Bats in Flight II
Military chaplains often refer soldiers to Combat Stress Control (mental health). Fortunately, the CSC CPT, CPT C is a very versatile man. He was educated at Boston University, is an ordained minister in the Methodist tradition and a licensed Social Worker. He has a keen and broad mind, an absurd sense of humor and the gift of Zen in basketball lay up shots. He wears BCG’s (ugly army issue eyeglass frames called “birth control glasses”) that give him that intellectual look ala Henry Kissinger. He helps to run the Warrior Restoration Program where soldiers spend a few days in group sessions at a retreat called Freedom Rest. The previous chaplain called it a “white collar prison,” but it is a good respite for the right persons. There is a pool and private rooms where soldiers can decompress a bit so they can get some distance from their issues.
CPT C is astute and asked some good questions regarding the dynamics some of the companies that I serve. For example, there was a company of MP’s from the VAANG who had some friction with the post command on the FOB where they were. There also had been some drinking and soldiers reduced in rank. Upon visiting, the Co. commander, a competent man who graduated from UVA told me about some negligent discharges when soldiers were reentering the FOB. He also told me about some of his own personal frustrations as well as the perception that the BN commander was keeping them from doing more complex missions. CPT C recommended that I share the unit issues with the BN commander. When I did, I learned more about how discharges point to lack of discipline at the non-commissioned officer level and that the unit has a mindset that they are fully trained because they were schooled by the Navy SEALS. The BN commander told me that, yes, they are well trained for a particular kind of mission, but if they wanted broader responsibilities in the fight, they would have to train more.
Soon after our return to Camp Liberty, we had an incident with one of our newest and youngest companies. While on convoy a soldier lost control of his vehicle and ran through a small building killing a local national. It is most likely that he was using excessive speed. The company’s 1SG sent the driver and trip commander to come see me shortly after the accident. The young soldier who was driving was obviously distraught. All that I could really say to them is that what happened was about as serious as it gets (in terms of the value of another’s life) and that there would, of course, be an investigation. The tragedy of all was that this was part of the unintended—but always present—consequence of war. What is to be done here? Give absolution? Try to press the soldier to realize the depth of his guilt? Leave it to others? What is this compared to the hundreds of tortured bodies found each day? I can feel the awkward expression on my face as I try to remind them of the gravity, the upcoming investigation, and some platitudes about not being too harsh with one’s self. God grant me wisdom, I pray.
The next couple of days include a visit from a black female soldier who is trying to get out of the Army because the recruiter lied about her eligibility for a signing bonus. Her unit has tried to help her, but keeps getting stone walled. She has begun to be disaffected to the point where I later learn she has decided not to come out of her room. Now she faces disciplinary action. I spend time with a SGT who has just been relieved of his duty in the TOC (Tactical Operations Center). He sobs in realizing he must now let go. He feels shamed. I embrace the large man as I sit next to him on a bench. Another soldier comes to me seeking “Compassionate Reassignment” to a duty station in West Texas as he is the only child of a woman dying of cancer. He needs to go home and take care of her. I meet a Major who worked with my previous brigade who tells me of a sad episode of a higher ranking officer who regularly dispensed intimidation and humiliation. This man is the son of a Vietnam vet who told him not come to war and leave his family. I attempt to offer consolation in the fact that he took his own path and faced what he had to face here.
Another trip to a subordinate unit includes an invitation to go to visit Iraqi Police stations outside the wire. SGT J was not fully prepared for this and neither was I. He gets nervous and reminds me that we aren’t required. I explain that the commander said that these places had not seen any activity for a couple weeks and can ensure our safety. He reluctantly agrees to come out with me. I have probably acted to hastily, but since these soldiers have not seen a chaplain in months, let alone a chaplain who is willing to meet them where they cover for 24 hours at a time, I go. The conditions are tough and the stations are barely decent. And SGT J. comes with me. We have very good visits with the soldiers (many want to talk) and tours of IP stations that include photo ops. As we are waiting for a chopper to return us to Camp Liberty, SGT J. brings up his discomfort about not being totally prepared. He is mostly right, but I’m not hearing it. We table the discussion for the next day. We skip a day and meet together with a Master SGT. We get it out on the table and our relationship grows stronger out of this minor conflict. Thank God we are both mature and reasonable enough to come to terms. The last thing either of us need is unnecessary friction between us. He offers prayer at my modest service. I attend the huge Gospel service with him. He is full of infectious praise. I feel stilted and white.
