Tag Archives: Battle Company

To The Girl On The Bus

We’re starting a new feature:  The letter you always wanted to write.

10706663_392775517537060_212893065_aThere we were, on the Fly Away Bus at the airport, waiting to begin our trip to Union Station. We just started to pull out of LAX, when you turned to face the window. I busied myself, trying not to look at you.  It was only going to be a 25 minute bus ride. This wasn’t a commitment to be a chatter box on an uneventful ride.

As the bus made its way onto the crowded freeway, it was clear you were crying behind those sunglasses. You’d pick up your phone, text, then cry again. I tried my best to not engage in your drama. Scenarios ticked off in my mind, none very original.  Were you breaking up?  Did someone die, and were you arriving too late? I kept  to myself, determined to grant you space, but your tears weren’t letting up. You were wiping them away with the back of your hand. Combined with the worst collection of heartbreak songs being piped over the bus PA system …you were breaking me up.

So I handed you a tissue. It wasn’t a gallant handkerchief, the type that would have been offered by a gentleman. No,  just a kleenex, offered to you by a Mom. I hoped you wouldn’t take offense. You didn’t. A conversation started during rush hour traffic on the freeway, and continued through the backstreets of Los Angeles. You were searching for comfort and reassurance and I, feeling the echo of an empty nest, was willing to provide it.  You’d just dropped your mother off at LAX. A three week vacation of hiking, going to the beach, and many smiles had ended. She was on her way back to Scotland.

You missed her the minute you had to get back on the bus, and now, on the ride back, the future tumbled through your mind. Would you move back? You couldn’t, really. Would she move here? She couldn’t, really. All these poignant questions loomed over you like a sad cloud.

To miss someone is a horrible thing. To miss your mother?  Ah, that’s the stuff of poetry.  So all I could tell you was that things have a way of working out. I hoped I didn’t sound so trite. But the truth is, your mother is always with you.  You’re riding on this incredible wave of love, given to you from her.  She instilled the courage in you to pick up stakes in Scotland, and move across the ocean (and then some) to the west coast. Your Mum is the reason you’ve been able to work through 2 states with one company, riding the opportunities they’ve given to you. Will you go, or will she come?  There’s no way of knowing. The answer will be revealed to you over the years. Keep building bridges, and you’ll have more choices. Eventually, you’ll know. The uncertainty of the future is something that will always be hovering just above our heads. But love hard, be present, live, grow and learn. Things will work out.

For Tim Hetherington: Thoughts From A Soldier On His Birthday

December 5 is Tim Hetherington’s Birthday. WarRetreat was started in his honor, following his untimely death this year in Libya. Tim will always be remembered for is his many embeds with the 2/503, Battle Company of the 173rd Airborne in the Korengal Valley, Afghanistan. The relationships he formed with the men were the basis of the film Restrepo, Tim’s book Infidel, and Sebastian Junger’s book WAR. To mark Tim’s birthday, WarRetreat is pleased to have Eric Ortegren from Battle Company, share his thoughts.

By Eric Ortegren

We became hardened men in the Korengal. Most interaction with media was disliked and carried the weight of bad luck. This was really brought home to me when Al Jazeera English came to my remote Fire Base Vegas for a tour. While our Platoon Sergeant SFC Blaskowski was showing the reporter around, a single round rang out. We ran to our posts and lit up the whole forest, but no more shots came at us. After a brief lull we heard the shout for medic. I grabbed a radio and ran down, only to see SFC Ski sucking for air. It was one of the worst days of my life to work so hard to keep him alive, and watch as life left his eyes before the medevac bird even landed. Needless to say reporters had a stigma.

Sebastian and Tim, Korengal Valley, Afghanistan

    I met Sebastian and Tim while refitting at the KOP and was surprised to learn that I instantly liked them. It helped that I planned at that time to be a commercial fisherman when I got out and Sebastian had written the best fishing story (The Perfect Storm) since The Old Man And The Sea, which I had read multiple times.

These men were a genuine shock because they actually wanted to know us. They cared about us. Over a short time they proved to not get anyone killed, or cower and put us at risk. A paradigm shift occurred that I had never heard of in American military circles. We accepted them as our own. 

We protected them just like the man to our left and right, which is a very sacred brotherhood that few are given the privilege to enter. I dare say: We grew to love them, and they grew to love us. It was because they took a new approach and wanted to report on us not the war. 

Tim and Sebastian made us human in a war where the American public had become detached. They forced America to see that the men on the front lines who lived in fear and anticipation (every waking moment) and are now plagued by it in our nightmares –were the same kids that used to play football at the big homecoming games. The same guys who worked at the Subway down the street. (Sal Giunta)  We weren’t superhuman assassins intent on killing, and we earned a Medal of Honor for one of the most laid back non overbearing men I have ever met. We were normal men doing extraordinary things all with the hope to bring your man to the left and right home alive. 

Sebastian and Tim showed it in such an eloquent way in their film Restrepo that a country that was numb to our plight gained their long-lost empathy. For that we are forever indebted to them. For that Tim will be among the pantheon of heroes. His legend will go on inspiring a whole new generation of photojournalists to take it as far as they can.

Eric with the Troops First Foundation

I was medically retired after leaving the Korengal about nine months in. The transition back to civilian life was the most difficult time in my life. The lack of camaraderie is what made it so hard. My marriage suffered, my family suffered, my identity suffered. I came back a shattered remnant of the man I was before. Making peace with who I have become was amazingly difficult. But we are Sky Soldiers, and we drive on and continue the mission.

I am finishing up with my first semester towards a Masters in Clinical Social Work hoping to work on veteran reintegration as there is a great need. My desire is to continue the professional development of soldiers. I participate with many wounded warrior functions and was recently given the amazing opportunity to fly in the wounded warrior project balloon at the Albuquerque Balloon Fiesta.  I even recently reignited a passion with fly fishing going on a Troops First Foundation fly fishing retreat. I went with my best friend, who lost his legs in the Korengal in our one IED attack.  
Life is still a constant struggle and more work than ever, but now I am proud of who I am and what I did. I won’t ever let my disabilities take that away from me. You know, we thought about God a lot over there, and what his judgement would be to us back here, but it is what you make it. I read a great quote the other day:
“There is but one god and he is death…
all we say to him is not today”
Eric Ortegren fly fishing with Troops First Foundation, New Mexico

Battle Company (and Everyone Else) Don’t forget: We love you.

Just a fond memory of the event. Tim with Marc Bryan Solowski, Tad Donaho, Jr, taken by Santana Rueda. 2008, Kunar.

As yoga-doers, we are real pains in the ass. We’re unrelenting in our focus on the aftermath of war. But still, we always stay present.

Everyday, we can try to listen to something heart- wrenchingly beautiful. Perhaps catch our breath by reading a story so entertaining we laugh out loud. Take a walk and notice the leaves on the trees.

Soon,  Mike Kamber and his friends at the Bronx Documentary Center will open its inaugural show, featuring Tim’s work. I think Marc and maybe even a few others will be there. We miss him so much. But by having shows, throwing retreats, making films and planning workshops, we carry on the legacy of his life.

I know we hit the nail on the head pretty hard. Some in the yoga community might even be feeling bruised.  But you see, the reason is as simple as this old Bob Dylan song, brought to life by Adele.