Coastal Carolina University Magazine - Embedded - Fall 2006

In addition to our stay at KAF, Paul and I spent a week at Camp Phoenix in Kabul. While there, a squad of soldiers with the Oregon National Guard invited us on a foot patrol. We donned our individual body armor (IBA) and Kevlar helmets, crammed our pockets with notepads, a tape recorder, cameras and bottled water and, with some trepidation, joined our new companions. Briefed on their mission for the afternoon and weapons readied, the soldiers passed through the secured gate with Paul and me in tow. We navigated our way through a herd of sheep, along rutted paths, and into one village where the leader of the squad, Lt. Scott Marmen, was to meet personally with the local tribal elder. Invited into the elder's home, we all sat cross-legged on the floor with the elder and Lt. Marmen seated next to one another. Hot green tea was served along with a dish of candy, the Afghan custom to demonstrate hospitality. Pleasantries were exchanged before reaching the principal topics of conversation. The Army wanted local children to remain clear of the security fence surrounding Camp Phoenix and to stop throwing rocks at American soldiers; the tribal elder wanted soldiers to stop tossing bottled water and candy from camp security posts to children below. More pressing, however, Lt. Marmen delivered news that the Army planned to provide the village with a school for local youngsters. A noble idea, indeed. The elder, however, insisted that the community needed a medical clinic more desperately than it needed a schoolhouse. "Clinic first, then school," he repeated. Moran held no authority to promise anything but a school building. The elder then complained that for nearly five years representatives of the U.S. Army and U.S. government frequently visited him and each time promised to construct a school, build a clinic or provide some other necessary improvement for his village. Each visit and each promise left the elder and his villagers with high expectations; however, not a single promise had yet been fulfilled. To emphasize his point, the elder leaned over to one of his nephews, whispered something in his ear, and pointed beyond the doorway of the room in which we all sat. As apparently instructed, the nephew excused himself and moments later returned bearing a cellophane bag. The elder took the bag, unfolded it, and withdrew a stack of business cards. His eyes fixed on Marmen's, the elder noted that each business card was given to him by an American visitor, each guest bringing the promise that the United States would soon provide his community with some desperately needed improvement. One by one he handed the cards to Lt. Marmen, with each card saying "Here's a promise." The elder's message could not have been clearer. The military's mission in Afghanistan is to secure the nation, help establish a Taliban-free governing system, and "win the hearts and minds" of the Afghan people. How can the United States and its NATO allies win the "hearts and minds" of Afghans if promises and commitments fail to be honored? The elder understood, as did Lt. Marmen—trust must be earned.

To be sure, at great expense the United States and its NATO allies have labored to build, or rebuild, Afghanistan's infrastructure. Irrigation and water filtration systems have been laid, highways repaired or constructed, and schools and medical facilities provided. Modernization and human services are, indeed, being extended, but these examples of progress reach only a small number of Afghans and certainly not those most desperate or most susceptible to Taliban promises. American combat soldiers with whom we talked expressed the same concern. Failed promises breed distrust and anger among locals and ultimately drive Afghans closer to the Taliban. "When you promise something to them, do it," insisted Staff Sergeant Adam Sears, an infantry scout with the 10th Mountain Division. Otherwise, American soldiers in time will suffer the consequences.

The soldiers we encountered, to a person regardless of rank or military occupation or nationality, are committed to their mission in Afghanistan, are determined that the U.S. and its NATO allies prevail, and hope for a secure and progressive Afghanistan. The war there, in their eyes, is justified. Most of the younger men and women enlisted in the wake of and explicitly because of al-Qaeda's 9/11 attacks inside the United States. Nonetheless, the toll of war has weighed heavily on them. So many of these exceptional men and women have already endured multiple deployments, and those newest to the military understand clearly they will face additional tours of duty in a war zone when their present deployment to Afghanistan is complete.

Extended separation from families and multiple deployments are the norm for members of America's armed forces. Staff Sergeant Adam Sears served a yearlong combat tour in Iraq. After returning home, the Army sent him to the Special Forces Selection Course, Basic Non-Commissioned Officers Course, and lengthy field training exercises only then to deploy him for a year in Afghanistan. Sears originally intended to make the Army his career but has since changed his mind. "My son is two years old... I haven't seen my wife in six months and my child in nine months," he said. "Right now," he continued, "my wife is a single mother and has been for two years... Why am I doing this?" Multiple deployments, he added, are "tearing marriages apart... You hear it all the time" among the soldiers, he said. Rather than re-enlist as planned, "they can take that contract, roll it up and stick it you-know-where. I ain't re-enlisting," he said. In September 2007, Sears will leave the Army. Among the 20 or so of his closest friends, "maybe two will re-enlist."

Specialist Danover Sealy has been in the Army for three years, two of which have been spent overseas. Sealy's wife "is experiencing loneliness, anger and frustration." Private First Class Nick Pilozzi, although not married, likewise plans to exit the military. Like Sears, Pilozzi is a scout with the 10th Mountain Division and planned for a military career. The reality of multiple combat tours sealed his decision not to re-enlist. "I'm only 19 years old," he said, "but I feel like I'm 90." Multiple deployments, they all agreed, invariably reduce one's chance of survival and significantly damage family relationships. Supportive of the war in Afghanistan, although less sure of the war in Iraq, they each offered the opinion that America's manpower must be increased to achieve any success in America's two concurrent wars and to provide military personnel with any semblance of normal family life.

Staff Sergeant Adam Sears

Affected, too, are the parents, children and grandchildren of deployed servicemen. Paul and I recently received a letter from Debbie Pilozzi, the mother of Private Nick Pilozzi. Each day since her son's deployment to Afghanistan on Feb. 10, 2006, she visits a local Catholic shrine in her hometown of Tonawanda, N.Y., to light candles on behalf of her son. "We know that prayers really do work. We have seen this with the chopper crash [in which] he was the only one that survived... Angels were watching over him." War ages the parent of a deployed son or daughter. U.S. Colonel David Petrucci, mentor to ANA Major General Raufi, revealed to us a touching moment with his five-year-old granddaughter just before he left for Afghanistan. "Promise me after you come home you'll never leave again," she begged of him. His eyes reddening and his voice cracking slightly as he recounted the scene to us, Petrucci said he gave his granddaughter that promise.