http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GQdTWAkDoJY&feature=player_embedded
I've known Gary Miller for over a decade, he and Neil Moore (rest in peace) have provided we Marines a forum to gather and chew the fat, another site, "Yellowfootprints.com" is there for Marines to find their boot camp buddies; I found someone who sent me my graduation book, after over 40 years it was quite the surprise to see it in my hands when a long time ago I thought it lost forever.
Now, Gary is asking us to think of the kids, as we do each Christmas, and provide them some joy by way of a present.
I think we adults can appreciate the happiness a toy can bring to a child, give as often and as much as you can.
Thank you from all us old Marines.
Semper Fidelis
Monday, November 1, 2010
Friday, October 1, 2010
What's Behind the Rise in Military Suicides?
Katie Drummond - AOL News:
(Sept. 30) -- After four apparent suicides in a single weekend, troops and their families are reeling -- but they need to be braced for more.
That was the warning from Adm. Mike Mullen, chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, at a conference this morning.
"The emergency issue right now is suicides,'' Mullen told reporters. "I think we are going to see a growth in that before we see a decline."
What's Behind the Increase?
In part, it's the fact so many troops have been fighting for so long. The risk of developing mental health problems, most notably post-traumatic stress disorder, increases with repeated deployments.
A 2007 Army-funded survey warned that rates of PTSD and depression soared to 27 percent among troops deployed three or more times.
Of the 2 million troops deployed since 2002, an estimated two-thirds suffer from PTSD. Far fewer -- around 14,000 since 2008 -- have actually been diagnosed.
And as thousands of troops start coming home from Iraq -- the largest numbers since 2003 are expected to flood bases across the country -- the military needs to be prepared for the myriad challenges of their reintegration into civilian life.
But by all accounts, they aren't.
What's Being Done to Help the Troops?
Pentagon-backed efforts to aggressively tackle PTSD and suicides are ongoing and ambitious in scope, but they won't be making any major strides as troops return in the mere weeks and months ahead.
A three-year, $50 million collaborative research project by the Army and the National Institutes of Mental Health anticipates making dozens of recommendations on changes to the military's management of mental health.
"It's a comprehensive examination of the Army's programs, policies, procedures," Col. Chris Philbrick, director of the Army Suicide Prevention Task Force, said in a YouTube video. "Do we have the right resources? Are there gaps in our policies, for example?"
What Are the Challenges?
But a dearth of resources, combined with policy gaps and mismanagement, have already affected today's troops. And while many are going undiagnosed, others are relying on cocktails of psychiatric medications -- still the Pentagon's go-to treatment of choice.
More effective treatment approaches, from comprehensive monitoring and counseling to out-there ideas like ecstasy therapy, are showing promise.
But the implementation of any revolutionary innovation could be years off. Which makes Mullen's prediction for veterans of Iraq and Afghanistan seem more like a statement of the grim, obvious and altogether predictable truth.
Follow Surge Desk on Twitter.
(Sept. 30) -- After four apparent suicides in a single weekend, troops and their families are reeling -- but they need to be braced for more.
That was the warning from Adm. Mike Mullen, chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, at a conference this morning.
"The emergency issue right now is suicides,'' Mullen told reporters. "I think we are going to see a growth in that before we see a decline."
What's Behind the Increase?
In part, it's the fact so many troops have been fighting for so long. The risk of developing mental health problems, most notably post-traumatic stress disorder, increases with repeated deployments.
A 2007 Army-funded survey warned that rates of PTSD and depression soared to 27 percent among troops deployed three or more times.
Of the 2 million troops deployed since 2002, an estimated two-thirds suffer from PTSD. Far fewer -- around 14,000 since 2008 -- have actually been diagnosed.
And as thousands of troops start coming home from Iraq -- the largest numbers since 2003 are expected to flood bases across the country -- the military needs to be prepared for the myriad challenges of their reintegration into civilian life.
But by all accounts, they aren't.
What's Being Done to Help the Troops?
Pentagon-backed efforts to aggressively tackle PTSD and suicides are ongoing and ambitious in scope, but they won't be making any major strides as troops return in the mere weeks and months ahead.
A three-year, $50 million collaborative research project by the Army and the National Institutes of Mental Health anticipates making dozens of recommendations on changes to the military's management of mental health.
"It's a comprehensive examination of the Army's programs, policies, procedures," Col. Chris Philbrick, director of the Army Suicide Prevention Task Force, said in a YouTube video. "Do we have the right resources? Are there gaps in our policies, for example?"
What Are the Challenges?
But a dearth of resources, combined with policy gaps and mismanagement, have already affected today's troops. And while many are going undiagnosed, others are relying on cocktails of psychiatric medications -- still the Pentagon's go-to treatment of choice.
More effective treatment approaches, from comprehensive monitoring and counseling to out-there ideas like ecstasy therapy, are showing promise.
But the implementation of any revolutionary innovation could be years off. Which makes Mullen's prediction for veterans of Iraq and Afghanistan seem more like a statement of the grim, obvious and altogether predictable truth.
Follow Surge Desk on Twitter.
