I emailed my good friend, Chaplain Don Williamson, who is still in Afghanistan for a few more days to get his permission to use his first hand account of the November 10th ambush on the “Boys of Bella.” Assured enough time has passed that no OPSEC issues would be raised, here is his account of that horrible day. Caution, this is long but well worth the read!

Dear friends,

 

As I get ready to write a long overdue story from the frontlines, I am reminded that I write this to you on the celebration of our Thanksgiving Day.   It would seem, therefore, very appropriate that I tell you about the heroes that I have met along the way these past few weeks and how thankful I am that they are willing to give everything for our great country.   We ask so much of them, and I am so proud to be in their midst, serving alongside them.

 

When I last wrote, I had told you that SPC Marshall and I were about to take our most challenging ministry trip to date.   Not only were planning on seeing some outlying FOBs where our soldiers in the battalion were, but we had also been asked to cover down on a small COP (command outpost) called Bella, where, because of conflict in that AO (Area of Operations) they hadn’t had a chaplain visit there in over two months.   So our brigade commander tasked us to go there on the next resupply and perform ministry services.  It was pretty easy for Marshall and I to get there since we were going to see the guys on the gunline at FOB Blessing and Bella was just a short flight away.

 

The trip started out with us traveling with the PRT (Provincial Recovery Team) from Kalagush to Paruns.  It is the capital of the Nuristan district.  As you can see from the picture, if I didn’t know that I was in Afghanistan, I would have thought that I was back home in Montana!   The governor of Nuristan knows this as well and, since he spent many years living and working in the United States, he has great plans for Paruns to become the tourist capital of Afghanistan.   Sounds pretty crazy now, but given 10 to 15 years, I believe that dream may, in fact, become a reality.

 

The PRT dropped us off at Blessing a few days later and we immediately went over to the gunline.  Because it is away from the rest of the FOB, the gun platoon pretty much keeps to themselves.   They have their own little chow hall as well as full bathroom and laundry.  Morale for these guys is extremely high because they are constantly doing their wartime mission.   Security reasons won’t allow me to tell you exactly how many rounds they have fired, but suffice it to say it is in the thousands.  They are, by far, the busiest platoon in our battalion which speaks volumes about the enemy situation in their AO.

 

As always, my most favorite thing whenever I go there is to conduct a gunline worship service.  Each time we go to Blessing, the platoon sergeant sets up our altar on the grill that they have built (Marshall jokes and calls this “Grillin’ with God”!) and most of the soldiers come out to give thanks to our Lord for keeping them safe, singing praise songs, and breaking bread together.   Our time at Blessing is always, well, a blessing!

 

At the next resupply, Marshall and I headed out to Bella.  The day prior, I had gone up to the company’s command post (CP) to get a brief on the enemy situation out there as well as call the platoon leader to let him know that we were coming and that, hopefully, we could sleep in one of the B-Huts rather than under the stars.   Everything was set for our trip.  When I arrived, however, I have to tell you that we received a less than warm welcome.   I guess in some ways I can’t blame them.  After all, none of these guys are from our battalion, and I would imagine that the platoon sergeant (who, by the way, had no idea we were coming and the platoon leader was out on mission) simply took it as a gesture by the brigade to send out a chaplain to their little camp because they haven’t had one in a while.   There must have been a part of him that felt like, “What? We’re not good enough for our own battalion chaplain to come out to us?”  But as we talked, I told him how CH Schnarr, their battalion chaplain, is, hands down, the busiest chaplain in the brigade, and it is next to impossible for him to hit all of his FOBs all the time.   (One time I asked him how long it would take to get to each FOB, or COP as was the case with Bella, in his AO at least once.  He told me 6-8 weeks.)   Needless to say, after we had to find our own place to sleep, I remember thinking to myself that this was going to be a long five days.  I even started to wonder why God would have sent me here in the first place.