One more visit on a FOB south of Baghdad takes us near the place where an alleged rape occurred of an Iraqi teenager by an American soldier. We initially get off at the wrong stop. It is far too “tip of the spear” country. We were told the 5th stop. When we finally reach our proper destination (Falcon), the 1SG is among the most hospitable I have yet to meet. We are given plenty of free access, briefing time, prayer time, and private time with soldiers. I meet some tough looking soldiers as they are cleaning their weapons and speak to them of God’s love and how chaplains can be helpful if they are devoid of it. I feel like the Pillsbury Dough Boy who is about to be turned into a well baked dinner roll. They listen attentively. One even challenges me on my interpretation of the Pope’s “clumsy attempt at dialog.” “Wasn’t he just quoting someone, chaplain?” “Yes, but…” My enlightened liberalism doesn’t fly in light of their day to day experiences with the tactics of the “Muslim Extremists.” Considering the world in shades of gray here is a luxury that will get a soldier killed here and is best left to non-combatants, like the chaplain. They are respectful. I see spiritual hunger in their eyes and some wariness. I feel privileged to be able to walk into so many worlds and carry symbols that I sometimes forget—community, family, morality, faith, forgiveness, and hope. I can only pray to be worthy of this responsibility.
Pressing the flesh is now a bigger part of this chaplaincy. This is primarily because this battalion is about the size of a brigade and we are spread about. We even have Airmen (Security Forces) attached to us in our mission. I was given the opportunity to address a squadron during an awards ceremony. I gave them my standard talk that gives credit to a Navy chaplain I once heard on TV. “What can a chaplain do for you? A chaplain can help you answer three questions: Is it ok with God to be a warrior? Am I ok with God? And is it ok to be afraid? I also add my four points of how to survive a deployment. 1. Find something to grow into (courses, books, etc). 2. Look for goodness and beauty. It exists even in an ugly situation like this. 3. Stay in touch with family. But don’t try to control your home life from a distance. 4. Form positive friendships. With a chaplain, you can always have 100% confidentiality (the only profession in the military that can say this) unless you intend to harm someone or yourself.” I always try to be succinct, knowing that this is not my pulpit.
I often eat alone, but allow the possibility of conversations by sitting with a variety of soldiers inside and outside of our unit. Recently, I had dinner with two field grade officers. They spoke of how quick and impressive our Stryker Brigades are in terms of a conventional battlefield. We talked about the frustration of allowing enemies sanctuary under the umbrella of religion. We dissected the current state of the government and its ties to Sadr and his militia. We argued about our own naïve optimism and the depth of hatred this enemy has for us. It was good to speak with knowledgeable and engaging men. Most of their business was war planning. Some of their speech reflected the specialized nature of military professions: data, tactics and strategy. Everything is compartmentalized. It helps us stay sane when we focus on “our lane.” After the dinner one remained behind a bit. “I am tired, chaplain…” He looked at me as if seeking someone to trust.
I leave the chow hall before sunset and a little too early for the masses of bats. I try to scope a few out and I succeed in finding some just beginning to come out and do their sky dances. This evening I walk along the man made “Z” lake, called “Z” lake due to its form. The sun reflects off the waters and turns some of the tall grasses along the edges into silhouettes. I walk under a few date palms along the dirt (!) path. A bird swoops by me from behind and I recognize it as a white crane as it spreads its wings and lands near the adjacent edge. I say to myself, “Thank you. Show me more beauty, Lord.” Show us all more beauty, more peace, dear God.
CPT C is astute and asked some good questions regarding the dynamics some of the companies that I serve. For example, there was a company of MP’s from the VAANG who had some friction with the post command on the FOB where they were. There also had been some drinking and soldiers reduced in rank. Upon visiting, the Co. commander, a competent man who graduated from UVA told me about some negligent discharges when soldiers were reentering the FOB. He also told me about some of his own personal frustrations as well as the perception that the BN commander was keeping them from doing more complex missions. CPT C recommended that I share the unit issues with the BN commander. When I did, I learned more about how discharges point to lack of discipline at the non-commissioned officer level and that the unit has a mindset that they are fully trained because they were schooled by the Navy SEALS. The BN commander told me that, yes, they are well trained for a particular kind of mission, but if they wanted broader responsibilities in the fight, they would have to train more.
Soon after our return to Camp Liberty, we had an incident with one of our newest and youngest companies. While on convoy a soldier lost control of his vehicle and ran through a small building killing a local national. It is most likely that he was using excessive speed. The company’s 1SG sent the driver and trip commander to come see me shortly after the accident. The young soldier who was driving was obviously distraught. All that I could really say to them is that what happened was about as serious as it gets (in terms of the value of another’s life) and that there would, of course, be an investigation. The tragedy of all was that this was part of the unintended—but always present—consequence of war. What is to be done here? Give absolution? Try to press the soldier to realize the depth of his guilt? Leave it to others? What is this compared to the hundreds of tortured bodies found each day? I can feel the awkward expression on my face as I try to remind them of the gravity, the upcoming investigation, and some platitudes about not being too harsh with one’s self. God grant me wisdom, I pray.
The next couple of days include a visit from a black female soldier who is trying to get out of the Army because the recruiter lied about her eligibility for a signing bonus. Her unit has tried to help her, but keeps getting stone walled. She has begun to be disaffected to the point where I later learn she has decided not to come out of her room. Now she faces disciplinary action. I spend time with a SGT who has just been relieved of his duty in the TOC (Tactical Operations Center). He sobs in realizing he must now let go. He feels shamed. I embrace the large man as I sit next to him on a bench. Another soldier comes to me seeking “Compassionate Reassignment” to a duty station in West Texas as he is the only child of a woman dying of cancer. He needs to go home and take care of her. I meet a Major who worked with my previous brigade who tells me of a sad episode of a higher ranking officer who regularly dispensed intimidation and humiliation. This man is the son of a Vietnam vet who told him not come to war and leave his family. I attempt to offer consolation in the fact that he took his own path and faced what he had to face here.
