In the ring they called me “Warlord”, my mother calls me Paul, you can call me Private Warren when you’re filing your report. As to how I came to be here, this is what I understand, in this hospital in Germany from the dust of Uruzgan. I had just turned 28, just bought a new car when I joined the first Battalion of the big 1 RAR. We were next up for deployment into south Afghanistan to combat the insurgence in the dust of Uruzgan. It took seven months of training just to get into the joint, there were pushups and procedures, there was death by power point. Then the RSO&I course in Ali Al Salaam, but nothing can prepare you for the dust of Uruzgan. Me and Benny sat together flying into Kandahar. Sucked back on our near beers in the Camp Baker Bar. Then up at 0530, and on the Herc and out in twenty flying minutes we were into Tarin Kowt. We shook hands as the boys RIPped out from MRTF 1 and pretty soon were out patrolling in the Afghan summer sun. Walking through the green zone with a Steyr in my hand. Body armor chafing through the dust of Uruzgan. ----------------------------- We started up near Chora working 14 hours a day mentoring a Kandak from the Afghan 4th brigade. Down through the Baluchi into eastern Dorafshan working under open skies in the dust of Uruzgan It’s a long, long way from Townsville, not like any place you’ll see – suddenly you’re walking through the 14th century. Women under burkhas, tribal warlords rule a land full of goats, and huts and jingle trucks is the dust of Uruzgan. And the Education Minister can neither read nor write, and the Minister for Women runs a knock shop there at night. They’ve been fighting there for ever over water, food and land, murdering each other in the dust of Uruzgan. There’s nothing about the province that’s remotely fair or just, but worse than the corruption is the endless fucking dust. Fine as talcum powder on the ground and in the air and it gets in to your eyes and it gets into your hair. And it gets into your weapon and it gets into your boots. When the bureaucrats all show up there it gets into their suits. It gets in the machinery and foils every plan. There’s something quite symbolic about the dust of Uruzgan Still the people can be gracious and they’re funny and they’re smart. And when the children look into your eyes they walk into your heart. They face each day with courage and each year without a plan beyond scratching for survival in the dust of Uruzgan. But the Taliban are ruthless, they keep the people terrorized with roadside bombs and hangings and leaving letters in the night. And they have no useful vision for the children of this land, but to keep them praying on their knees in the dust of Uruzgan. ----------------------------- It was a quiet Saturday morning when the ‘2 Shop’ made a call on a compound of interest to the east of COP Mashal. We had some information they were building IEDs so we cordoned and we searched it in accord with SOPs. I was on the west flank picket, propped there with Ben, there to keep a watchful eye out while the other blokes went in. We looked for signs of danger from the TTPs we’d learned but the Nationals were moving back and forth without concern. We’d been standing still for hours when I took a quick step back. Kicked a small AP mine and everything went black. I woke up on a gurney, flat out on my back. I had to ask them seven times just to get the facts. I lived to tell the story through a simple twist of fate – the main charge lay ten feet away from the pressure plate. You see the mine was linked by det cord to a big charge laid by hand, hidden under Benny by the dust of Uruzgan. I was a Queensland champ Thai Boxer now I look south of my knee, and all I see is bed sheets where my right foot used to be. Benny’s dead and buried underneath Australian sand, but his spirit’s out there wandering through the dust of Uruzgan. ----------------------------- Now I’m going back to Townsville it’s the city of my birth. Some go back to Ballarat and some go back to Perth. I’ll be living with my mother who’s still trying to understand why we’re spending blood and treasure in the dust of Uruzgan.

When I live, I want to live like an Afghan, live like an Afghan lives. Walk tall as the rockets are falling around me, laugh as they barely miss. If you meet me in the streets of Kandahar then greet me with a bearded kiss. We shall live yes we shall live like the Afghans, live like the Afghans live. When I dance, I want to dance like an Afghan, dance like the Afghans dance. Never know what’s going to happen tomorrow, this could be our last chance. So shake your hips and swing my hands to heaven, let your feet pound the dusty floor Wake in the morning to tea and some flat bread, get stuck back in to the war When I love I want to love like an Afghan, love like the Afghans do. Everybody needs someone to love and today I’m in love with you. Meet the boys on a Thursday evening but a man needs a wife or two. When I love I want to love like the Afghans love like the Afghans do. When I fight I want to fight like an Afghan, fight like the Afghans fight. Kiss your cheek if we should meet in the market out in the broad daylight. Cut your throat under the cover of darkness with a courteous flick of the wrist. Manners matter when you fight like an Afghan, fight like the Afghans live When I die I want to die like an Afghan, die like an Afghan dies. Hope there’ll be someone present who loves me to brush away all the flies. In the end you might go with a whisper, or a bang like our dear Massoud. Either way I want to die like an afghan, die like an afghan would. In the end you know these things happen and you’ll want to get on with it. When I die I want to die like an Afghan, die like an Afghan lives.