 

In Young Life, we learn that there are three phases of contact work – being seen by kids, talking to kids, and doing something with kids.   I’ve pretty much kept to that same philosophy since becoming a chaplain.  I strongly believe in “earning the right to be heard” so I find myself going into “Contact Work” mode whenever I begin a new phase of ministry.   As a result, my first hour or so on the COP was simply me and Marshall walking around being seen and talking to the soldiers there.  Ti was, however, a much different environment than Kalagush or Blessing.   For one, we were required to keep our flak jackets on at all times.  Because of the location of the COP and the constant enemy threat, no one left their hooch without wearing their vest.   Second, the COP was TINY.  Smaller than a football field, it consisted of a few B-Huts, a dining facility (another B-Hut) and an LZ (Landing Zone) for a helicopter.   That’s it.  No running water, no latrines, nothing.  So, contact work was pretty easy to do since the COP was so small.   (I have since learned that COPs and FOBs have size differentials to them, hence why Bella is a COP.  I know, it’s a lot of acronyms to remember!)   I quickly learned the names of those that were at Bella .   The rest of the platoon was out on a patrol mission.   They had left the day before to go over the mountain to a Shura (elders) meeting and were not expected back until nightfall.

 

That would soon change less than three hours later . . .

 

Standing next to the mortar pit, I was talking to the guys in the mortar section.  All of them were between the ages of 18 and 21.   I was awed at their maturity level, their dedication to their job, and the belief in what they were doing.  One of the soldiers, SPC Farris, was from New Jersey.   We immediately hit it off  because I told him about growing up in Connecticut.  He told me he was a Yankees fan.   I let him know I was a Red Sox fan.  We ribbed each other about our teams and laughed about being over here for yet another World Series.  

 

At one point, I was about to ask him about the 120mm mortar, when I noticed that there seemed to be a lot of commotion going on.   Soldiers were running to positions, leaders were talking on radios and barking out orders.  I felt a little uncomfortable because I didn’t exactly know what was going on.  

 

Just then, the mortar section leader ran out of their hooch and announced to the team, “Get ready for a fire mission guys!” he yelled.   “The OP (observation post) has seen enemy moving in the mountains above us to the south and they are heading towards our scouts.”

 

The section sprang into action.  For the most part, it’s pretty much like watching the boys on the big guns.   One guy goes to get the round, the other sets the gun.  The team leader takes down the coordinates, and the section leader verifies them before firing.   The main difference is that on a Howitzer, the soldier attaches a lanyard from behind the gun to trigger the firing pin.  For a mortar, you hang the round over the tube and then drop it in.

 

“Hang it!” the leader barked.  The mortarman hung the round over the tube.   Each round weighs over 40 pounds, so these guys are all built like brick outhouses!

 

“Fire!” 

 

He dropped the round and we waited about ten seconds to see it land at the crest of the mountain.  As soon as the round impacted, we started to hear small arms fire.   The OP above Bella opened up with its machine guns as did the guard posts on the perimeter of the base.  Word came down from the platoon TOC (tactical operations center) that the squad which was on its way back from the Shura meeting was caught in an ambush, and the scouts that were covering their movement from the mountain above Bella were about to be overrun.   Still over next to the mortar pit, Marshall and I got in place behind some barriers.  I placed Marshall online with the other soldiers.   He, along with several soldiers, returned fire on the small team of anti-coalition militiamen (ACM) coming down the mountain towards the scouts.

 

What transpired next almost feels like it defied time.  I remember looking at my watch before and after the attack, and over an hour would – but it seemed like a blur of only ten minutes.  

 

As the OP and the soldiers of the COP continued to fire on the ACM, the mortars continued to fire rounds at the mountain.   At one point, Marshall looked over to me and yelled, “Chaplain, you need to get inside one of the B-Huts!”  But he could tell from my face that I wasn’t going anywhere.

 

“I’m fine Marshall!” I yelled reassuringly.  “I’m right where I need to be!   These boys right here are in the fight, and their chaplain needs to be right next to them, not hunkered down underneath a bunk!”

 

Once he knew he wasn’t going to get anywhere with me leaving for better cover, he at least made sure I was behind a large Hesco barrier (a sand filled barrier that is about five feet high and four feet thick) at the back of the mortar pit.   He told me to stay down, and he high crawled back over to his fighting position with the other soldiers.  Having never been in a fire fight before, Marshall defined “baptism by fire.”   But he was awesome, and I was never so proud of my chaplain’s assistant than I was at that very moment. 

