Stu’s article the other day – the one commenting on and quoting Dr. (COL) Frank’s 2006 Stars and Stripes article – brought to the forefront a memory or two of my own. And while all memories aren’t necessarily pleasant, they’re all important.
Like Dr. Frank, I spent some time at Bagram AB. But unlike Dr. Frank, here I’m not addressing the obvious waste and personal losses inherent in wartime death. Since that was Dr. Frank’s intent his article only briefly mentioned the departure ceremony held at Bagram for the fallen. His article therefore really didn’t convey the impact of that unique sendoff. And even many who’ve served in Afghanistan may not have felt that impact; the public ceremony at Bagram is different than any other I’ve seen.
So I thought I’d try and describe that ceremony, and its impact, a bit more fully. I apologize in advance if I’m not as eloquent as the good doctor. And I also apologize if anyone finds what follows boring – or if it brings back memories that might be disturbing. It wasn’t that easy to write, so if you’re having a bad day – well, maybe it’s best to read this another time. Or not at all.
Why write this at all? Dunno. I guess I thought it was just a natural follow-on to Stu’s article. Or maybe I just needed to write it.
While I’m using Army-centric language, there’s no intent to slight any other service. My background is Army; I’m simply speaking from a soldier’s point of view.
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In war, soldiers die. That is and always has been a universal truth. IMO it’s likely to remain true throughout mankind’s history. Plato was right.
Soldiers understand all that. And although we don’t like to think of it, I believe soldiers accept the possibility of disability or death as a normal, routine risk to an extent not seen in other professions. We know there’s a good chance we won’t come home from war whole; or, perhaps, not at all. Soldiers know that a primary product of war is death – ours, or the enemy’s – and that we may easily be the ones who end up dead.
We understand, far better than most, that there’s no guarantee we’ll see tomorrow’s sunrise.
Soldiers also understand that death isn’t limited to war. The profession of arms is inherently dangerous; risk is simply another part of the military environment. Deaths occur regrettably often in peacetime, too – either in training, or from random chance.
Acceptance doesn’t make such a loss any less painful. But it does lead to a somewhat different perspective, perhaps, than that of most. As well as to a more open, straightforward means of dealing with sudden loss.
Still: every loss remains painful; closure is required. So whenever the Grim Reaper visits, virtually all units hold some sort of Fallen Comrade ceremony.
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Those who’ve been around the military for a while have almost certainly attended a Fallen Comrade ceremony – though the title may have been different. In the Army the details of the ceremony may vary but in broad outline they’re similar, whether in peacetime garrison or in war zones: a display of helmet/weapon/dogtags/boots, some words about the deceased, an opportunity to reflect, a brief prayer . . . . All such ceremonies offer the opportunity to reflect on that absolute truth all of us know, but never like to think about: “There but for the grace of God . . . .”
I’ve attended a number of such ceremonies over the years; more, frankly, than I prefer to remember. And even some held in Afghanistan – specifically, those held in Kabul – were much like those elsewhere: the standard display, the words about the deceased, the prayers, the brief time for reflection . . . and then back to duty. For the living, duty calls and life goes on.
But at Bagram, the final goodbye for Fallen Comrades was different. Very, very different. And in a way that was dramatic, moving – and IMO, uniquely apropos.
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For those who haven’t been there: Bagram AB is about 30 miles north of Kabul. It is the primary APOE/APOD for Afghanistan. Virtually everyone in the military arriving in or departing that country does so through Bagram.
It’s a base that’s seen much war during the last 35 years. It was used by the Afghan government in the civil war which started in 1978; by the Russians during their nearly decade-long occupation of/war in Afghanistan, from 1979-1989; and by multiple factions during the more than decade of Afghan civil war which followed. We took it over shortly after our intervention in Afghanistan began, and have been there since.
Bagram AB is oriented roughly southwest to northeast. In 2007, the base was still rather long and narrow, with essentially one arterial road – Disney Avenue. Most of the facilities were strung out along or within a couple of blocks of Disney to the east or west. The runways are to the east of Disney; when I was there in 2007, a large and relatively undeveloped area existed west of the facilities clustered along the western side of Disney. Things doubtless have changed somewhat since then.
Bagram AB is also where a US KIA in Afghanistan begins the final journey home.
I’d guess that units in Afghanistan hold internal, more private and traditional ceremonies for their fallen; my unit was fortunate enough not to have any KIAs while I was there, so we never held one. However, at Bagram an additional, public ceremony was also held. I understand it’s still done much the same way today as it was done 5 years ago.
I’ll describe the Bagram public ceremony, as it was in 2007.
The ceremony is announced over the base PA system. The initial announcement tells everyone that a Fallen Comrade ceremony will be held at a future time. That time may be hours in the future – or minutes. The announcement is repeated periodically until shortly before the ceremony itself.
The ceremony itself is very simple, even though it has many “moving parts”. Every available person on base who can possibly be spared assembles along Disney Avenue. Time of day for such ceremonies is not set beforehand; it’s based on flight availability. Return of KIA remains are accorded highest priority by CENTCOM, and change USAF mission flight schedules accordingly. Thus, whenever the ceremony needs to occur, it happens. 0300? Chowtime? Mid-afternoon or mid-morning? It doesn’t matter. Whenever a bird is available to depart and return the remains of those KIA to CONUS, the ceremony is held.
