Firefight on OP4

Last night I was talking with some friends about our transition out of the military.  There was a common theme and it reminded me of a firefight:

“OP4 is under attack!”

We poured out of the hooches and into our vehicles right outside.  We were still adjusting our gear, snapping on NODs, tightening plate carriers, fastening seat belts, as we peeled out towards the gate.  I snapped the radio handmic into my chinstrap and could hear the progress of the attack.  We were spinning tires and spitting rocks everywhere as we pulled out into the wadi right outside Camp Tillman.

OP4 was several kilometers away, but we could see the tracer fire across the wide open valley in between us and them (the dashteh).  When traveling at 20 mph like we usually did, driving across the dashteh was one of the most comfortable of rides since we were on relatively flat roads instead of cutting through rocky dried out rivers like we usually did.  Traveling at 50mph under night vision, however, we found every rut, hole, hill, berm, and wall in a direct line between Tillman and OP4.

Although the vehicle violently slammed up and down, none of us wanted to let up, and the driver’s foot firmly pressed the gas pedal to the floor.  Our HMMWV engine roared loudly each time a set of wheels came off the ground. I had one hand on my rifle, using my thumb to keep constant pressure on the selector switch and keeping the barrel in contact with the floorboards in between my feet.  My other hand alternated from the handmic to the front windshield as I tried to keep my head from slamming into the glass.

OP4 was an unprotected observation post.  We basically walked up a mountain and said, “this is a good spot,” and set down our rucks there.  That was until this night.  This night, all that would change.  The enemy outnumbered our boys on the OP at least 4-1, and the paratroopers held their ground for a long time with no heavy weapons and no fortified positions.  They fought with rifles, small arms, some artillery and guts.  Eventually they became overwhelmed by the large enemy force and began a break-contact battle drill, fighting their way off of the hill.

“They’ve pulled out of the OP, that’s enemy on the top!”  I yelled to the men in my vehicle since I was the only one that could hear the radio, and when we were about 1km away, my .50cal gunner began to fire at the mountaintop.

The adrenaline coursed through my veins as I could identify specific enemy positions now that we were closer.  I threw open the door of my vehicle, pushed on it with my foot and began to fire.  My shots sounded like BB’s with the .50cal firing above me.  I could hear our artillery rounds wooshing overhead towards their targets and the distinct cracks of AK rounds coming our way.

“Stop right up there,” I yelled at my driver pointing to a position in front of us and he nodded white-knuckling the steering wheel with a smile on his face.  I unclicked the handmic and got ready to hop out of the vehicle as my door was still open.  I imagined doing some John Wayne follow me shit and I was stoked.  As the HMMWV slid to a stop on the rocky Afghan terrain, I pushed off to jump out and start pegging nearby muzzle flashes.

CLACK!

That damn seatbelt!

My body jerked as the HMMWV door came flying back, slamming into my helmet.  I fell back into the vehicle, my NODs had unclicked and were dangling in my face when I felt a sharp pain on my shin.  My leg was hanging out when the vehicle door swung back onto it as well.  I let out a grunt of pain as my forward observer, who sat behind me in the vehicle took up a position next to my door.

Rounds were flying back and forth, now half of our company was in the fight, pushing the enemy off of our terrain.  My machine gunners were pelting the summit with MK19 and .50 cal rounds. My men were already out of their vehicles ready to assault, and I was stuck in my vehicle, snapping my NOD’s back into place, fighting myself out of the vehicle, trying not to be a little bitch about the pain on my shin.  In between bouts of laughter, SGT Coca my FO looked at me, “You ok sir.”  I nodded as I spun out of the vehicle, untangling myself from that seatbelt.  My gunner made it a point to laugh nice and loud in between bursts.

Getting out of the military is a lot like that night.  There’s anticipation, excitement, and you have visions of what it’s going to be like, only to get caught by something you didn’t even think about at the last second.

The military does a very poor job of preparing us for this transition, and guys wait too long to start getting ready.

If 2016 is your year, then you need to start preparing yourself now.  Get your finances in order, know why you’re getting out, know where you want to live, and know what you want to do.  That’s the first step.  Then set goals, make a plan, and start working towards the answers in your big four questions.

I don’t care how shit-hot you think you are, if you’re not ready, it’s not going to go well.

Here’s some random firefight footage just because…