Remembrance Day is about remembering, but in so doing, it's also about honouring and thanking.

One group of largely unsung Canadian heroes I met this summer in the Afghan badlands were the so-called POMLETS, soldiers who began in the fall of 2007 deploying with and trying to whip into shape the widely despised Afghan National Police, who were, for the most part, removed in name only from the regular criminal elements that make that country such a wild and crazy place.

It's a dangerous mission.

The Canadian POMLETs return after a foot patrol. Doug Schmidt photo.

"Three-quarters of the Canadian task force would be petrified to do what we do," Captain Sheldon Maerz told me during a visit this summer to a group of soldiers tasked with mentoring the Afghan police in the Panjwaii district west of Kandahar city.
"Nobody does what we do ... there's a lotta risk," said Maerz. This was the self-described Saskatchewan farmboy's second tour to Talibanland. In 2006, the Afghan cops were "thugs, they were armed gangs," he said, recalling one incident in which an Afghan cop was caught red-handed calling in insurgent mortar fire on Canadian positions.
"We have a huge way to go," said Maerz. As if to underline that, the day after we met, some of his ANP charges were shot up on a village visit by, go figure, a member of another ANP crew. The week I visited their heavily armed and fortified compound in the village of Bazar-i-Panjwaii, the POMLETs were without a cook -- he was killed a few weeks earlier after ignoring warnings to stay away from the Canadians.

The main thing being taught the local police, Maerz said, is "survivability" — staying alive. In Kandahar Province, where 1,000 ANP were killed in 2007, it's Gary Cooper in High Noon every single day, only the cops here, said Sgt. Todd MacLeod of Centreville, New Brunswick, don't go anywhere in smaller numbers than a squad of six.

A cop's job is serving people, and that means meeting people, and that's where the job of the POMLETs gets hairiest. Mingling with the locals in Bazar-i-Panjwaii means also mingling with the Taliban, and it also means the Canadian mentors must rely on their ANP charges to do what they've been taught, or risk getting a bunch of them killed.

As I joined them on one morning patrol, I was told some of the people we'd be meeting were the people determined to kill them.

"When we go out there, people think, wow, they've got balls," said Sgt. Tim Seeley, a Winnipeg reservist who helped oversee — by participating in such foot patrols — in reconstruction efforts in the area. As the soldiers go prancing down the main drag of the village, with its colourful and busy bumper-to-bumper array of shops, they know they're drawing attention from everyone, and they know there are many enemies taking mental note ... they keep a special eye open for anyone who might be reaching for their cellphone.

High Noon in Bazaar-i-Panjwaii. Doug Schmidt photo

The area's Pashtun, with their codes of honour and warrior tradition, respect courage, and as the patrol leaves the main drag to begin winding its way through the narrow mudwall-lined side alleys, locals pop out, cast furtive glances in every direction for spies, and then approach the ANP and Canadians to pass on words of encouragement and information on insurgents.

"If you control the cruelty, it would be good — God will be happy with you," one elder says through a Pashto interpreter. Another points to a nearby compound and whispers its the home of a local mullah who supports the Taliban and whose sons openly wander the alleys at night toting AK-47s. The patrol takes notes and promises a greater future street presence as more and more police recruits undergo training.

Something that angers and frustrates the Canadian POMLETs I talk with is the way their Afghan charges are sometimes dealt with by other task force members. "The way Canadians treat these guys ... it's one of my big piss-offs ... these guys risk their lives," one POMLET told me. Most Canadian soldiers don't interact directly with their Afghan counterparts, but POMLETs not only train and patrol with them but share close quarters and get to know them on a personal level.

Maerz feels that same kind of frustration when he goes home: "I feel very alienated from my fellow Canadians," says the captain, adding: "This is a valuable mission ... for what Canadians believe they stand for."

Safely back home now, I remember almost daily one or another of the troops I shared time with in Kandahar and who helped keep me alive so I could tell their stories to the folks back home, many of whom take their freedom for granted.

I don't, and for that, thanks.

 KANDAHAR, Afghanistan — Maureen Eykelenboom's son was a medic with the Canadian Forces in Afghanistan who saw things most Canadians couldn't fathom let alone would ever come close to having to experience. Andrew, known to his friends as Boomer, once plugged the severed legs of an interpreter, hit by a rocket from bleeding out, thus saving his life. He and a fellow soldier did this while a battle raged on around them. Another time, the corporal scooped together into a body bag the pieces of a blown-apart comrade.

On patrol in Panjwaii. (Doug Schmidt photo)

Boomer, 23, was packing his bags and getting ready for vacation when he volunteered on one last convoy to the volatile border town of Spin Boldak. His armoured G-Wagon was spotted and targeted by a suicide bomber, and Boomer, like dozens of other Canadian soldiers serving in Afghanistan since 2002, was himself blasted to death on August 11, 2006.