There’s no airport bar in Kandahar where the C-130s land. It was hot as hell in that concrete shell where the Taliban took a last stand. I was staring at the screen of the Coke machine with a weariness deep in my bones. Waiting out there for a bird to take me home. Onto the scene came a big Marine and sat down next to me. He said: “The name is Roy and I’m here deployed with the Delta Company. We had just got back from northern Iraq when the General got on the phone. Now I’ve got two weeks leave up my sleeve and I’m waiting for the bird back home. Well I’ve fought this year from Kush Kadir down to Kandahar. A lot of fighting patrols but as far as I know I ain’t been killed so far. Gotta trust in fate but step out the gate with my M4 clean and honed. So much fun who the hell would want to go home. Us boys go strange living downrange no women there to keep you tame. You shit in a bag, gotta read your dog-tag to remember your own first name. And sharing a tent with 15 men means you never have to feel alone. So many friends who the hell would want to go home?! But when the rounds come in and the 50 CALs spin and your bowels move with the fear. You learn to depend on those new best friends ‘cause your mother can’t help you here. If you come to harm it’s those brothers in arms who pack your toothbrush and comb into a box, with your iPod and sox when they send your busted body back home. I got a pissed-off wife but I guess that’s life for a Taliban fighting man. She’s got her hands full putting kids through school god I do my best to understand. When she gets on the phone saying ‘how’s it goin’?’ man I don’t wanna get her stressed. But how to explain that the two-way range can put a boy a little on edge. Home on leave brings some reprieve but the couple weeks can leave you cold. Get a new tattoo, jetlagged and confused not to mention my six year old. Who knows his dad from a photograph and a voice on the end of the phone saying ‘pretty soon son your daddy’ll be coming on home’. Still this ain’t no blues it’s the life that I choose of a Taliban fighting man. Some days it’s a joy being out here with the boys hanging with my brotherly band I do my best and I don’t forget it was them that threw the first stone. Man so much fun who the hell would want to go home.” Then his flight got called and he stood up tall and said “I’d best be on my way”. I said good luck because I know it can suck being home for only 14 days. There’s war and peace but the war don’t cease when you’re back in the domestic zone, so much fun who the hell would want to go home.

Up past the Role 2, and down through the gate, out to the flight line. We stood in the sun, slouch hat and gun, as two caskets passed us by. And followed the Padre, onto the ‘Herc’, and out into the pale summer sky. We walked back to Poppy’s, then went back to work, with the dust still in our eyes. So soldiers, sing me, a Sapper’s lullaby You give it your all, knowing if you should fall That all good things must die These young engineers, whose job is to clear, the roads that we may pass. They’re always out front, and when they bear the brunt, it happens fast. Sapper D. Smith had a wife and a son, the apple of his eye. Snowy Moerland was just 21, way too young to die. So go call your mother, call your old man, on that welfare line. Tell them you love them, while you still can, ‘cause all good things must die.

My name is Ryan Yeaton I’m from Maryland Heights. Born and raised in Missouri and I came out here to fight. With the India Battery, 3rd Battalion, 12th Marines. Now deployed here in Kajaki at Zeebrugge FOB. This broken little province that I find I’m fighting for sends more opium than Burma to the ports of Baltimore and the Taliban and the drug lords keep the place a goddam mess. I swear I am a fighter but right now I must confess that I’ve had enough I can’t take anymore, right now I just want to be home far away from this forsaken war, not fighting from Zeebrugge FOB USAID built the dam here back in 1953 to tame the Helmand river for the electricity. We were sent to Kajaki and its here we take our stand to defend the plant and turbine from an angry Taliban. But if we stayed inside the FOB we would become a sitting duck. So we get out on patrol and trust our mettle and our luck. I got a sweet little daughter to a woman that I love. When a man’s got a family feeling lucky ain’t enough We were out there patrolling on October 19 When they killed Francisco Jackson with another IED. We sent his body back to Dover and the sacrificial flame. Man I knew him as a brother now I fight on in his name So when I’ve had enough and can’t take anymore and home is where I want to be. I go clean my weapon and back up for more. Still fighting from Zeebrugge FOB

