A Rolling Stone...

The move from FOB Walton came swiftly. On the day I was meant to depart I was ramming my sleeping bag into a garbage bag worried that all of my stuff was going to be tied to the side of one of our TLAVs (Tracked Light Armoured Vehicle). Anything that is fixed along the outside of these beasts ends up covered in beige talcum powder.

So there I was, in my private, amazing, comfortable room loaded down with full fighting order, helmet tipped forward into my eyes, backpack bursting at the seams, rifle slung over one shoulder and a black garbage bag slung over the other like Ole St. Nick. I swear I could hear my knees creaking as I staggered along to the rally point.

As we climbed aboard our tank-like trucks and the back ramp closed up and we started to roll I said a Good-Bye to FOB Walton. I left behind my little Afghan buddy, some friends, both CIVPOL and American military. I left behind high calorie foods, over-populated bathrooms, nightly small arms fire and 3 a.m. explosions and mortar fire. I joked with the guys that when I get home I am going to need someone to stand in the washroom with me in order to avoid "stage fright" and a "Sounds of War" CD to get me to sleep. What did Robert Duval say in Apocolypse Now? "I love the smell of Napalm in the morning!" Okay, maybe it wasn't THAT bad.

We rolled on to KAF where we transitioned from our armoured truck to 'soft skinned' SUVs. We dumped our gear in the rear and rolled toward the JRAC (Joint Regional Afghan Command Center).

The JRAC. This is an ISAF sponsored build funded in large part on the back of the U.S. taxpayer and is also known as 'The Promised Land' to the Afghan National Police Regional Headquarters. It is meant to fill the voids and address the logistical shortcomings affecting the ANP at the current HQ...things like photocopiers, fax machines, phones and computers.

The JRAC is an 800 by 800 metre fenced in patch of land shared by 4 of Afghanistan's policing services situated along the side, very near KAF. Afghan Civil Order Police, Afghan Border Police, Afghan National Police Regional HQ (404 Maiwand) and the Regional Logistics Center. Each gets a quadrant of the area. And it is all brand new. New, but, the same colour...bland.

Remember how I spoke of the SEAMLESS transition? Wait for it.

As a member of the advance party, I bore witness to the department chiefs showing up on their Juma to take possession of their office space, gather up the new furnishings and stake claim to their new workspace. Sounds simple enough, right?

Something I have learned about the Afghan culture so far is that "stuff" equals "status". It was no surprise that officers were laying claim to more offices than they had originally been assigned, helped themselves to extra pieces of office furniture, televisions and couches and "jingled" (decorated) up their space...that is until the General arrived.

After a quick and effective blast of sh*%, the mentor advance party was given the responsibility of safe-guarding the offices and locking down all of the rooms and furniture until everyone got sorted. It was a bit of a gong-show to say the least. Other than that, fairly seamless...the organization continues.

So there I was, at the JRAC, in a bunkhouse, gear still packed, sleeping on the top bunk in a small cement room with a few of the boys I had stayed with my first week at Walton, with no real privacy, no internet with one toilet and one shower (to be shared among 12 of us). The Promised Land.


Day 3 at the JRAC and I've settled in, unpacked my stuff and the remaining Canadian Forces OMLT crew have arrived. Things are looking up. We have a temporary internet connection, our dried goods and comforts of home have been shipped in. This isn't going to be so bad.

At day's end, just as I kick my feet up I get word. Re-assigned.

It seems the next adventure is already about to begin. Pack your gear, Tomlinson, you're on the move.

And so, while laughing to myself, I start to pack AGAIN.

Now. Where did I put that garbage bag?