His mother, sporting the shiny Silver Cross on her lapel that next-of-kin get when their children, husbands or wives die while serving their country, made an emotional trip back to Kandahar for Canada Day, when she addressed Canadian soldiers on the current Roto, telling the mostly young volunteers that they don't have to die to become heroes, but that they are heroes just by willing to sacrifice themselves in the service of others. It's a message she and others here wonder whether others back home really understand.

"We are here in Afghanistan to help a people who asked for our help. My son said, 'Mom, people in the village I was just in have nothing — even our street people in Canada have more.'"

Village foot patrol. (Doug Schmidt photo)

The most worthwhile thing Boomer told his mother he did while on his tour was putting smiles on children's faces while committing small acts of kindness. He and his comrades would pass out food, pencils and whatever else they could get their hands on, and they were soon asking their folks back home to send them care packages of educational supplies, clothing, medical equipment and other necessities to hand out.  

During my six-week visit to Kandahar, embedded with the Canadian military, more international soldiers were killed in Afghanistan than in the ongoing conflict in Iraq. Two Canadian captains died, while a Canadian major lost his legs. An American colonel was killed with three of his men on Ambush Alley, and the flags were flying at half-mast more often than not whenever I was at Kandahar Airfield. Death follows you everywhere at all times no matter what you do in Afghanistan.

And yet, I was left with the impression that Canada's soldiers remain focused and determined and convinced that what they are doing is right and that they are making a difference in the lives of a very downtrodden people.

Peeking out a LAV III. (Doug Schmidt photo)

"These soldiers see things and do things that we can't comprehend," said Maureen, who set up "Boomer's Legacy" after her son's death to raise funds back home so that other soldiers serving in Afghanistan could continue those kinds of personalized efforts. The military lawyers said it wouldn't be acceptable for civilians to raise money and partner soldiers to carry out humanitarian assistance, but just-retired Chief of Defense Staff Gen. Rick Hillier told them to make it happen anyway. The Assistance to Afghanistan Trust Fund was established in 2006 and part of it is made up of donations from the Boomer's Legacy Fund created a year ago. This week, Maureen Eykelenboom presented the latest $80,000 cheque to Canada's Joint Task Force Kandahar.

The money goes to projects, causes and immediate needs identified by the front-line soldiers themselves in the field, there is little bureaucracy and every cent of every donated dollar is used for the intended purpose. Much of the funds go towards children in need of urgent medical treatment they would otherwise never get. I was at a district council meeting of Afghan village elders last week when a payment was announced to a local shepherd who lost 24 of his sheep in June when their combined weight was enough to set off a roadside bomb intended to kill passing soldiers. The Canadian visitors at that meeting made a point of telling the local leaders that it was regular folks back home, and not their government or the military, that was compensating the shepherd, and doing so even though insurgents were to blame. I was later told there were Taliban among those elders attending.

Between missions at Ma'sum Ghar. (Doug Schmidt photo)

"Maybe that suicide bomber may have had a better choice if he'd had an education," Maureen said of the individual who blew himself up with Boomer. As important as raising money to assist Afghans, Maureen Eykelenboom said her group is also about raising awareness back home.

Atop the LAV III. (Doug Schmidt photo)

"Canadians need to wake up and realize who they have in their military," she said. The soldiers she meets "feel they can make a difference, and they are making a difference, and we need to show them that respect, and as a country we need to support them in their missions."

 
Sgt. Tim Seeley mentoring some Afghan National Police. (Doug Schmidt photo)

In addition to the funds, her group has also collected 52,000 homemade Boomer Caps, more than half of which have been distributed to children in other countries where there is a need to keep small heads warm.

Around her neck, Maureen wears a medallion with a depiction of her son on one side and the words "Just Freedom" on the other. "In Canada, we have it and we don't even think about it — here, they don't have it."

Cpl. Jason Moldovan and an Afghan cop. (Doug Schmidt photo)

Afghanistan and the military took her son, but Maureen Eykelenboom is a big supporter of both. Canada is here, she said, so girls can go to school and women can be educated, and so "they're allowed to make choices for themselves."

Afghanistan is still a place where being a woman predominantly means remaining illiterate, being cloistered in a high-walled family compound and only being allowed in public under the heavy cloak of a burqa and in the accompaniment of a close male relative.

When the Afghans find out, probably through education, that you're nowhere as a society when half your population is locked away with the livestock, then our mission of helping Afghanistan is well on its way to being accomplished.

