That's the big question...
The timing is right? It's always been a dream of mine? A good opportunity to clear my mind and soul? My constant urge for adventure? I really can't answer the question only that the trail has been calling me for quite some time...
I will be keeping this blog of daily events as they unfold allowing others to follow along. My plan is to write a book of my life's trials, tribulations and adventures to mirror lessons and experiences learned on the trail. The following is a sneak peak to the books introduction.
"Failure is not an option..."
The mission was clear. “Seek out and destroy advancing enemy troops without detection”.
The adrenalin rush was immediate and sent my body into sensory overload. My mind raced with thoughts of expedited preparation, the tremendous pride I have for our Country and the inevitable thought that I may never return to my home and family as I now know them. I took a slow and deliberate deep breath. My heart pounded with anticipation as I tried desperately to calm my state of mind.
I quickly rationalized with myself acknowledging that I have trained tirelessly for precisely this mission and now the time has come to prove my worthiness of accepting the task. The protection of National Security is at hand.
I gathered the tools of my trade pertinent to my survival and arrived at the rally point. A secret briefing was conducted under the cover of darkness. The plan was simple yet complex like many of my previous missions. I would infiltrate the heavily wooded area of a remote wilderness and lay in wait for a small group of forward advancing enemy troops and methodically pick them off one by one before they reached their objective. I would be alone and knew the risk involved.
Within minutes I entered the forest under the thick canopy of brilliant orange, green and brown leaves changing with the cool season. I followed a small babbling brook cautiously with every step I took further away from civilization. I listened intensively for every sound I heard in the forest determining friend or foe. My head was on a swivel scanning for any movements or potential threats of counter surveillance from the opposing force. I remained on high alert as I searched for the perfect concealed position to lay and wait.
After walking for what seemed like several miles I came upon a clearing. I crouched down and surveyed the vast barren piece of real estate. There were no trees or cover. The field fell to silence as the dried wheat grass danced gently in the wind. Across the field was a dark ominous tree line. The foliage was so thick it seemed impossible to penetrate. My knowledge of this dangerous section of woodland was not new to me. I had heard the stories many times over of soldiers and operatives entering never to be seen or heard from again. My heart beat wildly with anticipation and wonders as I peered across that field. Would I be able to survive what may lay in wait for me? How many fierce rebel fighters would I encounter? What about a complex ambush or even crude booby traps? I positioned myself prone to the ground. My body pressing against the cold damp leaves on the ground as I looked with one eye through the cross hairs of my rifles scope. I could see no movement only the thick branches of the hardwood trees swaying with the northerly wind. I knew this was my time; my only opportunity to make a break for the tree line. So without hesitation and regard for my own life, I ran as fast as I could across that desolate field. Every step I took felt like a slow motion picture until I arrived at a hole in the brush. I dropped to my knees and crouched low peering through the tunnel of thickets making sure my entry would be safe. It was at that moment I literally froze. My heart rate was so elevated that I started to lose control of my fine motor skills. I was never so scared in my life. I was frightened to think of the unknown I would have to face. I began to rationalize with myself. This was a matter of National Security and the safety of our great Nation was placed on my shoulders alone. Failure is not an option… Without waiver, I mustered all the strength, courage and commitment of an entire brigade. I was committed to my insertion and there was no stopping me now.
Suddenly, I heard the blood curling scream… “Timmmy, Micheaaal”, time for dinner!” It was my mother with her usual call to my brother and me for dinner from the screen door of her kitchen. Her voice echoed through the rural neighborhood and into the very woods where my mission had started. When I was eleven years old my imagination and thirst for adventure was quenched in the small patch of woods behind our modest Cape Cod style home. The field, merely a pasture for one lonely horse to roam was a buffer zone to what the neighborhood kids called the ‘second woods”. The wooded area truly had an eerie aura about it. It was dark with a sloping accent. As the wind worked its way through the trees one could hear faint voices in the distance. The area was off limits and we were all warned of this.
I never entered the ‘second woods”. Truthfully, I was scared to do so alone. On that cool autumn day at the age of eleven, I failed my first mission. Throughout my adult life often I wondered if I would have become a different person if I had just taken the risk and entered the woods. Little did I know that over the next thirty five years I would be faced with many challenges... Challenges that involved risks and risks that ended in failure.