Tagged: military suicide rate 2010, military suicides, mullen, post-traumatic-stress, post-traumatic stress disorder, rear adm mike mullen, self destruct, self destruction, suicide rate, suicides, mental health anxiety disorders post traumatic stress disorder, mental health depression, mike mullen, army, iraq, army suicide prevention task force, afghanistan, global war on terror, conflicts politics, ptsd
Amtrak's High-Speed Rail Plan: Can't We Do Better?
http://srph.it/b8t5QJ
On Tuesday, after years of furious debate, Amtrak finally announced plans to build a high-speed railway from Boston to Washington, D.C.
The proposed line will make it possible to travel from Beantown to the Big Apple in 86 minutes and from New York to the nation's capital in just over an hour and a half. It will link the East Coast with a futuristic, 220-mile per hour bullet train, employ thousands of people, and generate an estimated $900 million per year.
Unfortunately, it will also take a generation to build. The proposal estimates that construction will take 25 years and will be finished by 2040, at a cost of $117 billion.
For rail enthusiasts, it is easy to make unflattering comparisons between America's poky rail system and that of almost every other technologically-advanced, industrialized country. But in some ways, this proposed line makes the U.S. look even worse. It's not just China and Germany that are doing better with high-tech rail infrastructure -- and the jobs and higher economic activity that go along with it. The proposed East Coast rail line is put to shame by the efforts of earlier and less-advanced governments, from Teddy Roosevelt's administration to the rule of Tsar Alexander III of Russia.
Here are a few infrastructure projects that show more national ambition and moxy -- and took much less time to accomplish:
The Panama Canal
Between 1904 and 1914, U.S. engineers oversaw the construction of the Panama Canal. While the 48-mile long trench is just over one-tenth the distance of the proposed Washington-Boston train line, the canal runs through some of the most treacherous, disease-ridden land in the Western hemisphere. The amount of work involved is astounding: Construction on the canal consumed an estimated 12 million pounds of dynamite per year and displaced enough dirt to build a pyramid over three-quarters of a mile high. In addition to spending millions of dollars and hiring thousands of workers, U.S. President Teddy Roosevelt also had to create a new country: Faced with slow-moving, bureaucratic Colombian negotiators, he supported a Panamanian independence movement which supported the new canal. Even with all this, the Panama canal took only 10 years to build -- a third of the time that it will take the U.S. to connect Boston and Washington.
The Chunnel
In 1988, after over 150 years of discussion and debate, the United Kingdom and France began construction on the Chunnel, a 31-mile long undersea tunnel connecting Kent, England to Coquelles, France. Actually consisting of three tunnels, the Chunnel is the longest underwater tunnel in the world, and is 250 feet deep at its lowest point. It is used by both passenger and freight trains, and connects high-speed rail lines in the United Kingdom and France. Finished in six years, construction took only 20% of the time allotted for the Boston-to-DC rail line.
China's Golmud to Lhasa Railroad
China's controversial railroad from Golmud to Lhasa connects Mongolia to Tibet, effectively drawing in two of the country's more far-flung regions. At 709 miles, the line is 60% longer than Amtrak's proposed route, and was a much tougher build. Unlike the relatively gentle topography of the Northeastern U.S., the Golmud to Lhasa rail covers some of the roughest terrain in the world, including over 340 miles of permafrost. The line runs across Tanggula Pass, the world's highest-altitude rail, and has two of the longest tunnels in the world, as well as 675 bridges. Construction on the line began on June 29, 2001 and finished on Oct. 12, 2005. At four years, three months and fourteen days, it took a little over one ninth the amount of time that Amtrak has allotted for the D.C.-to-Boston route.
The Trans-Siberian Railroad
Connecting Moscow to Vladivostok, the Trans-Siberian railway is the world's longest railroad. At 5,753 miles long, it spans seven time zones and is the primary route across much of Russia. While it is more than 13 times as long as the proposed D.C.-to-Boston line, the Trans-Siberian rail took 22 years to build -- eight years less than Amtrak has proposed for its route.
The Trans-Continental Rail
From 1863 to 1869, the Union Pacific and Central Pacific railroads built a line from Council Bluffs, Iowa to San Francisco, California. The new route, which linked to the East Coast's extensive rail infrastructure, ultimately connected the U.S. from coast to coast. Containing 1,777 miles of track, the transcontinental railroad was funded by 30-year bonds issued by the U.S. government, and was helped along by government land grants. Despite covering over four times the distance of the D.C.-to-Boston line, the line took only six years to build.
The Moon Shot
The race to the moon began on Oct. 17, 1957, when the Soviet Union launched Sputnik, a small satellite, into orbit around the earth. Almost immediately, the U.S. government launched the National Advisory Committee on Aeronautics (NACA), the predecessor to NASA. Dating the race to the moon from Sputnik's launch to the July 20, 1969 -- the day Neil Armstrong stepped on the moon -- it took eleven years, nine months and three days, just over a third of the time that Amtrak has budgeted for the D.C.-to-Boston line. In terms of distance, the trip was roughly 238,857 miles -- or about 540 times the distance between Washington and Boston.