Another trip to a subordinate unit includes an invitation to go to visit Iraqi Police stations outside the wire. SGT J was not fully prepared for this and neither was I. He gets nervous and reminds me that we aren’t required. I explain that the commander said that these places had not seen any activity for a couple weeks and can ensure our safety. He reluctantly agrees to come out with me. I have probably acted to hastily, but since these soldiers have not seen a chaplain in months, let alone a chaplain who is willing to meet them where they cover for 24 hours at a time, I go. The conditions are tough and the stations are barely decent. And SGT J. comes with me. We have very good visits with the soldiers (many want to talk) and tours of IP stations that include photo ops. As we are waiting for a chopper to return us to Camp Liberty, SGT J. brings up his discomfort about not being totally prepared. He is mostly right, but I’m not hearing it. We table the discussion for the next day. We skip a day and meet together with a Master SGT. We get it out on the table and our relationship grows stronger out of this minor conflict. Thank God we are both mature and reasonable enough to come to terms. The last thing either of us need is unnecessary friction between us. He offers prayer at my modest service. I attend the huge Gospel service with him. He is full of infectious praise. I feel stilted and white.
One more visit on a FOB south of Baghdad takes us near the place where an alleged rape occurred of an Iraqi teenager by an American soldier. We initially get off at the wrong stop. It is far too “tip of the spear” country. We were told the 5th stop. When we finally reach our proper destination (Falcon), the 1SG is among the most hospitable I have yet to meet. We are given plenty of free access, briefing time, prayer time, and private time with soldiers. I meet some tough looking soldiers as they are cleaning their weapons and speak to them of God’s love and how chaplains can be helpful if they are devoid of it. I feel like the Pillsbury Dough Boy who is about to be turned into a well baked dinner roll. They listen attentively. One even challenges me on my interpretation of the Pope’s “clumsy attempt at dialog.” “Wasn’t he just quoting someone, chaplain?” “Yes, but…” My enlightened liberalism doesn’t fly in light of their day to day experiences with the tactics of the “Muslim Extremists.” Considering the world in shades of gray here is a luxury that will get a soldier killed here and is best left to non-combatants, like the chaplain. They are respectful. I see spiritual hunger in their eyes and some wariness. I feel privileged to be able to walk into so many worlds and carry symbols that I sometimes forget—community, family, morality, faith, forgiveness, and hope. I can only pray to be worthy of this responsibility.
Pressing the flesh is now a bigger part of this chaplaincy. This is primarily because this battalion is about the size of a brigade and we are spread about. We even have Airmen (Security Forces) attached to us in our mission. I was given the opportunity to address a squadron during an awards ceremony. I gave them my standard talk that gives credit to a Navy chaplain I once heard on TV. “What can a chaplain do for you? A chaplain can help you answer three questions: Is it ok with God to be a warrior? Am I ok with God? And is it ok to be afraid? I also add my four points of how to survive a deployment. 1. Find something to grow into (courses, books, etc). 2. Look for goodness and beauty. It exists even in an ugly situation like this. 3. Stay in touch with family. But don’t try to control your home life from a distance. 4. Form positive friendships. With a chaplain, you can always have 100% confidentiality (the only profession in the military that can say this) unless you intend to harm someone or yourself.” I always try to be succinct, knowing that this is not my pulpit.
I often eat alone, but allow the possibility of conversations by sitting with a variety of soldiers inside and outside of our unit. Recently, I had dinner with two field grade officers. They spoke of how quick and impressive our Stryker Brigades are in terms of a conventional battlefield. We talked about the frustration of allowing enemies sanctuary under the umbrella of religion. We dissected the current state of the government and its ties to Sadr and his militia. We argued about our own naïve optimism and the depth of hatred this enemy has for us. It was good to speak with knowledgeable and engaging men. Most of their business was war planning. Some of their speech reflected the specialized nature of military professions: data, tactics and strategy. Everything is compartmentalized. It helps us stay sane when we focus on “our lane.” After the dinner one remained behind a bit. “I am tired, chaplain…” He looked at me as if seeking someone to trust.
I leave the chow hall before sunset and a little too early for the masses of bats. I try to scope a few out and I succeed in finding some just beginning to come out and do their sky dances. This evening I walk along the man made “Z” lake, called “Z” lake due to its form. The sun reflects off the waters and turns some of the tall grasses along the edges into silhouettes. I walk under a few date palms along the dirt (!) path. A bird swoops by me from behind and I recognize it as a white crane as it spreads its wings and lands near the adjacent edge. I say to myself, “Thank you. Show me more beauty, Lord.” Show us all more beauty, more peace, dear God.
posted by Chaplain (CPT) Fokas at 11:09 AM
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