maneuver and repel the enemy's assault by fire and close combat. But when the pages are turned and the layers of the onion are peeled back, there is more to combat than aiming a firearm and shooting, especially in nonconventional combat when you can't always distinguish between friend and foe.
You have to be just as quick to lend a helping hand as you are to pull the trigger. Tactics change, techniques change, and procedures adjust to meet the demands of the battlefield. As you will read in another chapter, winning this war and coming out successful in our AO was a challenge. It took more than just maneuvering on the enemy and capturing terrain. Understanding the doctrinal aspect was a key element for us.
We wanted to go to war with a guerilla-style, unconventional enemy, and we didn't really care about long-term strategic goals. Killing the enemy in Afghanistan was like swatting mosquitos; you kill one, and a hundred come to the funeral angry. So we had to look at this seven-month deployment with short-term and long-term objectives.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from A Battle Won by Handshakes by Lucas A. Dyer. Copyright © 2014 Lucas A. Dyer. Excerpted by permission of iUniverse LLC.
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