we set out in the flatlands

of a high mountain valley

with the Cummins turbo whinin'

and the cupola around me

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Ferrari to the foothills

with the green fields down below

and the blue skies all around us

and the camels on the road

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up the dusty trail

scrapin' through the mountain towns

where there's no one out to see us

but the boys who stare us down

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on and up we roll

down the mountain through the pass

when the Buffalo in front of me

is enveloped in the blast

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dust and dirt and rocks and shit

goes flying in the air

and the front end of the Buffalo

gets scattered everywhere

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a piece comes spinnin' at me

and i try to duck to miss

but i'm too slow and it's too fast

and it bounces off my chest

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well the boys in the Buffalo

are all just doin' fine

except the ringin' in their ears

and the compression in their spines

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E.T.T. and A.N.A.

starts crawlin' on the hills

and E.O.D. is chasin' down

the wire to our thrills

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but the Taliban is long gone

his position is deserted

just a flash capacitor

energy exerted

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stuck down in the roadway

diesel smoke and mountain air

and the boulders on the hillside

in the pines don't even care

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Wrecker and the Wrenches

cuttin' steel down in the mud

of the diesel in the dust

that the Buff has spilled like blood

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Wrecker and the Wrenches

get that Buff hooked up and draggin'

and we're burnin' up our daylight

and our push to Tillman's laggin'

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blue skies let the sun go

as the clouds start movin' in

and it feels like the sun is gone

and won't come back again

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rain falls on the road dust

slicks it all up deep clay mud

and we slip and we slide

with six wheel drive and locked out hubs

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twenty-seven tons of Buffalo

blew out the ten-ton crane

and the front end of the Buffalo

disintegrates again

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stuck down in the wadi

we're a convoy that can't move

and the mountain night comes on real quick

a dark without illum

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Fourteen's on the way

that's our sister R.C.P.

we can't roll without their wrecker

so we sit and stare at trees

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standin' in my turret

in the foggy mountain night-time

wonderin' if the Taliban

is creepin' in the woodline

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a pop a flash my Nod's go bright

star cluster in the air

and someone on the radio

they're movin' everywhere

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but someone is a dumbass

and his nerve's a little frayed

there's no one on the ridgeline

but the cold wet A.N.A.

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Fourteen finally hooks us up

with their on tribulations

couple fresh new I.E.D.'s

at least one detonation

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they get our Buff all hooked up

and we start makin' up time

movin' forward's feelin' good

and we're all feelin' fine

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then the Grunt's they roll a truck

off the road into the wadi

waitin' on a Medevac

hope he ain't a body

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i don't know about the Medevac

i know that he's alive

when gun-trucks they roll over

sometimes Gunners don't survive

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stalled out once again

the only forward movement's time

at least the clouds have passed us

and the star rivers they shine

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stars out here they're not like home

each one's a burning flare

and there's billions all around us

they illuminate the air

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hardest time to reckon

with the war is in the night

when you're spiked out in the mountains

in the starshine pines so bright

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mornin' comes around

and it's stand-to at first light

we're really gettin' wore out

but it's been a peaceful night

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my A.G. takes the turret

i dismount to stretch my legs

daydreamin' 'bout fried bacon

fried potatoes and fried eggs

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breakfast's just more cigarettes

and half warmed M.R.E.'s

a little weapons maintenance

and yellin' at the trees

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side box of the gun-truck

has a coffee pot and filters

i arrange it on the bumper

plug it in to the inverter

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E.O.D. is poppin' popcorn

'cause they got a microwave

Starbucks and some Reddenbacher's

is how we start the day

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we saddle up and Charlie Mike

we leave the deadlined trucks

with half the element behind us

wish each other luck

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the day goes quick the klicks roll on

we're makin' real good time

we drop into a valley

that i can't even describe

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terraced hill a town on top

with stair stepped emerald fields

the dun mountains all around it

place an time that seems unreal

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we get down in it down below it

the road it goes around

and a boy starts chuckin' rocks at me

i draw my M-4 down

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what he don't know it won't kill him

aren't the ones who shoot at kids

but the way he takes off runnin'

makes you think that's what we did

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the town seems less than friendly

we're all waitin' to take fire

we just keep on pushin' forward

and forward's always higher

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goddamn these goddamn mountains

everything is always up

and the roads are barely wide enough

to fit our goddamned trucks

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another valley herds of goats

or maybe they're all sheep

the mountain sunset's danglin'

as we make our last pass east

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there's the Outpost Tillman

it's a scab up on the hill

with the Hesco's all around it

and more boys who chased a thrill

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we park our trucks so nice and neat

and start shut-down procedures

while our Jafo's disembark

scare up our sleepin' quarters

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Tillman is a Blackout Cop

it's armor in the wire

it's the kind of place harassed a lot

with random mortar fire

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five meter spaced out chow line

what a joke to blow up now

but no mortars fall on us tonight

just good rack and hot chow

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our quarters is a tiny room

so dark that you can't see

without a tac-light or those little

clip-on danglin' L.E.D.'s

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it's so close and hot and stuffy

but at least we have our cots

only problem with the decadence

is the space it leaves for thoughts

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i wonder what she's doin'