Thirty years later and true to my word and style, my thirst for adventure placed me in the southern Provence of Kandahar Afghanistan in the remote and uncivilized Village of Hutal. Here I found no shortages of adrenaline rushes. I was embedded with a United States Army Police Mentoring Team as a police advisor and mentor to the Afghanistan National Police. Our primary mission was to conduct field training to the local district police force through patrols, searches and the apprehension of suspected and known Taliban fighters hiding throughout our area of responsibility. Our unit known as Team Mongoose was comprised of twelve infantry soldiers, one combat medic and two US police mentors under the command of Major Kevin Reilly. We operated independently and mostly in survival mode fending for our own rations, equipment, shelter and most importantly the safety of our close knit team. In the infant stages of our mission we commandeered a small and defunct forward operating base (FOB) that was occupied by a group of Portuguese Commandos part of the International Security Assistance Force (ISAF) assigned to provide security for the main roadway through Kandahar. The road was consistently laden with improvised explosive devises (IED) in hopes of killing the “invading infidels” one by one in the name of Jihad. FOB Hutal soon became our home and base of operations. The living conditions were remote and primitive, no running water, toilets, electricity or food preparation areas. Our safety and security was always at risk. We graciously shared the small mud walled garrison with a group of ten Canadian Infantry soldiers for the exchange of comfort knowing we would have additional firepower at hand. The men of our two nations bonded in the name of self preservation. I never expected the experiences we endured and the strong camaraderie we shared would have lasting and life long effects on me and future risks I would take…
The day was October 20th of 2008 when I heard the boisterous voice of Major Reilly yelling to the team thru the green canvas army issued tent to gear up for a quick reaction force (QRF). We donned our body armor and collected our weapons as the Major briefed us that the United States Special Forces Team Scorpion 2-2 (SF) was requesting immediate ground assistance because they were pinned down by enemy fire in a remote village along the Arghandab River some twenty kilometers from our location. The Special Forces is the Army’s elite Green Berets and some of the fiercest American fighters. One thing was for sure, if they were requesting assistance; the situation was bad. During the attack one of their team members was killed in action (KIA) by the deadly strike of a rocket propelled grenade (RPG) and another wounded by small arms fire. Their team consisting of only eight men was now reduced by two and they were surrounded by insurgents. Major Reilly, a solid gruff New Yorker without hesitation volunteered our team for the operation. These were true American heroes, our brethren for a common cause. There was no doubt we were going; we were all in. We loaded into three M1151 up armored Humvee’s and sped off into the desert. As we navigated our way through the hard packed desert sand that warm afternoon my heart was pounding and my mind was filled with mixed emotions; for I had a bad feeling, a feeling I would not return to the false security of our new found home. I had visions of a red, white and blue flag draped casket being carried by finely dressed soldiers from the rear of a C-130 aircraft. I had visions of the notification of death being delivered to my family. I had visions of our team suffering a loss; all the time wondering for whom the bell will toll today. I had visions of my father the day I told him I was going to Afghanistan and the concern he expressed. With all of these emotions and thoughts flooding my mind and my need for self preservation, I undoubtedly knew that Failure is not an option…
As we entered the outskirts of the village there was an ominous silence and not a creature was stirring. This was not a good sign. There was only one dirt road passing through the dry dusty village and it was narrow. The possibility of unsuspected IED’s buried in the soft sandy road was high on our priority list. As we turned a corner I was faced with the sight of an Afghan cemetery. Not an ordinary cemetery, but one with tattered green and white prayer flags flapping violently as the wind passed through the Arghandab valley signifying the memory of Taliban fighters. This solidified that we were in “Indian country” and that the welcoming committee would not be a kind one. The radio was silenced only to hear the labored breathing of the soldiers in my vehicle through the communications headset. I delivered a sole order to the gunner standing in the turret “Keep your head on a swivel and stay low”. As I looked up to the gunner I could see he was focused and had a tight grip on the handles of his Browning 50 Cal. M2 machine gun. Countless soldiers of the US Military have relied on the old “Ma Deuce” since the 1920’s and we were no exception today. The gunner, a Sergeant from Illinois was our advanced eyes and ears. He was a father of two and a husband. He knew the importance of his job and had everything to loose if he did not pay attention to every minuet detail. I trusted him with my life; he was a professional and a true gentleman.
At dusk, our convoy of three finally arrived at the defensive perimeter that was set up by SF Scorpion 2-2. We were met by their Team Sergeant at an irrigation ditch that served as an additional force protection barrier to the bullet riddled compound that was commandeered by the team during the attack. The Sergeant advised they were attacked by Taliban after their RG-31 armored vehicle became stuck in the soft desert sand. Using this to their advantage, a large group of suspected local Taliban unleashed a fury of firepower including rockets and mortars onto the American soldiers. The Team had been taking fire off and on for twelve hours before they requested our assistance. Our immediate plan was simple… so we thought. Drive all three up armored Humvee’s over the irrigation ditch and set up an armed defensive perimeter around the compound before night fall. For we all knew and expected once under the cover of darkness the Taliban would come like thieves in the night with murderous intentions.