Of course, there are some important differences between Amtrak's project and these other efforts. After all, Chinese planners don't have to worry about civilian land easements. For that matter, neither did the Russian royal family. Yet the bureaucratic hurdles blocking the Panama canal were easily as difficult as those in the way of the proposed East Coast rail line, while the engineering difficulties of the moon shot dwarf any issues that Amtrak's planners are likely to face.
Ultimately, what separates Amtrak's attempt at high speed rail from earlier engineering marvels is a unified, cohesive sense that this project is a priority for the U.S. Unfortunately, amid calls for Amtrak to disband and demands for the privatization of rail travel, national cohesion is one commodity that Amtrak may not be able to rely on.
On Tuesday, after years of furious debate, Amtrak finally announced plans to build a high-speed railway from Boston to Washington, D.C.
The proposed line will make it possible to travel from Beantown to the Big Apple in 86 minutes and from New York to the nation's capital in just over an hour and a half. It will link the East Coast with a futuristic, 220-mile per hour bullet train, employ thousands of people, and generate an estimated $900 million per year.
Unfortunately, it will also take a generation to build. The proposal estimates that construction will take 25 years and will be finished by 2040, at a cost of $117 billion.
For rail enthusiasts, it is easy to make unflattering comparisons between America's poky rail system and that of almost every other technologically-advanced, industrialized country. But in some ways, this proposed line makes the U.S. look even worse. It's not just China and Germany that are doing better with high-tech rail infrastructure -- and the jobs and higher economic activity that go along with it. The proposed East Coast rail line is put to shame by the efforts of earlier and less-advanced governments, from Teddy Roosevelt's administration to the rule of Tsar Alexander III of Russia.
Here are a few infrastructure projects that show more national ambition and moxy -- and took much less time to accomplish:
The Panama Canal
Between 1904 and 1914, U.S. engineers oversaw the construction of the Panama Canal. While the 48-mile long trench is just over one-tenth the distance of the proposed Washington-Boston train line, the canal runs through some of the most treacherous, disease-ridden land in the Western hemisphere. The amount of work involved is astounding: Construction on the canal consumed an estimated 12 million pounds of dynamite per year and displaced enough dirt to build a pyramid over three-quarters of a mile high. In addition to spending millions of dollars and hiring thousands of workers, U.S. President Teddy Roosevelt also had to create a new country: Faced with slow-moving, bureaucratic Colombian negotiators, he supported a Panamanian independence movement which supported the new canal. Even with all this, the Panama canal took only 10 years to build -- a third of the time that it will take the U.S. to connect Boston and Washington.The Chunnel
In 1988, after over 150 years of discussion and debate, the United Kingdom and France began construction on the Chunnel, a 31-mile long undersea tunnel connecting Kent, England to Coquelles, France. Actually consisting of three tunnels, the Chunnel is the longest underwater tunnel in the world, and is 250 feet deep at its lowest point. It is used by both passenger and freight trains, and connects high-speed rail lines in the United Kingdom and France. Finished in six years, construction took only 20% of the time allotted for the Boston-to-DC rail line.
China's Golmud to Lhasa Railroad
China's controversial railroad from Golmud to Lhasa connects Mongolia to Tibet, effectively drawing in two of the country's more far-flung regions. At 709 miles, the line is 60% longer than Amtrak's proposed route, and was a much tougher build. Unlike the relatively gentle topography of the Northeastern U.S., the Golmud to Lhasa rail covers some of the roughest terrain in the world, including over 340 miles of permafrost. The line runs across Tanggula Pass, the world's highest-altitude rail, and has two of the longest tunnels in the world, as well as 675 bridges. Construction on the line began on June 29, 2001 and finished on Oct. 12, 2005. At four years, three months and fourteen days, it took a little over one ninth the amount of time that Amtrak has allotted for the D.C.-to-Boston route.The Trans-Siberian Railroad
Connecting Moscow to Vladivostok, the Trans-Siberian railway is the world's longest railroad. At 5,753 miles long, it spans seven time zones and is the primary route across much of Russia. While it is more than 13 times as long as the proposed D.C.-to-Boston line, the Trans-Siberian rail took 22 years to build -- eight years less than Amtrak has proposed for its route.
The Trans-Continental Rail
From 1863 to 1869, the Union Pacific and Central Pacific railroads built a line from Council Bluffs, Iowa to San Francisco, California. The new route, which linked to the East Coast's extensive rail infrastructure, ultimately connected the U.S. from coast to coast. Containing 1,777 miles of track, the transcontinental railroad was funded by 30-year bonds issued by the U.S. government, and was helped along by government land grants. Despite covering over four times the distance of the D.C.-to-Boston line, the line took only six years to build.The Moon Shot
The race to the moon began on Oct. 17, 1957, when the Soviet Union launched Sputnik, a small satellite, into orbit around the earth. Almost immediately, the U.S. government launched the National Advisory Committee on Aeronautics (NACA), the predecessor to NASA. Dating the race to the moon from Sputnik's launch to the July 20, 1969 -- the day Neil Armstrong stepped on the moon -- it took eleven years, nine months and three days, just over a third of the time that Amtrak has budgeted for the D.C.-to-Boston line. In terms of distance, the trip was roughly 238,857 miles -- or about 540 times the distance between Washington and Boston.
