What the Thunder Said. John Conrad
that particular tour in Afghanistan is still not very well understood by many back home.
To many Canadians, the war in Afghanistan seems all of a piece, one summer pretty much indistinguishable from another — there are always deaths, sombre ramp ceremonies, shots of soldiers sweating in that barren moonscape.
But the summer of 2006 was different.
As some elements of the battle group led by the 1st Battalion, Princess Patricia’s Canadian Light Infantry, were in close-quarter gunfights every day, others were daily travelling hundreds of kilometres over bomb-laden roads (I use the term loosely) to keep them supplied with bullets, water, and rations, while back at Kandahar Air Field, still others worked 10-hour shifts in the sweltering heat of unglamorous tented workshops to keep the machinery humming.
As John told me once, the light armoured vehicles and others that logged two million old-fashioned miles that tour on Afghanistan’s rutted river wadis and rugged ground were going through axles and differentials like popcorn.
Where now Canadian troops stick largely to the fertile areas west of Kandahar City, in those days they also moved to the farthest-flung parts of Kandahar Province, their own area of operations; several times rode to the rescue of the British in nearby Helmand Province; and oversaw the safe movement of Dutch soldiers into Uruzgan Province.
It was an astonishing demonstration of Canadian competence and resolve, and none of it would have been possible without the National Support Element (NSE), the small unit John commanded.
It was these men and women who kept what John calls the mobile Canadian Tire store on the road, and did it with far less armour and protection than their heavily armed peers in the infantry.
I remember a story Lieutenant-Colonel Ian Hope, the battle group commander, once told me. An infantry officer who was escorting in a resupply convoy complained about the man’s sloppy driving. Lieutenant-Colonel Hope went over to the NSE sergeant in charge and asked how long they’d been on the road.
Four days, he replied.
Ian Hope was gobsmacked. As he said, “I realized just to what extent John [Conrad] was driving his people to keep us supplied.”
John’s book is about those unsung men and women who lived up to the ancient motto of soldiers who maintain supply lines and the tools of warfighting. It’s Arte et Marte, Latin for “by skill and by fighting.” In the summer of 2006, they proved they could do both. They did it without complaint — to be fair, they didn’t have time to complain — and mostly unnoticed.
This book rectifies that. And because it’s written by John Conrad, a soldier-poet, it does so beautifully.
A reconstruction of this magnitude can’t be rendered without a number of willing deckhands. At the risk of offending anyone who helped me along, I would like to acknowledge the pivotal assistance I received from the following people who were close to the manuscript from its earliest beginnings.
I want to thank Christie Blatchford not only for her friendship and encouragement (both of which I value immeasurably) but also for the level of attention she focused upon logistics soldiers serving in the Canadian Forces. Her insightful descriptions of Canadian logistics in Kandahar were unique in my experience and important, for where Christie’s pen goes, so too do many insightful, thoughtful Canadians.
I would like to thank Dr. Howard Coombs and Lieutenant-Colonel Rob McIlroy. I am indebted to Howard for his early review of the book’s first three chapters and his outstanding suggestions. Rob McIlroy’s innumerable reviews of the manuscript and his constant blend of criticism and encouragement were key in keeping my nose to the grindstone.
I would like to acknowledge the gracious assistance of Major Scott McKenzie, who contributed excerpts from his personal Kandahar diary, which he called “Afghanistan Updates,” and Chief Warrant Officer Patrick Earles, who was a constant source of encouragement and advice. I can’t imagine two men I would rather have at my side when the chips are down. Thank you both for your support and generosity throughout the writing of this book. I hope I have held the light high enough over our story.
Colonel Bernd Horn has been a source of inspiration, advice, and mentorship. He helped me frame a labyrinth of raw recollection and impressions into what I hope is an account that is readable for professional and civilian audiences alike. Any lapses into acronym and boring technobabble are my fault and not Bernd’s. Thanks very much, Bernd, for believing in my unit and my book.
Finally, I must acknowledge my wife, Martha Rutherford Conrad, who has always waited so patiently for me to come home and has suffered through countless editorial reviews of the manuscript with the same courage and tenacity she brought to a convoy gone wrong. Thanks, Martha, you know full well that this story would not exist without you.
... and I heard, as it were the noise of thunder, one of the four beasts saying, Come and see. And I saw ... And when he had opened the fourth seal I heard the voice of the fourth beast say, Come and see. And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death and Hell followed with him.
— Book of Revelation
I will never forget the electric sense of shared enterprise between Lieutenant-Colonel Ian Hope and myself as we returned to Afghanistan in October 2005 to begin the final preparations for the mission in Kandahar. Were we really going to be taking our units, Canadian battalions, into a war? It seemed impossible and yet the handover briefings from our American counterparts kept bringing us back to the inevitable truth. You could see this on every line of every one of their faces. It is dangerous here.
— Lieutenant-Colonel John Conrad
I am a sucker for history, so there was no way in hell I was going to miss the briefing, overcrowded though it was. The Canadians were coming, and by God, we had a plan. The U.S. 173rd Airborne Brigade commander’s austere plywood briefing room at the Kandahar Airfield (KAF) was chockablock in the late afternoon of 30 October 2005, but I pushed my way in and grabbed one of the remaining fringe seats at the back. Under the detailed International Security Assistance Force (ISAF) Stage 3 transition, the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) was expanding its jurisdiction to relieve the United States and Operation Enduring Freedom of singular responsibility for the volatile south of Afghanistan. Canada was to form the leading edge of the Stage 3 transition. The Canadian tactical reconnaissance team, led by Brigadier-General David Fraser, was just assembling to brief the in-place brigade commander when I slipped in. We were replacing the U.S. 173rd Air borne Brigade headquarters in southern Afghanistan and one of the brigade’s battle groups in March 2006. Forces from the United Kingdom and the Netherlands would round out the rest of our Canadian-led Multinational Brigade. The brief was to give the 173rd Airborne, U.S. Task Force Bayonet, an idea about how the Canadian-led Multinational Brigade would gradually assume the reins in Regional Command South (RC South) the following March, some four months away.
The concept brief is an important cog in the process known as a “relief in place” where one fighting unit replaces another in the line. Key to the military definition of a relief in place is the presence of an active enemy. From the picture our U.S. counterparts had been painting for us all week, there would be plenty of that ingredient. Insurgent attacks on the Americans had been increasing throughout most of 2005. The 173rd Airborne was commanded by Colonel Kevin Owens, a tough paratrooper and talented officer with a knack for the intricacies of his mission. Earlier in the week I had been impressed by his ability to discuss the complex nuances of relationships at a municipal level between police chiefs, district commanders, and the various governors who operated in RC South. The articulate depth of his insight would have shattered the stereotype so many carry about the “Ugly American.” There was no doubt in my mind that Owens commanded RC South with a surgeon’s scalpel the way Theodore Roosevelt had carried a big stick.