The first vehicle, call sign “Mongoose Six” commanded by Major Reilly attempted to cross over a four foot high embankment that encased the irrigation ditch. The four wheel drive and long wheel base of the Humvee was no match to the angle of the embankment. The vehicle immediately bottomed out and all four wheels were spinning. Then without warning it was as if Armageddon had arrived and Hell rained a fury of fire and brimstone across the land. A massive amount of small arms fire sprayed onto our location. The sound of lead striking my vehicle echoed through our confined protective space. We could not determine what direction the wrath was coming from. My gunner quickly dropped inside to avoid a fatal contact. A barrage of 82 mm mortars started to land near our vehicle one by one pounding the desert floor with bass and vibration. Major Reilly was desperately barking static filled orders thru the radio for my vehicle to approach the rear of Mongoose Six in attempt to push it off of the embankment. I ordered my driver to do so. The attempt failed lodging Mongoose Six further onto the embankment. The Taliban took full advantage of the position Mongoose Six was in just as they did with the very team we were sent to assist. The frequency and accuracy of the incoming mortars dramatically increased targeting Mongoose Six and three of my closest comrades. My mind was racing almost as fast as my heart was beating…
I assessed the situation and instinctively knew if I did not act quickly… for today surely the bell would toll. I radioed Mongoose Six and informed Major Reilly of my plan to exit my vehicle using it as cover and attach a thick nylon tow strap to the rear of his Humvee. We would then pull him from the embankment. There was no other option. Hesitation fell over the radio after I delivered the message. The Major replied with a nervous yet steady voice “Tim, that’s not a good idea”. Without replying I looked to my gunner and told him “Cover my ass and May God Bless” and I instantly left the protective space without consideration. As soon as the four inch thick steel door opened, the world became bright and vivid. The sounds of lead striking the vehicles were loud and deliberate. The whining and whistling of ricocheting rounds seemed to compose a melody while the incoming mortars delivered the bass. The dream like state of the action seemed to stand still as I made the thirty meter dash to the rear of Mongoose Six while dirt and gravel from the mortars wrath rained on me. I was calm, focused and determined to prevent my comrades from dying in front of me. I knew everything was at stake and Failure was not an option…
Miraculously I made it. To this day there is not a doubt in my mind some type of divine intervention occurred that day. Why I was spared I will never know. This unanswered question has become a struggle in my life to this very day. The tow strap was eventually attached and Mongoose Six was freed from the clutches of the arid Afghan soil. I utilized the armored vehicle’s exterior as cover to safely return to my own protective confines. The Major ordered the Team to regroup and identify where the attack was originating. Once positively identified Team Mongoose and the brave fighters SF Scorpion 2-2 delivered a debilitating blow with all the might and firepower the United States entrusted us with. Within minutes the desert fell to silence as the smell of lead and burning sulphur filled the warm air. Eventually under the dark clear sky we set up our defensive perimeter as planned and waited for the Taliban to strike. Much to our dismay and disappointment, they never came.
During the last thirty five years, I have taken many twisted turns while traveling life’s path all because of my selfish “thirst for adventure”. I never was the one to take the easiest and most travelled route. I mostly opted for the road less travelled and less desired. This is where I found the lure of adrenalin and felt most comfortable. Unfortunately with this attitude and state of mind you are forced to take risks. Many of which come to pass will inevitably cause you to fail if not managed properly. Some people will use the phrase “I learned the lesson the hard way”; an old cliché’ that I can attest to many times over. Since returning from Afghanistan I have watched my life slowly disintegrate around me. The person inside me that I knew four years ago is not the person I know now. So my struggle for answers continues. My lure for adventure and love of the wilderness has leaded me on a personal and spiritual pilgrimage of sorts along the Appalachian Trail.
Throughout the world on nearly every grave stone you will find a name and the dates of birth and death. The dates are separated only by a dash. For the dates are not of importance only the dashes. The dash represents your entire life on earth and more importantly how you lived it. For some of us, it represents the thirst for adventure, life’s path we freely chose and the perpetual quest for unanswered questions as to why we make the risky decisions we do.
On this 2,180 mile journey I choose to seek my unanswered questions and find a reason to finish this path… Failure is not an option.
“There’s a difference between interest and commitment...
When you are interested in something, you do it only when it’s convenient.
When you’re committed to something, you accept no excuses, only results”.