Of course, there are some important differences between Amtrak's project and these other efforts. After all, Chinese planners don't have to worry about civilian land easements. For that matter, neither did the Russian royal family. Yet the bureaucratic hurdles blocking the Panama canal were easily as difficult as those in the way of the proposed East Coast rail line, while the engineering difficulties of the moon shot dwarf any issues that Amtrak's planners are likely to face.
Ultimately, what separates Amtrak's attempt at high speed rail from earlier engineering marvels is a unified, cohesive sense that this project is a priority for the U.S. Unfortunately, amid calls for Amtrak to disband and demands for the privatization of rail travel, national cohesion is one commodity that Amtrak may not be able to rely on.
Copy of Lawsuit Henry Cook vs MOPH filed Aug 2, 2010
I have no knowledge of the facts of this case.. regardless of who wins the lawsuit, MOPH has lost much in the public’s eyes for mismanagement of this affair.
I know that local VSO’s & chapters of the Purple Heart (MOPH) do much good. Many Nat’l Vet orgs do not maintain sufficient control, of the various foundations & PACS they create.
And I am always suspicious when bad things happen to someone who speaks out against the powers-to-be.
Also not enough money raised by Vet orgs, reach the indiv needy veteran. .... ColonelDan
ABC reported that $685,000 was paid to the Washington Redskins by the charity and, according to Cook, allowed Service Foundation officials to use the owner’s luxury box seats at the football stadium. Cook also told ABC that the Service Foundation gave a $255,000 retirement package to its executive director, who they later rehired at his former salary. He also said that two museums were given $500,000 each this year from funds that could have been spent to help veterans.
http://www.charitywatch.org/articles/mophsf.html
Original News Story in MS
Veterans Charity Fires Commander Who Blew Whistle on Wasteful Spending
http://abcnews.go.com/print?id=4635658
http://abcnews.go.com/Blotter/story?id=5621272&page=1
Thanks for posting the video and story on PS. I really appreciate it. Bur please do not stop donating to Military Order of the Purple Heart local Chapters. That is where the volunteer workers for veterans do diligence in helping veterans and their families as well as active military. It is the national organizations with massive overhead and perks that eat up the dollars. Gotta stop that. Best way to stop it is to not give them anything. Give where you know the dollars are supporting LOCAL vets and military and overhead is at a minimum.
I have filed a quite large lawsuit against the MOPH, the MOPH Service foundation and 14 named officers. If you would like a copy of the suit I will send it to you. It is the largest lawsuit I have ever seen but it is written like a book on corruption in a major veterans organization. It is long but easy to read.
Send me your e-mail address and I will send it to you.
I am in a great fight once again and I love it. I am standing alone against two large corporations and 14 snakes and I love it. It is not everyday that one gets to slay dragons and here I am.
De Oppresso Liber!
__________________
Henry J. Cook, III
SFA # D-2985L SOA #GL331
De Oppresso Liber!
Henry Cook first enlisted in the Army in 1953 at the age of 16. The Army sent him home, but he went back in 1955 and enlisted again. He was excited about the Special Forces and joined the elite unit in 1959. He completed airborne training and in 1964 graduated from Officer Candidate School and was commissioned a 2d Lt., Infantry. His Army assignments included training in three Army branches: Infantry, Intelligence and Artillery. However, most of his time was spent in Special Forces.
He was a career Special Forces (Green Beret) officer, having served for 42 years of combined duty, active and reserve, and was a Green Beret for 33 of those years. He retired as a colonel of Special Forces.
Behind Enemy Lines
His combat tours began in Viet- nam, where in 1967-68, as a lieutenant and captain, he was a member of the then top-secret Mobile Guerrilla Forces, which involved the leading of indigenous troops in operations behind enemy lines and in areas denied to conventional military forces. He operated behind enemy lines for extended periods of time conducting guerrilla operations against North Vietnamese and Vietcong targets.
Wounded On His Birthday
He was first wounded on February 3, 1968 (his birthday), and was wounded a second time while a patient in the Intensive Care Unit of the 3rd Surgical (MASH) Hospital at Dong Tam, Vietnam during the 1968 Tet Offensive.
In 1990, Cook was called back to active duty to serve at the U. S. Special Operations Command, where he served as a Deputy Director of Special Operations. He served in support of Desert Shield, Desert Storm and Operation Provide Comfort, which provided relief and protection to the Kurds in Northern Iraq.
Cook, a master parachutist, is a graduate of the U.S. Army Command and General Staff College and the U.S. Army Special Forces School. He is a practicing attorney and currently serves as a municipal judge in Bay St. Louis, Miss.
Besides two Purple Hearts, Colonel Cook's military decorations include the Bronze Star for Valor and the Combat Infantry Badge.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Monday, June 14, 2010
Source: NY Times
MARJA, Afghanistan — The Marine had been shot in the skull. He was up ahead, at the edge of a field, where the rest of his patrol was fighting. A Black Hawk medevac helicopter flew above treetops toward him, banked and hovered dangerously before landing nearby.
Several Marines carried the man aboard. His head was bandaged, his body limp. Sgt. Ian J. Bugh, the flight medic, began the rhythms of CPR as the helicopter lifted over gunfire and zigzagged away. Could this man be saved?