The soldier down by the road, had manned his checkpoint all day out in the hot summer sun, old uniform and AK. I too had worked a long day, behind this high compound wall. Felt the evening breeze, and took some time to recall. Seems like a long time ago, back when this city was green. We walked the streets of Kabul, were not afraid to be seen. Now hid behind these walls a thousand splendid suns a mind and hopeful heart behind each veil. The Russians came from the north, with their tanks and their planes. Kabul took no time to fall, for years the Communists reigned. But the countryside held, and killed enough of their men, until they finally left, then trouble started again. The Mudj turned in on themselves, whoever guessed that they would. Dostum, Sayyaf, and Fahim, Hekmatyer and Massoud. The rockets rained from the south, so many long nights of fear before the Talibs swept in, Kalishnikovs and long beards. Why did this struggle begin? When will this war ever end? A time of triumph of sin, a time of dangerous men. The soldier down by the road, asked his friend for a light. Smoked a quick cigarette, then wondered home for the night

I’ve heard that when the Taliban held power in Kabul they messed up people’s lives with lots of silly rules. Women were illegal and so was flying kites. And god defend the kind of men who like to dress in tights. I wouldn’t want to be like Taliban and tell you what to do I’m fighting here for freedom after all, just like you. I respect your ‘Lowlands’ culture and I love you very much but there is one important thing I say to all you Dutch: Niet swaffelen op de Dixi, it’s against the law Niet swaffelen op de Dixi, we’re tryna fight a war And if you’re Swaffelen in that Dixi like a Dixi swaffelen man how the hell are we supposed to defeat the Taliban?! So Niet swaffelen op de Dixi, niet, niet, niet! Niet swaffelen op de Dixi, there isn’t enough room If I catch you swaffelen in the Dixi I’ll tell Brigadier Van Uhm And he will have you court-martialled and sent back to The Hague where they’ll put your dick on a table and whack it with a spade So Niet swaffelen op de Dixi, niet, niet, niet! Niet swaffelen op de Dixi, it really isn’t fair There are people who need to use that Dixi and you could swaffel anywhere You can swaffel in Paris, you can swaffel in Rome You can swaffelen the Taj Mahal, or wait till you get home. You can swaffel in the shower block with shampoo and soap. You can swaffel with the RSM, or with the #%*#ing Pope But niet swaffelen op de Dixi, niet, niet, niet! Niet swaffelen op de Dixi, did you hear me or are you deaf? If I hear you have been swaffelen in the Dixi I will call in the SF Task Force 55 and the boys from 66 go swaffelen at night with black paint on their dicks And they will find you swaffelen in that Dixi my friend and they’ll hard knock on the Dixi door in which case I would recommend That you immediately bend over place your chest upon your thighs, stick your head between your knees and kiss your arse goodbye! So niet swaffelen op de Dixi, niet, niet, niet! Niet swaffelen op de Dixi, it really is quite gross Once a week they clean those Dixis with a great big vacuum hose And if your swaffelen in the Dixi on a lazy Saturday You may find yourself fellatiod in a most unpleasant way. It will grab you and it will suck you ‘til there is nothing left. What’s the BDA going to say about your cause of death? That you died swaffelen op de Dixi, niet, niet, niet! SF – Special Forces RSM – Regimental Sergeant Major BDA – Battle Damage Assessment

I am writing tonight, from the lines here in Kandahar. Bunks beneath neon lights, hear the other guys snore and fart. Planes take off in the night, on missions unknown. While the rest of us turn away and face the night all alone. Fighting season is through, and the winter seems here to stay. Not like it was in June, ramp ceremonies every day. Put the flag on the box, then fly the boy home. We salute and then turn away and face the night all alone. On the Boardwalk tonight, karaoke ‘til half past ten. Hockey under the lights, you just can’t help those Canadians. While the Yanks and the Brits, line up for the phones. Make their calls and then turn away to face the night all alone. Could do much worse I guess, than a Christmas in Kandahar. I ate too much at the mess, then stumbled home to this cold guitar. Someone turns out the lights, but I sit like a stone. ‘Til I lay down and turn away and face the night all alone.

