The Durand Line
De inimico non
loquaris male, sed cogites.
She’s sitting there in the corner; we haven’t spoken in about 12 days. Green eyes leer at me each time I pass by; leering at me with a knowing that I’ll be coming back soon. Whether I want to or not. Jealous-no- more a quiet confidence that no matter what in several days I’ll be back. A subliminal Siren’s Song calling me to return and smash myself against the razor sharp rocks of combat.
My rucksack. The green illum tape on the frame staring at me from the recess of my garage still covered in Afghan dust.
Her ad hoc family is strung out halfway across the world, due purely to my actions. An overprotective, if oft described plump sister and hardheaded brother. My IBA and ACH are stored in a container in Kuwait. Waiting for that metamorphosis from normal human to combat advisor.
The final piece of the functionally, dysfunctional family- a short, dark brother prone to loud outbursts- my M4. Secured in our arms rooms. The piece de resistance to the transition back. Kafka would be dismayed that the change is not so sudden but happens over thousands of miles and hours of travel. More a slow Darwinian de-evolution than a sudden shocking change.
But for right now she sits and waits in the garage. My own private Durand line, the garage door. I’ll take stuff out of it and bring it into the house, but not the ruck itself. As if my failure to bring it in ensures that where it’s been won’t contaminate my home. Having it here acknowledges that I must go back and ply my trade but not at this moment.
Being home is wonderful , but it’s slowly waning to an end. The weather here in Northern California has been cold, wet and rainy serving as a perverse amuse bouche to my return.
Going from a land of peace and plenty, back to Afghanistan; un-peaceful and without doesn’t seem to do it justice. So much to so little, in so quick a time.
Am I ready to go back? NO, I would never choose this and yet I did!
But, as I said before it calls to you. Only those that have experienced the gentle, syrup like call, know what I’m writing about. Leaving what you truly love for a scene of anarchy and violence, doesn’t make sense it any rational way. However, I still go. Pulled onward not just by duty but desire.
My friend, Old Blue, told me that Afghanistan would in some way be different upon my return. I don’t doubt that and anticipate it with hope and dread. Things will have occurred in my absence and provide proof that no matter how important I believe my actions are; events still proceed without me.
But, for now my ruck stays across our agreed upon line of demarcation; her there and me here. The line is fragile but it’s there and shall remain. What is on the far side does not belong here and the transverse is true.
The day is coming when I will step across the line and begin my evolutionary journey. Not today though.
It will wait, sitting, leering and waiting for my predestined return.
What it does not know is that there is another line farther off on the horizon marking an end to its hold.
And each day brings it closer.
You speak w/depth - Having watched the perfection in which a Soldier packs for his departure. It tears a hole right through to see the giant green bag move from where it was dropped upon first arrival home. The pride appears as the same bag latches itself to the soldier ... heavy and tight. It holds life. I grew up seeing that same kind of bag fully loaded for years in my Dad's closet. I was even allowed to be there when he finally opened it and removed items from his past. I now watch two of my three sons and wonder at the thoughts they carry in those bags. **Take Care of YOU and YOURS!!! Thanks for sharing you with us! **
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Oratorem te puta, si tibi ipsi quod oportet persuaseris.
Thank you for your service, Sir.
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I wish you every second of enjoyment that you can squeeze out of your leave.
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The push-me pull-me conflict.
Savor the time you have left.
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Poetry in a siren rucksack. The Afghans have infected you with the warrior-poet's affliction. It does get into your blood.
You've already felt it; the change in your eyes, the way that you view the world after the lasik of war and through the tinted lenses of the Afghan experience, like WileyX's you can never remove. They will fade a bit with time once it is over, but the way we see the world around us will never be quite the same.
We never really understand what we're in for, yet we couldn't have left it undone.
Leave changes how we see Afghanistan the same way. The transitions are much more violent than the transition from home to Riley to Afghanistan. Nothing to everything to nothing all so fast. The contrast is so stark, it leaves an impression like the afterimage left from a bright light in a dark place.
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Try doing this for 7 years. You're here and can't wait to get out, then you're out and can't wait to get back. I have a suitcase instead of a rucksack but the dust is the same and the pull is the same. And the smell is the same. Have you smelled your rucksack? Try it and you'll be halfway back.
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I had never heard of the Durand line until I read your blog post. So I googled it. What I read was like a shock. The Durand line is a dangerous place. Your familiarity with it speaks of the danger you and others face there.
I another note, I'm hanging in Berkeley and share the cold and wet with you. Take care. Be safe.
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The Thunder Run has linked to this post in the blog post From the Front: 02/17/2009 News and Personal dispatches from the front and the home front.
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Well said, sir.
BTW, the header photo is excellent.
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Know the feeling well, been to Iraq & Astan several times. It is almost not worth it to go home. I hate feeling like I loose my "edge" but like riding a bike it comes back.
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Alas, such is the life of a soldier. I wish you good cheer while you are home & God's speed upon your return to Afghanistan, V6. Mary Kay/Navy Mom
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I too remember my fathers bag, and that of my husband, and now of my sons. I have a 5 year-old granddaughter who is learning the difference between daddys "day sack" and his "long goodbye sack", as she calls them. One means he will be home for supper, the other means someday. May her generation be the last to have to learn the difference
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well, shazzammmmm. Thought I was going blind 'cuz I couldn't see the new header photo when I left my other comment.
It's there now... fabuloso!
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Not surprising that Old Blue gave you such accurate advice. He was more than 100% correct. Regardless of how many stories you heard, blogs you read, etc you went into Afghanistan blind, deaf, and dumb as to what you would truly experience. Now you are going back sober, awakened and cognizant to the hell-hole and frustration that awaits you. Your body and psyche splits into two, part of you wants to embed your fingers into the door frame of the house refusing to go back, and part of you wants to run to the car, get on the plane and get back to you team in order to calm your nerves that with you there nothing bad will happen to them and to get the job done and over. As my team used to say, after R&R leave everything is downhill from there. As you are only a month or two from the worse fighting season we have ever seen starting up it will truly be downhill in more than one way. Take Care brother, God Speed to you and your team. Keep up those mag changes and the miltec handy.
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Vampire06 my heart goes out to all of you that have to leave our soil to defend our freedoms. I just wish more people realized what you and others are sacrificing every day. It would be wonderful if the whole world was at peace but I know that will not happen until our Father in Heaven makes his presence. My prayers go with you and may you be surrounded with His Angels!!
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To think a warrior could make me enjoy, let alone follow, Kafka where teachers failed. Godspeed. You and your men are the coin of the realm.
With Utmost Respect ~ Semper Fi, Hank
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