Free The Patrol by Ryan Flavelle

the path of the wadi as it winds around grape fields. We bash our way into these fields and the countryside passes in a blur. We stop every few hundred metres to observe the area and to allow those in front to figure out what route to take.
    Every time we stop, I have to make a decision: should I stand, take a knee, or sit down? Standing allows me to start moving instantly, but it’s not the best tactical posture as it makes me an obvious target. Taking a knee is the best tactical stance, but it quickly becomes immensely uncomfortable despite my knee pad. Sitting is the most comfortable, but it is hard to get back up and, more importantly, when sitting I cover more surface area that hasn’t been touched by those in front of me, increasing my chances of setting off an IED. Every time we stop, I wait, look around, and try to get a feel for the situation. After a few seconds, I think about taking a knee; often I sit. I don’t know if somebody who has never patrolled can understand how much satisfaction there is in sitting down. Getting the weight off my shoulders and leaning back is the most comfortable state I can imagine in comparison with standing.
    Our fast pace continues unabated until the OC stops suddenly. He is staring at the ground. He flips down his NVG and scans the area. He turns on his blue flashlight and leans over.
    “I think this is an IED command wire,” he says.
    He asks me to come take a look, and I walk up beside him and scan the area with my NVG. I don’t see anything on the ground.
    We push back and provide a 10-metre cordon around the area. The OC uses my radio to call the engineers, and soon we see the grunting face of Warrant Officer (WO) Terry Wolaniuk coming up with another engineer. I take a closer look at the engineer with the WO and realize that it’s Allan, the signaller from my home unit in Calgary. Allan was one of my roommates in university and we are close friends. Now we have been drawn together on a desolate dirt road in Panjway. I smile and whisper a greeting. He smiles back. There is no time for pleasantries, however, as he has to help the WO defuse this potential IED. WO Wolaniuk walks close to the command wire, leans over, and flashes his Maglite.
    “It’s a fucking twig.”
    On patrol, we walk in a very rigid order, known as the
order of march
. My position is right behind the OC, who walks behind Chris. I walk in front of the terp, Peter, who is in front of the forward observation officer (FOO) party (I figure it’s just more fun if you call it a party). Our terp never really gets the concept of the order of march and keeps trying to pass me. I, however, stay rigidly in position behind the officer commanding for the remainder of the patrol.
    Focusing on the man in front of me takes up more of my time than anything else on patrol.
How far ahead is he? Where is he looking? Shit, I’m too close, too far away. It’s dark, where the fuck did he go? I can’t even see him.
Concerns of this nature constantly plague my mind.
    The man in front of me is Major Mike Lane, the officer commanding of B Company. He looks about the same as any other Canadian officer. I’ve learned to tell the difference between an officer and an enlisted man, even out of uniform. He has short black hair, and a Homer Simpson five o’clock shadow that is never fullygrown or fully shaved. He is shorter than the average soldier, a trait that has earned him the endearment “Lord Farquaad,” after the character in
Shrek.
When we met, I thought him distant and aloof, but otherwise an average infantry officer. He chewed tobacco non-stop, and the first distinct memory I have of him is with a wad of dip in his lip.
    We were in Shilo at the time on an “air mobile” exercise. The plan was to practise getting dropped into an operational environment, and then getting picked up. We were to use Black Hawk helicopters brought in from the United States (with American pilots), to simulate the reality on the ground