 

Each time the guys hung a round, I would encourage them.  “That’s it guys, stay in the fight!”   I would call out.  “You’re doing great!  Those scouts are going to end up giving their lives to you!  Come on!  The Lord is with you!”

 

Soon, the firing died down.  We got word that the scouts had escaped by a different route.   It was unclear from our position whether or not the fighters had been killed or just retreated, but for the most part, Bella was out of danger.

 

I wish the same could have been said for the patrol coming back.  On their way back to Bella, the squad, along with the platoon leader got caught in a multi-directional ambush.   A well positioned enemy force took attacked the patrol on trail in the mountains with small arms, machine guns and RPGs.  When it was all over, the whole squad was either wounded or killed.

 

Word of the attack would make international news.  Most reports would call it the worst single attack on US troops in Afghanistan since the start of the war in 2001.   All you need to do is a simple Google search on “6 dead and 7 wounded in ambush in Afghanistan” and you will have just about every news site cover the story.   Below are a couple of links of some pretty good perspectives on it.  If you have the time, I would encourage you to read them.  

 

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/11/10/AR2007111001504.html

 

http://www.stripes.com/article.asp?section=104&article=57695&archive=true

 

Earlier, I wrote that I questioned why God had placed me at Bella.  I know now that I will never question God’s Providence or sovereign timing ever again.   Ministry to the soldiers at Bella took everything I have ever learned as a chaplain in chaplain school, a staff member in Young Life, or a Navigator at West Point.   And although I could tell countless stories of my time spent with the boys of Bella over those next few days, there are three that I will tell.

 

The Squad Leader

 

The young staff sergeant ran into the aid station where Marshall and I were staying.  He called out to one of the medics.

 

“Let’s go, man!” he bellowed.  “The squad outside the wire needs us!”

 

This young squad leader was a true infantryman.  He had gathered up a team of soldiers and given them a brief before heading out.   As nightfall approached, those who were wounded had called back for a MEDEVAC to get them and the KIA out.  Because of the precarious nature of their location, the MEDEVAC birds were going to have to extract them.   This required some assistance.  They were heading out to the ambush site to get the rest of the wounded up and in those helicopters.   It would prove to be a very long night, but this small squad of soldiers did their job beautifully.  Once the rest of the QRF (Quick Reaction Force) arrived on scene, they were able to come back and refit.

 

I stood by the gate of the base while they came back in and greeted them as they entered.  I smiled and said, “Hey guys, great job out there.   Welcome back.  Been praying for you.”

 

The squad leader was the last to come through the gate.  Sweaty and tired, he looked like he had been through a lot.   Dropping his assault pack on the ground, he sat down on a rock just in side the wire.  I walked over to him.  I could tell it had been tough for him.

 

“Hey sergeant,” I said patting him on the knee as I sat down next to him.  “You did a great job out there.”

 

He shook his head in protest and quietly replied, “Not enough, sir.  Not enough.   I should have been out there with them.”

 

As we talked, I learned that the squad that got ambushed was actually his squad.  He had gone back to Blessing to pick up some funds to pay the local nationals who work at Bella picking up trash, helping out in the dining facility and doing small jobs around the base.   It is, what we call in the military, an extra duty.  He wasn’t on the patrol because he was doing a different part of his job.   One that, on any other day, he would have thought nothing of.  In fact, if the ambush had never happened, I dare say he probably enjoyed the fact that he was getting to go back to some form of civilization outside of Bella.   Blessing has a great chow hall, hot showers, and an awesome gym.  Every soldier enjoys coming back to headquarters for a little refit.

 

But niceties are short lived when faced with the guilt that, as a leader, you were not with your men at a most critical time in battle.   That is the time you train for as a squad.  It’s why squad leaders pound crew drills and individual tactics into their soldiers’ heads.  The weight of that guilt was probably more overbearing for him than the actual combat would have been had he been there with them.

 

Every muscle in his face convulsed as he gritted his teeth and pounded his fists onto his thighs.  He cried out, “I should have been there with them, sir!   I wish I could have been there!” 