CIVPOL Cpl. Dave Strachan on foot patrol. (Doug Schmidt photo)

Final note: All the Canadian soldiers in today's blog photos are smiling on the job, despite the constant companions of heat and stress. 

MA'SUM GHAR, Afghanistan — The air was thick with dust and visibility low, so I should have suspected an attack.

It was about 9:20 p.m. Friday night and I had just left the guest tent I'm sharing here with some American contractors and their interpreter. Using my red light (the only kind of illumination permitted here after dark), I was on my way to the headquarters compound on the other side of the camp to find out if there was anything new planned for the morning. A few steps along the way, I remembered the big guys have better washroom facilities over there, so I turned around to get my toothbrush.

Just then, a sizzling crack followed by a concussive boom and, a few hundred feet in front of me, a giant ball of orange flame ascended, lighting up what had been the pitch-black camp. Before I could gather my thoughts (normally a slow process), a Canadian machine gun opened up from the nearest hilltop outpost, every fifth bullet an illumination round indicating a location in a nearby farm field. I darted back into the tent where everyone was donning flak vests and helmets, and the American contractors, being Americans on a Canadian base, were grabbing their assorted rifles and handguns. What was cool, though, is one of them loaned me his night-vision goggles, which then allowed me to see the ghostly glow of soldiers darting to positions. Soon enough, Canadian gunners at a different forward operating base opened up with artillery, but only to lob illumination rounds over Ma'sum Ghar, again turning night time into day, only this time for minutes at a time.

While it looked and sounded awfully impressive to me, it was an RPG round, a rocket-propelled grenade fired from the shoulder of, most likely, a Taliban insurgent. As mostly always, only a bit of damage to some rocks, although the soldiers here like to joke that Ma'sum Ghar, with its craggy ridges on three sides, is shaped like a catcher's mitt. Thankfully, the Taliban are strictly minor league.

It's Saturday night at the end of another super dusty day, and it's 8:30 p.m.

Aside from the rocket hour that follows it, the dusk is my favourite time here, when the unbearable heat of the afternoon begins to break, the camel caravans lope up the Arghandab riverbed and the shepherds lead their flocks of sheep home. This is prime farmland (despite the war and desert conditions) and countless farmers can be seen trekking in from their plots back to their homes in Bazar-i-Panjwaii. Most walk bicycles or mules laden down with livestock greenery.

It's also the time the muezzin call the faithful to prayer, and the Afghan interpreter who shares our tent dutifully spreads a rug on the little piece of open floor left and bows to Mecca.

It was pizza night tonight (I should say the guys running the Ma'sum Ghar kitchen do an incredible job), with two choices ... bacon and vegetarian. After some animated discussion a mess table filled with Afghan terps, one of them leaned over to me, pointed his plastic fork at the cheese on top of his vegetarian slice, and quietly asked me whether the milk used to make it could have come from the milk of a pig (Muslims are really down on anything porky). I replied that all Canadian pizza dairy toppings come from the udders of Muslim-correct cows.

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Changing the treads on a Canadian Leopard C2 battle tank is a lot more work than taking the winter tires off the family sedan at home.

 

It can take hours (and this is the desert in summer, remember), and flipping over one of those two-tonne treads requires all the muscle of 16 fit soldiers.

I watched members of 3rd Troop B Squadron of the Edmonton-based Lord Strathcona's Horse doing such a task here, and I will never complain again about physical work in the heat (well, I probably will, but now I'll feel more guilty about it).

The Leopard C2 weighs over 50 tonnes unadorned and carries four crew: commander, driver, loader and gunner, the latter who has a choice between lobbing 105-mm tank rounds or switching to the machine gun attached to the main gun. Soldiers in the field like to have a Leopard or two around.

"We're deterrence. We're large enough and mean enough," one senior tank officer told me, adding: "The insurgents know what's lying at their doorstep."

FOB MA'SUM GHAR, Afghanistan — Ambush Alley lived up to its name this morning with a dull roar and a large new crater on the main highway west of Kandahar City. Joined this Canadian military forward operating base's QRF (Quick Reaction Force) in response to the latest roadside bomb attack on Highway 1. The response was anything but rapid, as soldiers had to dismount periodically from their armoured vehicles to advance on foot and check culverts or abandoned buildings along the way for any hidden surprises.

Lt. Vic Mover on the lookout for baddies. (Doug Schmidt photo)

Lt. Vic Mover, the QRF battle group infantry platoon commander, said it's not uncommon, especially along that stretch of Highway 1 dubbed ambush alley, for the insurgents to set off a roadside bomb but then have an even bigger one ready to detonate nearby for the responders. Not this time.