Nearly nine years into the Afghan war, with the number of troops here climbing toward 100,000, the pace for air crews that retrieve the wounded has become pitched.
In each month this year, more American troops in Afghanistan have been killed than in any of the same months of any previous year. Many of those fighting on the ground, facing ambushes and powerful hidden bombs, say that as the Obama administration’s military buildup pushes more troops into Taliban strongholds, the losses could soon rival those during the worst periods in Iraq.
Under NATO guidance, all seriously wounded troops are expected to arrive at a trauma center within 60 minutes of their unit’s calling for help. In Helmand Province, Afghanistan’s most dangerous ground, most of them do.
These results can make the job seem far simpler than it is. Last week, a Black Hawk on a medevac mission in the province was shot down by a rocket-propelled grenade, and four members of its crew were killed. And the experiences in May and early June of one Army air crew, from Company C, Sixth Battalion, 101st Combat Aviation Brigade, showed the challenges of distance, sandstorms and Taliban fighters waiting near landing zones.
It also showed crews confronting sorrows as old as combat. In a guerrilla war that is turning more violent, young men in nameless places suffer wounds that, no matter a crew’s speed or skill, can quickly sap away life.
For Company C’s detachment in Helmand Province, the recent duty had been harried.
Over several days the crews had retrieved a Marine who had lost both legs and an arm to a bomb explosion; the medic had kept that man alive. They had picked up two Marines bitten by their unit’s bomb-sniffing dog. They landed for a corporal whose back had been injured in a vehicle accident.
And day after day they had scrambled to evacuate Afghans or Marines struck by bullets or blasted by bombs, including a mission that nearly took them to a landing zone where the Taliban had planted a second bomb, with hopes that an aircraft might land on it. The Marines had found the trap and directed the pilots to a safer spot.
A few days before the Marine was shot in the skull, after sandstorms had grounded aircraft, another call had come in. A bomb had exploded beside a patrol along the Helmand River. Two Marines were wounded. One was dying.
For hours the airspace had been closed; supervisors deemed the conditions too dangerous to fly. The crews wanted to evacuate the Marines. “I’ll go,” said Sgt. Jason T. Norris, a crew chief. “I’ll walk.”
A crew was given permission to try. Ordinarily, medevac flights take off with an older, experienced pilot in command and a younger aviator as co-pilot. The two take turns on the controls.
From Kandahar, the brigade commander, Col. William K. Gayler, ordered a change. This flight demanded experience. Chief Warrant Officer Joseph N. Callaway, who had nearly 3,000 flight hours, would replace a younger pilot and fly with Chief Warrant Officer Deric G. Sempsrott, who had nearly 2,000 hours.
Afghan sandstorms take many forms. Some drift by in vertical sheets of dust. Others spiral into spinning towers of grit. Many lash along the ground, obscuring vision. Powdered sand accumulates like snow.
This storm had another form: an airborne layer of dirt from 100 to 4,000 feet above the ground. It left a low-elevation slot through which the pilots might try to fly.
The Black Hawk lifted off in dimming evening light. It flew at 130 knots 30 to 40 feet above the ground, so low it created a bizarre sensation, as if the helicopter were not an aircraft, but a deafening high-speed train.
Ten minutes out, the radio updated the crew. One of the Marines had died. The crew chief, Sgt. Grayson Colby, sagged. He reached for a body bag. Then he slipped on rubber gloves and sat upright. There was still a man to save.
Just before a hill beside the river, Mr. Callaway banked the Black Hawk right, then abruptly turned left and circled. The helicopter leaned hard over. He looked down. A smoke grenade’s red plume rose, marking the patrol.
The Black Hawk landed beside dunes. Sergeant Bugh and Sergeant Colby leapt out.
A corporal, Brett Sayre, had been hit in the face by the bomb’s blast wave and debris. He staggered forward, guided by other Marines.
Sergeant Bugh examined him inside the Black Hawk. Corporal Sayre’s eyes were packed with dirt. He was large and lean, a fit young man sitting upright, trying not to choke on blood clotting and flowing from his mouth.
The sergeant asked him to lie down. The corporal waved his arm.
“You’re a Marine,” the sergeant said. “Be strong. We’ll get you out of here.”
Corporal Sayre rested stiffly on his right side.
Sergeant Colby climbed aboard. He had helped escort the dead Marine to the other aircraft. The Black Hawk took off, weaving through the air 25 feet off the ground, accelerating into haze.
The corporal was calm as Sergeant Colby cut away his uniform, looking for more wounds. Sergeant Bugh suctioned blood from his mouth. He knew this man would live. But he looked into his dirtied eyes. “Can you see?” he asked.
“No,” the corporal said.
At the trauma center later, the corporal’s eyes reacted to light.
A Race to Treatment
Now the crew was in the air again, this time with the Marine shot in the skull. Sergeant Colby performed CPR. The man had no pulse.
Kneeling beside the man, encased in the roaring whine of the Black Hawk’s dual engines, the sergeants took turns at CPR. Mr. Sempsrott flew at 150 knots — as fast as the aircraft would go.