 

He buried his head into his hands and began to sob.  I put my arms around him and drew him into my chest as I started to cry as well.   “I know you do, son,” I said reassuringly.  “I know you do.”

 

“But for some reason, you weren’t.  There’s a verse in the Bible that says, ‘In his heart a man plans his course, but the Lord directs his steps (Proverbs 16:9).’   What that says to me is that, as hard as it is right now for you to understand, God did not want you on that mission.  You are alive today because of that.   And the greatest gift you can give your squad is to continue to lead.”  He looked up at me with swollen eyes as I continued.  

 

“I’ve been talking to the guys back here while you were out at the ambush site, and they all said that if anything was to happen to you, that would be the end of the platoon.   You give them hope, sergeant,” I said smiling.  “You are a source of strength for this platoon!  And right now, these guys need you to reassure them that they are going to get through this.   Now I’m not telling you to not grieve.  Because I’m grieving with you.  But I am asking you to continue to give these guys hope.”   With that, I asked if I could pray for him, and we both prayed together that God would give him the strength he would need in the weeks to come.

 

In the days that would follow, this squad leader seemed to know what he needed to do.  I overheard him talking on the phone to one of his guys that had been wounded, giving encouragement and telling him how proud he was of him.   I saw as he diligently went through the belongings of the soldiers who had been killed, meticulously preparing them to send home to their family.  During our chapel service, he asked for prayers for the soldiers that were killed, one in particular whose wife was due with their first child in February.  This young squad leader grew up in those few days, and I think his faith grew as well.

 

The Scout

 

“Hey chaplain?” a voice called out to me in the darkness.  I was on my way back from the “outhouse” late one night.   Because of the enemy threat, we can’t use white light on our flashlights and have to use a red lens.  It works OK as long as you watch where you are going.   His voice startled me a little.

 

“Yeah, man.  What’s up?”  I replied.

 

“I was wondering if you might be able to come by my hooch tomorrow.  I wanted you to look over the prayer that I am going to say at our guys’ memorial ceremony.   Plus, I’d like to talk to you about some personal things.”  I told him I would come by right after breakfast.

 

The next morning, I went to see this soldier.  He was a team leader with the scouts and had been providing overwatch on the patrol coming back when it was ambushed.   He saw everything unfold, not to mention the threat of the enemy trying to make their way down to their position.

 

“It was pretty chaotic for a while,” he said, looking down at the floor.  “I wasn’t sure if this was going to be it for us or not.   A couple of those mortar rounds hit danger close to our position.  We couldn’t make our way back to the switchback, so we had to traverse down the steep mountain.”   He laughed and added, “I pretty much did the butt slide the whole way down!”

 

Then his face got serious again as he looked up at me when he said, “The mortars saved our lives, sir.  Which is why I wanted to talk to you.”  He handed me the prayer he had written in honor of his buddies.  One of the soldiers who died he had known since basic training.   The prayer was beautiful in its simplicity – so real and genuine.  Most definitely from the heart. 

 

I handed it back to him and said, “This is a great prayer sergeant.  I wouldn’t change a thing.   It’s straight from your heart and I’m sure your buddy would be honored to know that you wrote it and gave it at his memorial.”

 

Again the sergeant stared down at the floor.  He shook his head and said, “That’s just it, sir.   I don’t know if I’m worthy to read this prayer or even say it for that matter.  I would feel like a hypocrite if I did.”  His eyes started to well up with tears when he looked up at me to say, “Being out there, knowing I might die, made me think of all the bad things I’ve done in my life.   It’s been a long time since I’ve really prayed or even given a rip about God.  I remember hearing somewhere that God doesn’t hear the prayers of a sinful man, and I have to be honest when I say to you, I’m a sinful man.”

 

I put my hand on his shoulder and looked him straight in the eyes.  “Well what would you like to do about that sergeant?”   I asked.

 

He simply replied, “Make it right.  I want to be right with God, sir.  I feel like I need to give my confession and recommit my life to Jesus.”

 

I opened my pocket New Testament and showed him 1 John 1:9 and read to him, “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness.”