A fresh crater along Ambush Alley. (Doug Schmidt photo)

A lane of asphalt highway was missing where there was now a 10-foot wide by 10-foot deep crater. There was shattered windshield glass and coloured taillight plastic from a vehicle that likely caught a bit of the blast, but the victims had long since left — in ambush alley, you don't sit around waiting for rescuers to arrive if you can even limp away. Another insurgent tactic is to use the initial bomb as a prelude to an attack with rockets and machine guns. Four American soldiers were killed last week just a short way up the alley when their Humvee hit a bomb.

The QRF comes well-prepared, with men and machinery, including a dump truck loaded with gravel and a Badger, a converted tank used for earth moving. Within minutes of arrival, the hole was filled and the important traffic corridor was reopened, the QRF back on short-notice around-the-clock standby.

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It's not just the Taliban militants and the gangs and the mafia and the drug lords and regular criminals the local police have to worry about, it's also each other.

Late last night, as I was putting the finishing touches on the second of two stories I'd been working on on the improving image of the Afghan National Police, two helicopters, no lights, swooped into camp on a medevac flight to pick up two Afghan cops who had just been shot. It's still under investigation, but it looks like a local squad leader had sent his men in their pickup into the nearby village to get fresh bread. They somehow got into a heated exchange with at least one member of another Afghan police squad, and that guy opened up fire with his AK-47.

Cops vs. cops, the aftermath. (Doug Schmidt photo)

Two victims are expected to survive, and the alleged shooter gave himself up this morning. The bullet-riddled Ford Ranger was brought into camp this morning and will be back on the road after the front and rear windshields are replaced and a few body holes plugged.

Police mentor Sgt. Todd MacLeod and a shot too close. (Doug Schmidt photo)

Two weeks ago, Brig.-Gen. Denis Thompson, commander of Canada's 2,500 troops in Afghanistan, said the Afghan police was halfway there. I didn't know whether he wanted that to be interpreted as a good thing or a bad thing.

Afghan police head home after training. (Doug Schmidt photo)

Yesterday, the Afghan general by his side at the time Thompson spoke those words, Kandahar province's police commander, was fired for incompetency as part of the fallout to the spectacularly successful (if you're rooting for the insurgents) Sarposa Prison raid.

FORWARD OPERATING BASE MA'SUM GHAR, Afghanistan — Exhausted after a day spent mostly waiting in the desert heat at the edge of a sizzling airport runway. Next time you take your baked cookies out of the oven, stick your head in there a while and imagine that kind of hot blowing into your face backed by a strong wind filled with yellow dust, and that's the kind of day it was. And to properly experience that kind of heat, you really need to don a heavy steel helmet and thick armour-plated vest. My shirt was dripping sweat when I arrived at my destination.

Blackhawk up after dropping off reporter in the dust. (Doug Schmidt photo)

But it was all worth it because I got my first flight in a Blackhawk, a deadly piece of American military machinery that looks like a giant angry wasp. Each side has a machine gunner with a face of a kid peering out for danger, and they use these things, evidenced by the countless empty shell casings littering the floor. We flew low and slow over the shepherds and farmers in the fields just beyond the Kandahar Airfield, and I bet we were on the lookout for whoever is setting up those rockets that rain down periodically on the base. There was a break of several weeks, and everybody thought the guy had either been taken out of service or he'd run out of rockets, but then the other night we had two rockets within an hour. They rarely do any damage, although they could, but they're annoying as heck, sort of baby terror. We did our low flying under the watchful gaze of an even nastier looking piece of army airborne hardware — an Apache gun ship decked out in machine guns and loaded rocket pods.

 Blackhawk young gun over Panjwaii. (Doug Schmidt photo)

I've returned to FOB Ma'sum Ghar. The giant maple leaf that I watched the South African and American dog handlers build my last time here — their thanks to the swell Canucks they'd met — still dominates one of the hills in this mountainside garrison. There's now a kitchen, but security is a much bigger issue than it was in early-2007. There are more guard outposts, more Canadian tanks and, particularly disappointing to a mountain lover who now lives in the flatlands, the craggy ridge that puts the ghar in Ma'sum's name is now off-limits to tourism.

Took a pause to soak in the beauty of Arghandab River valley spread out below and to watch the sun set behind the mountains that separate this lush agricultural area from the dryness of Kakrez District to the northwest, where the surviving Taliban militants of last week's disastrous adventure fled after being routed in Arghandab District at Kandahar City's doorstep.

An Afghan interpreter here at the base took pity on my solitary enjoyment and wandered over: "You look boring." And then: "You miss family? I miss too," he said before wandering off as dusk set in and the calls of the muezzin began piping up in the valley below.