The helicopter came to a rolling landing at Camp Dwyer. Litter bearers ran the Marine inside.
The flight’s young co-pilot, First Lt. Matthew E. Stewart, loitered in the sudden quiet. He was calmly self-critical. It had been a nerve-racking landing zone, a high-speed approach to evacuate a dying man and a descent into a firefight. He said he had made a new pilot’s mistake.
He had not rolled the aircraft into a steep enough bank as he turned. Then the helicopter’s nose had pitched up. The aircraft had risen, climbing to more than 200 feet from 70 feet and almost floating above a gunfight, exposed.
Mr. Sempsrott had taken the controls and completed the landing. “I was going way too fast for my experience level,” the lieutenant said, humbly.
No one blamed him; this, the crew said, was how young pilots learned. And everyone involved understood the need to move quickly. It was necessary to evade ground fire and to improve a dying patient’s odds.
Beside the helicopter, inside a tent, doctors kept working on the Marine.
Sergeant Colby sat, red-eyed. He had seen the man’s wound. Soon, he knew, the Marine would be moved to the morgue. Morning had not yet come to the United States. In a few hours, the news would reach home.
“A family’s life has been completely changed,” the lieutenant said. “And they don’t even know it yet.”
Barreling Into a Firefight
A few days later, the crew was barreling into Marja again. Another Marine had been shot.
The pilots passed the landing zone, banked and looked down. An Afghan in uniform crawled though dirt. Marines huddled along a ditch. A firefight raged around the green smoke grenade.
The Black Hawk completed its turn, this time low to the ground, and descended. Gunfire could be heard all around. The casualty was not in sight.
“Where is he?” Mr. Sempsrott asked over the radio.
The sergeants dashed for the trees, where a Marine, Cpl. Zachary K. Kruger, was being tended to by his squad. He had been shot in the thigh, near his groin. He could not walk. The patrol had no stretcher.
A hundred yards separated the group from the aircraft, a sprint to be made across the open, on soft soil, under Taliban fire. Sergeant Bugh ran back. Sergeant Colby began firing his M-4 carbine toward the Taliban.
Inside the shuddering aircraft, the pilots tried to radiate calm. They were motionless, vulnerable, sitting upright in plain view.
The Taliban, they knew, had offered a bounty for destroyed American aircraft. Bullets cracked past. The pilots saw their medic return, grab a stretcher, run again for the trees.
They looked this way, then that. Their escort aircraft buzzed low-elevation circles around the zone, gunners leaning out. Bullets kept coming. “Taking fire from the east,” Mr. Sempsrott said.
These are the moments when time slows.
At the airfield, the crews had talked about what propelled them. Some of them mentioned a luxury: They did not wonder, as some soldiers do, if their efforts mattered, if this patrol or that meeting with Afghans or this convoy affected anything in a lasting way.
Their work could be measured, life by life. They spoke of the infantry, living without comforts in outposts, patrolling in the sweltering heat over ground spiced with hidden bombs and watched over by Afghans preparing complex ambushes. When the Marines called, the air crews said, they needed help.
Now the bullets whipped by.
A Hot Landing Zone
Cobra attack helicopters were en route. Mr. Sempsrott and Lieutenant Stewart had the option of taking off and circling back after the gunships arrived. It would mean leaving their crew on the ground, and delaying the patient’s ride, if only for minutes.
At the tents, Mr. Sempsrott had discussed the choices in a hot landing zone. The discussion ended like this: “I don’t leave people behind.”
More rounds snapped past. “Taking fire from the southeast,” he said.
He looked out. Four minutes, headed to five.
“This is ridiculous,” he said. It was exclamation, not complaint.
His crew broke from the tree line. The Marines and Sergeant Bugh were carrying Corporal Kruger, who craned his neck as they bounced across the field. They fell, found their feet, ran again, fell and reached the Black Hawk and shoved the stretcher in.
A Marine leaned through the open cargo door. He gripped the corporal in a fierce handshake. “We love you, buddy!” he shouted, ducked, and ran back toward the firefight.
Six and a half minutes after landing, the Black Hawk lifted, tilted forward and cleared the vegetation, gaining speed.
Corporal Kruger had questions as his blood pooled beneath him.
Where are we going? Camp Dwyer. How long to get there? Ten minutes.
Can I have some water? Sergeant Colby produced a bottle.
After leaving behind Marja, the aircraft climbed to 200 feet and flew level over the open desert, where Taliban fighters cannot hide. The bullet had caromed up and inside the corporal. He needed surgery.
The crew had reached him in time. As the Black Hawk touched down, he sensed he would live.
“Thank you, guys,” he shouted.
“Thank you,” he shouted, and the litter bearers ran him to the medical tent.
The pilots shut the Black Hawk down. Another crew rinsed away the blood. Before inspecting the aircraft for bullet holes, Sergeant Bugh and Sergeant Colby removed their helmets, slipped out of their body armor and gripped each other in a brief, silent hug.
MARJA, Afghanistan — The Marine had been shot in the skull. He was up ahead, at the edge of a field, where the rest of his patrol was fighting. A Black Hawk medevac helicopter flew above treetops toward him, banked and hovered dangerously before landing nearby.