I was working up in Kabul in the last years of the war. Karzai had decided he didn’t love us anymore. The Town was full of checkpoints and security companies, and everyone with money had an exit strategy. She came in in December to work for State On her second posting across from Kuwait I met her at a briefing down at ISAF HQ, some Colonel was pretending that he knew what to do There’s nothing quite as sexy as a woman in a war A delicate reminder of what we’re all fighting for. She said the word “kinetic” like she’d seen it for real She was her Daddy’s daughter with her Daddy’s ideals, but she said: “Pay no heed what people say, notice only what they do” There’s no-one quite as horny as a woman in a war The sugared instant coffee, the adrenalin and more Nothing like the hunger for some softness in the night, when you wake up every morning with a war to fight. Still she’d say: “Pay no heed what people say, notice only what they do” Couple of months later in the Duck and Cover bar. We’d been on a trip together with the General in Mazar. We got talking about the problems of the ANSF, it was gettin’ late, and the others all had left I came a little closer and to her I said: “We could die tomorrow, tonight I need you for my bed Back in my ‘hooch’ I’ve got a bottle of Jack” My dick was claiming victory, like Bush did in Iraq. But she said: “I’ve enjoyed our conversation and your offer is bold. Your loquacious admiration, of the problems you can’t solve. But these are not your problems this is not your war. You only really came here because you were bored. So get back to your family, and your ordinary life. Your ordinary children and your ordinary wife. I am not your mother your virgin or your whore. Only a survivor, I am a woman in a war.” Glossary ISAF – International Security Assistance Force Kinetic – in the parlance used as an adjective for involving violence, as in ‘kinetic operations’ ANSF – Afghan National Security Forces

An August summer’s day, a morning clear and bright, a week after Ramadan, the lines were nice and quiet. The Sappers were away and from the tent next door some boys were down in the valley on an op. at COP Mashall. I went to find my ‘terp’ to call the district chief. Walked past the Afghan’s kitchen stuck my head in the CP. I heard a call come in from India 36 Through the static of the iCom saying something about a TIC. Another IED a couple of category A’s MO’D called in a medevac and I got out of the way. Went up to my desk to type up a report of a conversation I had had the day before. Willie wondered in to call his missus dear, found that the phones were cut confirming what I’d feared Two choppers circled in, from Tarin Kowt they said through the Chora saddle, to our dirt and stone LZ. The MP got off first he’d done all this before. A brick of boys got on the bird to reinforce Mashall The MP came around, by then it was half past three. Those who’d stayed from the tent next door helped him with the inventories. Packed all their effects, less pornos and their fags, ready for Sunday’s chopper in white painted Eshelen bags. I went back to the CP for the 1730 brief. The staff were sitting quietly the room was thick with grief. ‘Til Dukesy arched up red saying “let’s go settle scores!” The OC said “we keep our heads and crack on like before”. And all through dinner time and that evening warm and still, quiet speculation about what happened on that hill. ‘Til Willie briefed the Team and laid the facts out cold, then went through the orders for the next day’s foot patrol. Glossary ‘terp’ – interpreter; CP – Command Post India 36 – call sign I36; iCom – radio TIC – troops in contact; op - operation Category A’s – the highest category of wounds Medevac – medical evacuation (by helicopter) MO’D – Captain Michael O’Donnell, OPSO MT-C LZ – landing zone; MP – military police officer ‘brick’ – team of 5 men OC – Officer Commanding

For my homeland I am pining I will keep this letter rhyming, they can decode, what is written in prose So they tried me in my absence, when I heard about my sentence, I had to smile, here in exile For you know from your excursions if the truth has many versions then what is a lie, to the trembling sky? peer As our nation looked for heroes we both fell in with the weirdoes all of our peers, artists and queers As I recall we still were kissing, as our friends were going missing spit in the eye, of the trembling sky If you are taken for correction, they will ask about connection. Just play the game, slander my name And don’t ask them for a reason, or they’ll have you tried for treason Never ask why of the trembling sky As our countrymen all hardened, Esmat found me in my garden Gave me the queue, time to slip through So I hope you understand there was no time to touch your hand When I had to fly from the trembling sky Never say die to the trembling sky