NO REGRETS ~ An American Adventure in Afghanistan Read Online Free PDF Page A

my first thought was that we were under attack. Nope, it was just Explosive Ordnance Disposal (EOD) doing its thing. KBR had failed to warn me about controlled dets or the “Loud Voice.” I guess they figured it was more important to talk about spiders and vipers than freakin’ BIG BOOMs blowing my day apart.
    The next morning, I was awakened by a guy yelling my name.
    “Dave Kaelin? Is there a Dave Kaelin in here?”
    I sat up and yelled, “Yeah, right here.”
    “Hey, I’m Rob Oliver.”
    “Okay,” I answered expectantly.
    “I’m your supervisor. Sorry about last night. No one told me you’d arrived. We’ve been waiting for ya.”
    Awesome, I think to myself. “Well, looks like KBR is just as disorganized as the Army. Surprise.”
    Rob smiled at me. “Dave, let’s get you out of here and into your five-star accommodations.”
    “What kind of shit hole are you dumpin’ me in?”
    “You’re getting Hooch 21, nine lovely roommates and all the privacy of a prison cell. Pray no one snores.”
    A hooch, also known as a B-Hut, is a 10′ × 20′ structure made of low-grade Pakistani plywood. The Army calls them non-permanent structures. They’re intended to last a few years. Afterwards, the Army either tears them down because the need for the base has come to an end or the base has become a long-term affair or a “permanent” base with more hard structures like the Army barracks and offices Stateside. The hooches are open bay. No walls. No privacy. Most of the denizens of “Hooch City” purchased colorful, thin bedspreads which the Afghans sold at the bazaar. Five of these bedspreads hung over 550 (parachute) cord were enough to create a privacy wall. Looking inside the hooches, it was like peering into a gypsy camp. Ten people in each hooch cramped inside 60″ × 108″ curtained cells. Despite the makeshift cloth walls, there wasn’t a lot of privacy or personal space. I could hear the guy next to me breathing and on more than one occasion, I rolled over and elbowed the guy in the next cell.
    After I deposited my bags in my hooch, Rob took me to the office at which I’d be spending twelve hours a day for the next year. He sat me down and explained the contract details. We were tasked with taking over the Bagram Property Book Office. At that time, there was a group of California National Guard soldiers running the office. All of them had attitudes about being deployed. With that in mind, they weren’t exactly performing their duties in a professional mindset. The officer in charge was an Army warrant. He had deployed with an Army sergeant first class and four Army specialists. The sergeant first class, a guy named Ortiz, spent most of his time complaining about being away from his wife and kids. He hadn’t been opposed to taking that monthly National Guard paycheck during peacetime, but when the call came to be deployed to war, he balked. “Dave, it’s not my job to save these idiots from themselves,” was how he put it to me. It’s not that I disagreed with that sentiment but he’d enjoyed the peacetime pay and benefits while he could. To balk in times of difficulty, i.e., war, was tantamount to cowardice after getting fat and happy on the Army dime in peacetime.
    My job as Rob put it was to get on the “Box” and make it my own. The Box is what we called the Army’s property inventory and control software system (SPBS), which was used to track all equipment in an assigned area. It was a stand-alone unit meaning that it was not connected to the Internet or to the Army’s central databases back in America. We were the primary means of overall accountability for the combat mission in Afghanistan. We were to take over the mission from the military and provide a professionally-run property accountability and asset visibility operation. That meant we had to ensure that all of the units’ combat equipment stayed on hand and provide the commanding general of the Combined Joint Task Force 180