I’ve told you about U.S. Marine Lance Cpl. Nick Mitchel, who earned his combat action ribbon on his first day in the war in Afghanistan. Months of regular combat, and then …
Sometimes things happen in the military that seem more like a novel or a Hollywood movie than real life.
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Mitchel, six other Marines, and a Navy corpsman — only about half of a regular Marine infantry squad — were sent to the far edge of the Marines’ area of operations to an Afghan police compound. They had a radio and small arms, no vehicles or heavy weapons, and were heavily dependent on the Afghan police.
Intel suspected that at least one Afghan police officer was on the Taliban payroll. But how to find him? They were burned-out infantrymen approaching the end of a brutal combat deployment.
“We went native,” Mitchel said.
Their highest-ranking Marine was an older sergeant.
“He was checked out. He really didn’t care,” Mitchel continued.
The eight Americans had stopped shaving and let their hair grow long. Afghanistan is hot, so they ditched their uniforms and went about in gym shorts and flip-flops. This might not seem like a big deal to a civilian, but in the military, even in war, these are unthinkable infractions.
Their command only sporadically supplied field rations, so the Marines ate with the Afghans. They had goat and rice. They also ate fish and blue crab from the nearby stream, which they also swam in. Nobody was on guard. The Taliban could have easily jumped them.
Sometimes Mitchel walked alone, with only his M16, a couple of blocks from the police compound to buy stuff at the local bazaar. It’s a miracle he wasn’t shot or captured.
They even stopped running regular radio checks with the patrol base. Why didn’t the officers on that base wonder why nobody had heard from them?
The eight Americans lived and relaxed with the Afghan police at their compound for 75 days, over the last two months of their tour. Finally, they approached the time to return to America. The battalion’s advance party had already returned to the States to prepare for the Marines’ homecoming. That’s when their command ordered the castaways to take some Afghan police to an unpatrolled area to break up primitive bridges the Taliban were using to transport weapons.
A likely combat mission? After all this time? Mitchel could hardly get back into his boots. The Afghan police had their doubts.
Nevertheless, orders were orders, so the Marines and Afghans began busting up the bridges with pickaxes.
Suddenly, the locals vanished. The Marines knew what was coming. The Taliban opened fire. The Marines took cover behind a wall and called for air support. Denied. They called for an evac truck. Denied. Eight American warriors were just left out there.
Mitchel was furious. He and another Marine stood up in the middle of the fight and told an Afghan ally to fire a grenade at a building. Other Afghans, with AK-47s but no shoes, arrived to turn the battle and evacuate the Marines.
Not long after, they were ordered to rush back to the patrol base to catch the helicopters arriving the next day to take them out of the war. Again, no transportation was sent. They had to run through the pitch-black night all the way back to the patrol base to get on the birds and get out.
Back at Camp Dwyer, Mitchel went to the rec building to call his family. It was 1 a.m. A polished master sergeant who probably never went outside the wire demanded that the filthy Marines go clean up.
Mitchel and the seven others cursed the master sergeant out.
“I’ll cut my hair tomorrow,” Mitchel said he told him. “I want to call my family.”
The master sergeant backed down, probably sensing these eight warriors had been through an experience he couldn’t imagine.
Trent Reedy, author of several books, including Enduring Freedom, served as a combat engineer in the Iowa National Guard from 1999 to 2005, including a tour of duty in Afghanistan.
*Some names and call signs in this story may have been changed due to operational security or privacy concerns.