'bout twelve hours here to there

can she feel my love transcending

to her cool morning bay air

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sleep's not sleep when darkness

takes you over like the dead

and you come up from the blackness

to the wristwatch by your head

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all the things i always need

i can find 'em in the dark

and we shuffle out with all our stuff

to where our trucks are parked

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start-up stuff goes easy

got a motivated crew

warmin' up the truck and radios

the B.F.T. and Dukes

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get my turret neat and nice

my weapons functions checked

let the guns stare up into the sky

we cuss and pray for death

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'cause the fuel point's a fiasco

bunch of monkeys ropin' goats

and there's diesel sprayin' everywhere

it's just an Army joke

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an hour or three later

Route Clearance clearin' roads

wonderin' what out there is waitin'

they know the route we're takin' home

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suckin' on the road dust

where it turns your spit to mud

stayin' low behind the gun-shield

gettin' beat up by the truck

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that's just nerves it's all okay

have a Rip-it and relax

smoke a smoke and scan your sector garth

this ain't where they'll attack

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we link up with the rest of us

who spent the last day rightin' trucks

and pushin' their perimeter

into the scruffy pines and scrub

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we give 'em all our diesel oil

from all our jerry cans

and limp our crazy wagon train

back through these hard steep lands

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there's the wheel from the Buffalo

taller than i am high

clear over in a different draw

that blast sure made it fly

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what's up is down what's left is right

we're movin' backwards now

somehow trucks stay on the road

but i couldn't tell you how

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tryin' not to look down

but down is all there is

can't even see the roadway

just a high desert abyss

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the call comes through our headsets

guys in back are in a Tic

but we can't get the depression

to get our guns to hit

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a Tic is Troops in Contact

means you're shootin' line of sight

means the men who wanna kill ya

really lookin' for a fight

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both sides finish hashin' out

their angry conversation

for them it's just a way of life

for tourists a rotation

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none of ours is injured

hopin' theirs are all real dead

you get real mean and surly

when a war lives in your head

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we scrape down through the first town

means we're leavin' the real steep

droppin' back in to the foothils

now it's gettin' really deep

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the Husky gets a hit

and drives some back and forth

'fore the Buffalo moves up

and starts a'scrapin' with its spork

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the cloud of dust is instant

feels like someone smacked my balls

and the Buffalo has vanished

in the big grey rising pall

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there's little pops around us

breath of maybe count to one

before the radio goes crazy

and the whole world comes undone

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i crank my turret over

from the twelve onto the nine

the guns are all just wakin' up

all up and down the line

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the L.T.'s on the radio

with Fourteen's blown up crew

their truck and all their men's alive

we start the slow push through

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tryin' not to let that

tunnel-vision take me over

splashin' R.P.G.'s and tracers

make it real hard to stay sober

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butterfly means different things

to different kinds of folks

to some it's just a pretty bug

to swimmers it's a stroke

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to me it's just the trigger

of my cranky Mark Nineteen

fully automatic forty mike-mike

'luminum machine

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we're all workin' on the ridgeline

just a'puttin' out that hurt

for whatever life is left to us

whatever that is worth

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no one ever talks about

how good it really feels

when every single little thing you do

is the last you do for real

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Mark Nineteen it jams up tight

the bolt is really stuck

the Pig she never lets me down

we keep our volume up

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sometimes now i wonder

if before we were all born

if our mothers knew each other

what they'd think about our war

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a firefight's a firefight

there's not much else to say

seems like the smallest part of all the things

of all of those long days

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by the time the Birds they show up

and start searchin' with their guns

the Taliban has packed up

and the whole damned thing is done

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all of us we made it through

at least we did today

i don't know about the Taliban

i hope they're diggin' graves

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we finally make it back down

to our high mountain valley

with the Cummins turbo whinin'

and my cupola around me

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down into the flatland

makin' time on level ground

with the sinkin' sun a'settin'

in blue skies and gold limned clouds

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ADDITION

For context, we had been tasked with clearing route to COP(Combat OutPost) Tillman, in the far northeast of Paktika province, so the Infantry could relieve the troops posted there. Between our RCP(Route Clearance Package), The ANA(Afghan National Army) and ETT(Embedded Training Team), and the Infantry, our convoy was about three kilometers long.

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There were three RCP's covering a large area of operations, and we were the only owners of the three HEMTT wreckers capable of doing more complex vehicle recovery. When the Mechanics were recovering our Buffalo, the first time, they were able to tow it, but blew out the crane's hydraulics in the process. You can imagine how sketchy our ability to move was, after that. I feel like the Mechanics never get much credit, but in Afghanistan they were consistently the guys doing the really dirty and dangerous work that kept us moving.

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One line in this, "and the whole world comes undone" is taken from the poem "Forty a Month and Found" by George Fehr, adapted to song by Slim Critchlow.

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...

When the guns flash out in a midnight raid

And the wild herd makes a run

And the cattle bawl in their mad parade

And the whole world comes undone

Then the cowhand rides with his knees clamped tight

Crazy and hellward bound

Fightin' the fool sure loves a fight

For forty a month and found

...

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