Several Marines carried the man aboard. His head was bandaged, his body limp. Sgt. Ian J. Bugh, the flight medic, began the rhythms of CPR as the helicopter lifted over gunfire and zigzagged away. Could this man be saved?
Nearly nine years into the Afghan war, with the number of troops here climbing toward 100,000, the pace for air crews that retrieve the wounded has become pitched.
In each month this year, more American troops in Afghanistan have been killed than in any of the same months of any previous year. Many of those fighting on the ground, facing ambushes and powerful hidden bombs, say that as the Obama administration’s military buildup pushes more troops into Taliban strongholds, the losses could soon rival those during the worst periods in Iraq.
Under NATO guidance, all seriously wounded troops are expected to arrive at a trauma center within 60 minutes of their unit’s calling for help. In Helmand Province, Afghanistan’s most dangerous ground, most of them do.
These results can make the job seem far simpler than it is. Last week, a Black Hawk on a medevac mission in the province was shot down by a rocket-propelled grenade, and four members of its crew were killed. And the experiences in May and early June of one Army air crew, from Company C, Sixth Battalion, 101st Combat Aviation Brigade, showed the challenges of distance, sandstorms and Taliban fighters waiting near landing zones.
It also showed crews confronting sorrows as old as combat. In a guerrilla war that is turning more violent, young men in nameless places suffer wounds that, no matter a crew’s speed or skill, can quickly sap away life.
For Company C’s detachment in Helmand Province, the recent duty had been harried.
Over several days the crews had retrieved a Marine who had lost both legs and an arm to a bomb explosion; the medic had kept that man alive. They had picked up two Marines bitten by their unit’s bomb-sniffing dog. They landed for a corporal whose back had been injured in a vehicle accident.
And day after day they had scrambled to evacuate Afghans or Marines struck by bullets or blasted by bombs, including a mission that nearly took them to a landing zone where the Taliban had planted a second bomb, with hopes that an aircraft might land on it. The Marines had found the trap and directed the pilots to a safer spot.
A few days before the Marine was shot in the skull, after sandstorms had grounded aircraft, another call had come in. A bomb had exploded beside a patrol along the Helmand River. Two Marines were wounded. One was dying.
For hours the airspace had been closed; supervisors deemed the conditions too dangerous to fly. The crews wanted to evacuate the Marines. “I’ll go,” said Sgt. Jason T. Norris, a crew chief. “I’ll walk.”
A crew was given permission to try. Ordinarily, medevac flights take off with an older, experienced pilot in command and a younger aviator as co-pilot. The two take turns on the controls.
From Kandahar, the brigade commander, Col. William K. Gayler, ordered a change. This flight demanded experience. Chief Warrant Officer Joseph N. Callaway, who had nearly 3,000 flight hours, would replace a younger pilot and fly with Chief Warrant Officer Deric G. Sempsrott, who had nearly 2,000 hours.
Afghan sandstorms take many forms. Some drift by in vertical sheets of dust. Others spiral into spinning towers of grit. Many lash along the ground, obscuring vision. Powdered sand accumulates like snow.
This storm had another form: an airborne layer of dirt from 100 to 4,000 feet above the ground. It left a low-elevation slot through which the pilots might try to fly.
The Black Hawk lifted off in dimming evening light. It flew at 130 knots 30 to 40 feet above the ground, so low it created a bizarre sensation, as if the helicopter were not an aircraft, but a deafening high-speed train.
Ten minutes out, the radio updated the crew. One of the Marines had died. The crew chief, Sgt. Grayson Colby, sagged. He reached for a body bag. Then he slipped on rubber gloves and sat upright. There was still a man to save.
Just before a hill beside the river, Mr. Callaway banked the Black Hawk right, then abruptly turned left and circled. The helicopter leaned hard over. He looked down. A smoke grenade’s red plume rose, marking the patrol.
The Black Hawk landed beside dunes. Sergeant Bugh and Sergeant Colby leapt out.
A corporal, Brett Sayre, had been hit in the face by the bomb’s blast wave and debris. He staggered forward, guided by other Marines.
Sergeant Bugh examined him inside the Black Hawk. Corporal Sayre’s eyes were packed with dirt. He was large and lean, a fit young man sitting upright, trying not to choke on blood clotting and flowing from his mouth.
The sergeant asked him to lie down. The corporal waved his arm.
“You’re a Marine,” the sergeant said. “Be strong. We’ll get you out of here.”
Corporal Sayre rested stiffly on his right side.
Sergeant Colby climbed aboard. He had helped escort the dead Marine to the other aircraft. The Black Hawk took off, weaving through the air 25 feet off the ground, accelerating into haze.
The corporal was calm as Sergeant Colby cut away his uniform, looking for more wounds. Sergeant Bugh suctioned blood from his mouth. He knew this man would live. But he looked into his dirtied eyes. “Can you see?” he asked.
“No,” the corporal said.
At the trauma center later, the corporal’s eyes reacted to light.
A Race to Treatment
Now the crew was in the air again, this time with the Marine shot in the skull. Sergeant Colby performed CPR. The man had no pulse.
