The Day of Days
6/6/2008 & 11/5/2024
Some days, you go out on missions and can feel the fight in your bones. I felt that on 6 June 2008.
I wore many hats as a civil affairs team leader and human intelligence collector on the Kapisa and Parwan Provincial Reconstruction Team. I often hopped around the battlefield, embedding with various teams and formations. During my first push to Afghanistan in 2008, I served alongside the French Foreign Legion, a French Marine Infantry Regiment, the 1/506 101st ABN, a Marine-led embedded training team, a team from the 3rd Special Forces Group, a Romanian Special Forces team, and a few spooks who I assumed were part of the CIA’s paramilitary team (we never met). It was quite a scene from Star Wars, let me tell ya.
On 6 June 2008, I was hanging out with my brother, Capt Casey McCausland, in Tag Ab, Kapisa. Casey was struggling following the death of Senior Airman Jonathan Yelner. But while he struggled, he was always itching for a fight. His team sergeant, Lee Millis, was on leave, and we were down a driver. So, we rolled in our humvee or jumped on dismounted combat patrols.
In the morning, we had a mission to check out a school we were trying to build. Casey, I, the Romanian Special Forces team, and a few terps were planning on breaking off from the 1/506th ABN. However, before we split, the entire formation went through a village together.
Casey and I were with the 3rd Group’s squad. We were the weak link; even though Casey had combat experience, compared to the American and Romanian Special Forces teams we were with, we paled in comparison.
As we walked into the village, the women and children ran away, the telltale sign of an impending fight. The terp behind me, who was armed, swore in Pashto under his breath. While I didn’t speak Pashto then, I could tell he was scared, which fuckn’ scared the hell out of me.
However, nothing happened.
Until we finally split apart from the 1/506th.
Our squad had about half a mile to get to a possible school site. I was in the back with Casey. As we approached a hill, it all started.
Snap. Snap. Whoosh.
We all immediately hit the ground. The Taliban had us in an L-shaped ambush.
While we maneuvered on the ground, the ODA team leader ordered us to return back to the 1/506th. So, we started bounding back to the main group as RPKM bullets whizzed around us. As we bounded back, bullets snapped around us, skipping in the dirt. However, we eventually fought way back, but not before the ODA team leader got shot in the hand.
“Hey, bruh, your hand,” Casey said to the ODA team leader, whose name I don’t remember.
“Oh, yeah, it’s not bad.”
And that was that.
(There’s another story here about a dry river bed that we crossed, but we’ll save that for another time)
We met with the main force about five minutes after surviving our first firefight. I immediately felt safer.
That lasted about 30 seconds.
As we began bounding past an opening, all hell broke loose.
We started facing RPGs, RPKM, and indirect fire.
BOOM.
The ODA weapons sergeant and I started taking our turn to bound, and he looked at me and said, “Here we go!”
As we sprinted in the open, RPKM fire erupted, causing my little ass to run faster than usual. As I dove into a little ditch near a tree, the sound of fire made it hard to catch my bearing. I started kneeling to try and identify where I was getting shot at when an RPG was shot at me.
How close did it get to hitting me in the noggin? I don’t know, but it scared the shit out of me.
Whoosh! Boom.
The details following that little incident are hard to pin down. I’m afraid my old memory ain’t what it used to be. Nevertheless, at some point, the Taliban broke contact, and we regrouped, assessed the wounded, and were relieved that we didn’t lose a single man.
As I was sitting in the middle of an alley near two mud walls, an RPG exploded not too far from me, throwing me into a mud wall. It was my third traumatic brain injury, but the only one that caused me to black out.
When I came to, I looked back and could tell that an Afghan police officer had negligently fired it.
But I survived, though, ya know, not my favorite memory.
We survived to fight another day.
And so will you.
Trump may win today. If you put a gun to my head, I’d say Harris wins because it’s doubtful that Trump will win the popular vote.
However, should he legally succeed, you will feel like you got your head rung, as I did in Tag Ab, Kapisa, on June 6, 2008.
Whatever you may feel about Trump, we must also respect the will of the voters, even though he doesn’t. However, it does not mean the fight is over.
It’s just begun. Don’t confuse losing a battle with losing a war. Sometimes, people get that stuff mixed up. It’s one election, and there are more anti-Trump Americans than MAGA. It will be very challenging, and I fear for our stability here and overseas.
But should we lose the day, take a knee for a few days, then get your asses back up and rejoin the battle against Trumpism.
It’s a worthy cause, and Trumpism will eventually be ushered into the ash heap of history.
Without question, this is the best overall piece I've read this week about the election in a broad, sweeping sense.
Should we loose the day, I’ll fight that battle with you.