The Patrol (27 page)

That is what the army gives you that you can’t find anywhere else. It gives you a group that you can trust enough to jump into the unknown with. It fulfills the basic need that humans have for a pack, a pack that is bigger and badder than any other. It gives you the strength to overcome your fears and paralysis, with a little help from the people beside you. On basic training an instructor once told me, “The army can’t promise you sleep, it can’t promise you food, and it can’t promise you water. But it can promise you someone by your side.” That is the army’s greatest strength.

For seven months in Afghanistan, I had been part of a pack, a group of guys (and one girl) with whom I didn’t always get along, but on whom I could rely in the most dangerous situations possible. I was never separated from them for more than 12 hours. When I got home, I was completely cut off from that pack. Although at first, I was happy to see them go and to have time alone whenever I wanted it, as the weeks went by I began to miss them more and more. I wondered if Chris had made it into the Ontario Provincial Police, if Swanny’s back had healed, if Mike’s girlfriend was cheating on him, or if Dave still played too much World of Warcraft. I missed having people on whom I could rely constantly around, and I missed being in situations where I needed their help. The tradeoff is that I am now no longer in Afghanistan, walking the grape fields and rolling the dice. I have left that country behind and now concentrate on graduate school, building a successful marriage, raising a dog, and partying with my friends. I have traded my pack for another kind of safety, and I doubt that they have given me a second
thought. There will always be some eager young signaller waiting for an opportunity to prove him- or herself in combat. I am no longer that signaller.

I wish that I’d liked war more than I did, been braver or less terrified at its darkest points, spent more time shooting and less time ducking. But everyone has fantasies of who they wish they were. I just have to work on being comfortable with the man that came home.

I miss the simplicity of action. In theatre there was us and there was our job, and that was all. I look at the bigger picture, and I’m as lost as anyone else. The bigger picture didn’t apply to us except in some abstract way. On the ground, the changes are slow and imperceptible. The military will always be a self-contained organism. Soldiers will always worry far more about food, cigarettes, and women than about geopolitics. In Afghanistan, I went where I was told to go because I was told to go there. I had a tiny box within which to work, and there was a comforting simplicity in that.

It is as if there were two worlds, the one that I study as a grad student and the one that I experienced. I don’t know which one is real, and I don’t know how I should direct my energy. It’s as though, having walked down two paths, I now have to choose which one to accept as meaningful and valid. On the one hand, there are the endless grape fields of Panjway and the drill hall in Shilo. On the other hand, there is school, asphalt, Boston Pizza, and prefabricated happiness available at a price—everything that makes up ordinary life. But this no longer feels real.

I am sitting in front of my computer screen surrounded by empty coffee cups and beer bottles. When I try to link my two worlds, I feel emotion grip my throat, my heart, and push into the corners of my eyes. I type words into the computer in a vain effort to connect these two worlds, but there can never really be a link between those seven
days and the rest of my life. It has been a slow but simple process to change back from the person that I was at war. At first, life in Canada didn’t feel real, and I felt disingenuous going through the motions of civilian life. But slowly those simple things
became
life. I feel the softness of my wife’s skin. I try not to lose my patience with my dog, who refuses to stop pulling on the leash. I forget. I spend my nights in a comfortable Canadian bedroom instead of under the dark Afghan sky. Fireworks are just fireworks. The tears no longer fall.

SO, HERE YOU HAVE IT. You are reading the first lines of my first book, the culmination of all my efforts to get a book published. First of all, I would like to thank you for reading this book—unless you stole it or are reading the Google Books “preview”—in which case, go buy my book. I’m a poor graduate student/reservist.

Derek MacIssac, who has a master’s in anthropology and was also in my unit, put the idea of writing this book firmly in my mind. We had just finished viewing
Watchmen
and were talking about the value of narrative. He told me that I had an obligation to write down my experiences so that they wouldn’t be lost, and the conversation really stuck with me. My friend and then-roommate Cindy Strömer (I remembered the umlaut) gave me an opportunity to speak at the Strategic Studies and Security Consortium (S3C) conference in 2009, and that speech made me realize that I could actually say something meaningful about this war.

Dr. David Bercuson at the University of Calgary is truly an amazing guy. I don’t think many grad students call their advisor a “friend,” but in my case it is the only word that applies. Dr. Bercuson has guided me through my graduate degree and consistently passes on his many years of experience and wisdom to me. Although some of the things he says make me blush (which I no longer thought was possible), I’m glad that we drink beer together and talk as friends.

Dr. Bercuson introduced me to my agent, Linda McKnight, the best in the business. Without her there would be no book. As well, my editor, Jim Gifford, has done a excellent job of polishing the roughest parts of the book. He has made the process infinitely more enjoyable than it otherwise would have been.

All of my friends in the infantry and in the army have been helpful and interested in the progress of this book. Specifically I would like to thank Casey Balden, Troy Leifso, Chris Nead, John Stegmeier, Randy Gorden, and Joe Lammerhirt.

A few people read earlier drafts of the manuscript and made excellent suggestions for changes, specifically Jeff Obermeyer, Katelyn Dykstra Dykerman, and Caleb Snider. Rylan Broadbent also took a look at an earlier version and helped me with the map and the photos.

Eric Cameron with DND is a good guy. He has a cool moustache and has forgotten more about public affairs than I could ever hope to learn.

My parents had to resign themselves to my decision to go to Afghanistan, and bit their nails the whole time I was there. I know how hard this was for them, and I am blessed that they have always supported me in everything I’ve done. A guy couldn’t have better parents.

My wife, Darcy, has supported me in every conceivable way before, during, and after my deployment. She rocks.

Although I kept a journal while I was in Afghanistan, it can best be described as patchy and incomplete. I have relied upon my admittedly faulty memory for the majority of the material for this book, and no doubt some of the details are transposed from other conversations and events. The key parts of this book will forever be etched in my mind, but many of the details, especially the conversations I record, are the product of an imprecise recollection. The patrol kept me busy, and I had little time to record my thoughts or impressions as it progressed. I was also too busy to take a lot of pictures; those that appear in this book—except where identified—were taken before or after the patrol. If any zealous reader or former comrade finds anything that they believe to be inaccurate within this text, the fault lies solely with me.

RYAN FLAVELLE
joined the Canadian Forces reserves as a signaller in 2001, and in 2008 he volunteered to go to Afghanistan. Upon returning, he enrolled in the graduate program at the Centre for Military and Strategic Studies at the University of Calgary. His research into battle exhaustion during the Second World War took fi rst prize in the Journal of Military and Strategic Studies Awards for Excellence. Flavelle lives in Calgary with his family.

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The Patrol
Copyright © 2011 by Ryan Flavelle.

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EPub Edition © OCTOBER 2011 ISBN: 978-1-443-40719-9

Published by HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.
FIRST EDITION
Photos and maps courtesy of the author.

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