Kneeling beside the man, encased in the roaring whine of the Black Hawk’s dual engines, the sergeants took turns at CPR. Mr. Sempsrott flew at 150 knots — as fast as the aircraft would go.
The helicopter came to a rolling landing at Camp Dwyer. Litter bearers ran the Marine inside.
The flight’s young co-pilot, First Lt. Matthew E. Stewart, loitered in the sudden quiet. He was calmly self-critical. It had been a nerve-racking landing zone, a high-speed approach to evacuate a dying man and a descent into a firefight. He said he had made a new pilot’s mistake.
He had not rolled the aircraft into a steep enough bank as he turned. Then the helicopter’s nose had pitched up. The aircraft had risen, climbing to more than 200 feet from 70 feet and almost floating above a gunfight, exposed.
Mr. Sempsrott had taken the controls and completed the landing. “I was going way too fast for my experience level,” the lieutenant said, humbly.
No one blamed him; this, the crew said, was how young pilots learned. And everyone involved understood the need to move quickly. It was necessary to evade ground fire and to improve a dying patient’s odds.
Beside the helicopter, inside a tent, doctors kept working on the Marine.
Sergeant Colby sat, red-eyed. He had seen the man’s wound. Soon, he knew, the Marine would be moved to the morgue. Morning had not yet come to the United States. In a few hours, the news would reach home.
“A family’s life has been completely changed,” the lieutenant said. “And they don’t even know it yet.”
Barreling Into a Firefight
A few days later, the crew was barreling into Marja again. Another Marine had been shot.
The pilots passed the landing zone, banked and looked down. An Afghan in uniform crawled though dirt. Marines huddled along a ditch. A firefight raged around the green smoke grenade.
The Black Hawk completed its turn, this time low to the ground, and descended. Gunfire could be heard all around. The casualty was not in sight.
“Where is he?” Mr. Sempsrott asked over the radio.
The sergeants dashed for the trees, where a Marine, Cpl. Zachary K. Kruger, was being tended to by his squad. He had been shot in the thigh, near his groin. He could not walk. The patrol had no stretcher.
A hundred yards separated the group from the aircraft, a sprint to be made across the open, on soft soil, under Taliban fire. Sergeant Bugh ran back. Sergeant Colby began firing his M-4 carbine toward the Taliban.
Inside the shuddering aircraft, the pilots tried to radiate calm. They were motionless, vulnerable, sitting upright in plain view.
The Taliban, they knew, had offered a bounty for destroyed American aircraft. Bullets cracked past. The pilots saw their medic return, grab a stretcher, run again for the trees.
They looked this way, then that. Their escort aircraft buzzed low-elevation circles around the zone, gunners leaning out. Bullets kept coming. “Taking fire from the east,” Mr. Sempsrott said.
These are the moments when time slows.
At the airfield, the crews had talked about what propelled them. Some of them mentioned a luxury: They did not wonder, as some soldiers do, if their efforts mattered, if this patrol or that meeting with Afghans or this convoy affected anything in a lasting way.
Their work could be measured, life by life. They spoke of the infantry, living without comforts in outposts, patrolling in the sweltering heat over ground spiced with hidden bombs and watched over by Afghans preparing complex ambushes. When the Marines called, the air crews said, they needed help.
Now the bullets whipped by.
A Hot Landing Zone
Cobra attack helicopters were en route. Mr. Sempsrott and Lieutenant Stewart had the option of taking off and circling back after the gunships arrived. It would mean leaving their crew on the ground, and delaying the patient’s ride, if only for minutes.
At the tents, Mr. Sempsrott had discussed the choices in a hot landing zone. The discussion ended like this: “I don’t leave people behind.”
More rounds snapped past. “Taking fire from the southeast,” he said.
He looked out. Four minutes, headed to five.
“This is ridiculous,” he said. It was exclamation, not complaint.
His crew broke from the tree line. The Marines and Sergeant Bugh were carrying Corporal Kruger, who craned his neck as they bounced across the field. They fell, found their feet, ran again, fell and reached the Black Hawk and shoved the stretcher in.
A Marine leaned through the open cargo door. He gripped the corporal in a fierce handshake. “We love you, buddy!” he shouted, ducked, and ran back toward the firefight.
Six and a half minutes after landing, the Black Hawk lifted, tilted forward and cleared the vegetation, gaining speed.
Corporal Kruger had questions as his blood pooled beneath him.
Where are we going? Camp Dwyer. How long to get there? Ten minutes.
Can I have some water? Sergeant Colby produced a bottle.
After leaving behind Marja, the aircraft climbed to 200 feet and flew level over the open desert, where Taliban fighters cannot hide. The bullet had caromed up and inside the corporal. He needed surgery.
The crew had reached him in time. As the Black Hawk touched down, he sensed he would live.
“Thank you, guys,” he shouted.
“Thank you,” he shouted, and the litter bearers ran him to the medical tent.
The pilots shut the Black Hawk down. Another crew rinsed away the blood. Before inspecting the aircraft for bullet holes, Sergeant Bugh and Sergeant Colby removed their helmets, slipped out of their body armor and gripped each other in a brief, silent hug.
Monday, June 7, 2010
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