If you’re not immediately required at your place of duty for operational reasons, you are expected to get yourself down to Disney posthaste and participate. If you’re military, that means in proper uniform. Civilians (there were some then, and are some today) wear their normal work attire.
The assembled group along Disney Avenue is notified that the ceremony is about to begin. Military assume parade rest; civilians stand quietly and respectfully.
Near the western end of Disney, a vehicular procession begins. (Though most of Disney runs generally northeast to southwest, near the south end of base it turns virtually due west – so as I recall, to avoid ambiguity the southern/western terminus is generally referred to as the “west end”.) The procession begins at Mortuary Affairs
In 2007, the vehicles used were generally HMMWVs pulling trailers; that may have changed since. However, the trailers in the processions in 2007 – and presumably they still use trailers today – carry a particularly poignant cargo.
The trailers carry the flag-draped coffins of US KIAs beginning their final journey home.
As the procession nears, those lining the road come to attention. As the procession passes, military personnel salute as a final token of respect to those in the coffins passing by. Civilians cover their hearts with their hats or hands. The salute/honor is held until after the last vehicle – with its mournful cargo – has passed by. Then one returns to attention.
The procession proceeds roughly a mile or so along Disney Avenue, receiving silent honors from those assembled as it passes. It then turns east and proceeds to the Bagram flight line.
At the Bagram flight line, the CG, his staff, and elements of all the units stationed at Bagram are assembled for the final send-off. They render appropriate honors to those beginning their final journey home as their remains are loaded onto waiting aircraft.
All remain at attention along Disney Avenue until the ceremony’s end is announced, paying their respects.
The complete ceremony is recorded on video. A DVD of the ceremony is made available to the families of the fallen.
At the conclusion of the ceremony, an announcement is made that the ceremony has ended. Personnel then return to whatever they were doing prior to the ceremony.
Yes, it’s a short, simple ceremony. I’d guess it takes 5 or 10 minutes.
Yet the ceremony is also incredibly moving and powerful – so powerfully moving that I simply cannot adequately express the impact. It is a correct and dignified way of paying respects to a fallen brother- or sister-in-arms. I personally cannot conceive of a more fitting farewell for a fallen comrade than for them to pass through a cordon of literally thousands of their peers rendering final honors. It’s uniquely apropos.
Standing alongside Disney Avenue, saluting, during one of these ceremonies is something you just don’t forget.
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On occasion, civilian visitors are present. And on those occasions the impact of the ceremony on those visitors is particularly noticeable.
One such ceremony occurred on an August day in 2007. At the time, the NFL Cheerleading Squad for the Buffalo Bills – the Buffalo Jills – was visiting Bagram AB as part of a MWR tour; my duties also brought me to Bagram that day. Prior to the ceremony, the Jills were a typically energetic, outgoing group of attractive young women. Indeed, their visit very nearly caused a fight – because during their visit, they’d all been convinced to sign a “Terrible Towel” belonging to an off-duty Pittsburgh Steeler fan. The owner later very nearly went ballistic when he discovered what his buddies had convinced the Jills to do.
Not long after the Jills had signed the Terrible Towel, there came the announcement of an immediate Fallen Comrade ceremony. Immediate, as in 10 or 15 minutes from now.
Along with everyone else, the Jills proceeded to Disney Avenue. They stood with the troops, on the east side of the Disney near the entrance to the JOC compound. I was standing across the road, and could see them clearly.
That day, a procession of five flag-draped coffins traveled down Disney Avenue beginning their final journey home.
The ladies from the Buffalo Jills were indeed properly respectful. But afterwards, their demeanor was changed. It was obvious that they now realized war wasn’t a “game” being played for dollars and accolades, like the sporting “combat” they were used to observing up close and personal. And afterwards, they were – for a while, anyway – a much more somber group of women than they had been earlier in the day.
How much longer, I can’t say. They left not long afterwards; my duties required me to remain.
It’s rather hard to forget standing at attention, saluting, on a hot summer day while 5 flag-draped coffins pass by a few feet away. That’s true even when you’re a hardened-by-life, cynical middle-aged guy who’s seen a number of such ceremonies before, and who didn’t know any of those beginning their final journey home. I can only imagine what it was like for a bunch of bubbly 20-something young ladies who’d possibly only attended one or two funerals in their lifetime.
But if I had to guess, I’d be willing to bet that that was the event they will remember most vividly about their time in Afghanistan. I certainly know it’s something I won’t ever forget.
Rest in peace, my brothers- and sisters- in-arms.
(Author’s Postscript: the original version of this article contained a minor error. It’s been revised to correct that error, as well as to include additional details concerning Bagram’s ceremony not previously known by the author. Thanks to regular TAH reader TopGoz for the correction and new information. TopGoz was personally involved in arranging these ceremonies in 2008-2009. He was therefore privy to information concerning the ceremony I did not have when I wrote the original version.)