 

So over the next fifteen minutes, this young soldier confessed his sins.  It was like seeing a weight come off his shoulders.   We then sat on his bunk and prayed together.  His desire was to get back to God – to live his life for Christ and be assured of his salvation.  

 

In wartime, we often hear stories about soldiers who say, “God if you get me through this battle unharmed, I will serve you the rest of my life.”   We call it foxhole religion.  Coming face to face with their mortality in the light of eternity, soldiers want to know that if they die they will be with God.   More often than not, the prayer and the commitment are short lived.  So as I said goodbye to this sergeant, I gave him a pocket New Testament and encouraged him to start reading it every day.   He told me he would, and I planned on getting with him the next time I came to Bella.

 

The Survivor

 

Just before I left to head back to Bagram to continue our travels, the first sergeant asked me if I would take a couple of wallets with me and drop them off at the hospital to the guys that were wounded.   They were scheduled to fly to Landstuhl the next day.  I told him that I would be honored to.  However, as is often the case in a theater of operations, patients that are headed back to the rear usually go on the next thing smokin’ back to Germany.   As a result, the two soldiers flew out about six hours before I arrived in BAF.  Not wanting to keep two wallets with money and identification on my person, I decided to go to their company’s supply office at BAF.   After I introduced myself, the supply sergeant smiled and said, “Oh yeah, you’re the chaplain that was out at the COP with these guys.  We heard all about you.   Thanks for being there with them.”

 

I smiled and back and said, “The honor has been all mine, sergeant.  Because of this trip, I have come to see how God truly orchestrates our lives in a perfect plan.   I’m awed that He would choose me to be there for such a time as this.”

 

He nodded affirmingly then replied, “Yes sir, God is pretty awesome.  Well, what brings you over here, sir?”

 

I went on to tell him that I had these two wallets and needed to give them to him to inventory and secure until they could find a way to get them to the soldiers.   He assured me that he would do that.  Then he looked at the name of one of the soldiers and smiled.  This soldier was one of the heroes of the ambush, and he relayed the story to me.

 

A young specialist, this soldier had already earned an Army Commendation Medal with “V” device for valor for another battle he had been in just weeks prior.   As the platoon leader’s RTO (Radio operator), he was on the patrol right next to the lieutenant.  When the ambush started, he was knocked unconscious by an RPG receiving shrapnel to his face.   When he came to, he found that his platoon leader was dead and his radio destroyed.  There was firing going on all around him.   He low crawled over to the Marine who was in charge of the Afghan soldiers on patrol with them.  When he got there, he found that he was dead as well, but his radio was still working.   He put it on his back and called in the ambush along with a sitrep (situation report) to Bella.  Because he was able to make contact, the CP was able to call for fire and provide air support for the soldiers on the ground.   Because of the wounds to his face, he faded in and out of conscious several times.  Each time he awoke, however, he made it over to his buddies and provided first aid to them.   There is a great chance that several of the seven that were wounded might not have lived if he hadn’t performed life-saving measures. 

 

Listening to this story, I wished I had been able to meet this survivor, this great soldier.  He is a hero in every sense of the word.   It brought back memories of reading about the young men of World War II in Tom Brokaw’s The Greatest Generation.   So many have thought that they are no more.  But those people have never met the Boys of Bella.  Each one of them are warriors and heroes to me.  

 

“Endure hardship with us like a good soldier of Christ Jesus.” (2 Timothy 2:3)

 

How that verse rings truer than ever in my mind today. 

 

And so my friends, if you have been able to get all the way to the end of this long email, I hope that it has been another reminder of how much we can be thankful for this Thanksgiving Day.   In a few minutes, I will head up to the dining facility here at Kalagush, safely back to home station to enjoy an incredible spread with some of America’s greatest citizens.   I’m honored to be a soldier beside each and every one of them.

 

May God bless you this Thanksgiving Day, and may you be reminded of those who have given everything so that you can enjoy it in peace.

 

I send you much love from the frontlines, as I remain your faithful servant,

 

Chaplain Don

–
Donald A. Williamson
CH (CPT), USA
4-319th AFAR
Battalion Chaplain“Bringing Courage to the Courageous” (Joshua 1:9)