IFAKS save lives

Want to do something to help the situation in Kurdistan? These guys have been at it for almost a year, and the training and IFAKS they provide SAVE LIVES. I have witnessed it myself on several occasions during the Manbij op. Simple things like tourniquets and chest seals, combined with the Tabor and personal level training that these guys provide SAVE LIVES. If you enjoy my little war stories, consider that they occurred in an actual war. And in war, sometimes a tourniquet is the difference between telling your own story, and having it told by others.

http://mermt.com/

http://mermt.com/current-projects/ifak-for-kurdistan/

War is a Drug, part four: Liberation of Shadadi (or, See Daesh Run!)

 

     We settled into a school that Tabor Simko was using as a base, having just taken the village. We chatted around with the Kurds, whose mood was casual--there had been little fighting to clear the area. There was however one unfortunate dead Daesh lying in front of the gate. A Loader, which was building fortifications, later buried him. It was the first body I saw in Rojava. Ciwan found him, of course--he had an eye for dead guys--and we gathered around for a look. Not to different from seeing the dead of a traffic accident, but there is something primal about the look in the eye of war dead, like the look of a dead predator, killed during the hunt.

Ciwan and Shervan, keeping guard on the roof.

     From there, we moved to a berm on the cities edge, then to a school within the city itself. After a day of waiting, we begin our preparations to enter the city. The tabor was divided into five kols (a kol is like a squad) and each westerner was placed separately into a kol. The Kols three forward kols included Shervan, Gerdun and Ciwan. Left behind for the next trip was myself and Kamal. The first three kols entered a BMP (armored vehicle on treads) and armored Humvees and took off. Within minutes of their arrival we could hear gunfire in the distance, then explosions. The BMP begin to make back and forth trips from the front to our position, rushing wounded to awaiting trucks for evac. We could hear RPGs and other explosives. And still, we waited. Night fell, and the shooting continued. Finally, American A-10s began strafing runs with their distinctive "BRRRRRRRT," and smart bombs knocked out positions. After a couple of building movements, the elements Kamal and I were attached to were moved forward. We arrived to silent, newly taken territory.

     After a rainy night on a rooftop, I was posted up with a BXC (Russian PKM Machine Gun) gunner and another exhausted Kurd on a rooftop. Again, I found myself left behind as an element moved forward to contact. I was furious. The drive to fight when it is ongoing, though slightly 'over there' is maddening. The next day, I confronted Simko, and was put in a Kol with Kamal, which would be advancing into the Daesh housing sector of the city. We pushed forward with no resistance. They had run away for the most part. The entire invading force stopped at the foot of the cities Hospital, where the remaining Daesh were purported to be. The two that remained were quickly routed, as an element led by Shervan Kanada entered and cleared the building. At a moment, the ululations transmitted through the radios and everyone shot off a magazine in the air at once. Shadadi was liberated.

     I talked to the other guys who had seen some action the day before, and it was mostly small arms stuff, though Ciwan's kol had been nearly surrounded and had to retreat. The city, atypically of Daesh was not mined. In all, The city had been liberated at the cost of only six lives--including Shaheed Rustem, a well known German--and at record speed. It would have an impact on the attitudes and expectations of the YPG during the later Manbij operation, but for that moment, we had a whole Daesh quarter to investigate!

     Like kids in a candy store, we collected Daesh flags and memorabilia (all I was able to get home was a ring, but I had around twenty flags at one point), as well as all the military gear we could want. New boots and web gear, body armor, arms and ammunition, Daesh was supplied as well as a conventional army. We took what we pleased.

     After a few days of this, a couple of us thought it was time to return to Tabor Shaheed Berxwedan, as we had told the commander of that tabor we would. We approached Simko, who conceided, but then pulled us aside, telling us that there was more fighting to be had if we stayed with him. We agreed, and were then mysteriously loaded onto a truck and dropped off with Tabor Sippan. Rojava is a strange place....  

     

War is a Drug, Part Three: Shadadi bound.

Remains of a church in Tel Nasr, bombed by Daesh. (Photo by Freeman Stevenson)

Daesh destroys all facial features of religious iconography. (Photo by Jordan MacTaggart)

     After training, I found myself in a tabor (Tabor Shaheed Berxwadan) with four other guys: Jordan Mactaggart (Shaheed Ciwan Firat), Gerdun (Last name unknown, but Freeman Stevenson...), Shervan Kanada (Alex, from Canada) and Kamal Karacho (From Georgia. Inbred Georgia, not Balkan Georgia...). Based out of Tel Tamr, (Tel Nasr at first--a Christian enclave utterly destroyed by Daesh.) we did what military units do. Waited. And waited for the operation that was to come ten days later, or twenty days later, depending on who you asked. One day, a massive convoy rolled past us headed South to Shadadi. As a group, we requested to be transferred to this operation. Our commander eventually relented--he didn't want to lose his good westerners, as we were all pretty competent. We were driven to the front the next day.

Far North and Deep South, Shadadi bound.... (Photo by Jordan MacTaggart)

     During this trip, I was insanely sick--I don't know what my fever was, but I was delirious. I have a half hazy memory of winding through dusty roads and ancient fortresses...

I don't know who built it, but it was a definite "Patton" moment. (Photo by Jordan MacTaggart)

     After some shuffling around, we were dropped off with Tabor Sippon--not our Tabor of destination, just a group we could stay with until we reached our Commander. We occupied a small village that had been recently been taken, and settled in. It was here that for the first time in  my life I received Katusha rocket fire. It was actually aimed at a ridge above us, but I remember distinctly the "woowoowoowoo" sound they made as the rockets passed over our heads. I'd like to say I was more excited, but my fever sent me for a nap right after.

     After a cold February nights outdoor sleep, we carried on. We were shuffled about, dropped off--totally abandoned, really--at a staging area, and were eventually picked up by our Tabor of destination, led by the legendary Commander Simko. 

Simko and Shaheed Ciwan. Even with a baby goat, this guy commands respect...

     Finally attached to our Tabor, we awaited the advance into the city...

See Daesh Die...

This is originally from Funker530. Does Daesh ever get a VBIED to a target anymore? Even the Iraqis are taking them out.

https://www.funker530.com/iraqi-helicopter/

War is a Drug, Part two: Early Days

 Me and my boy, Shaheed Ciwan, as I awaited exit from Rojava. He's flipping you off in spirit.

 

     Pictured up top is the Foreigner academy classroom at the YPG Academy (Note: I lost a lot of pictures when my old phone crapped out on me, so I'm having to make due with newer ones and the kindness of friends.). This is the first stop for westerners upon entry to Rojava. Before that is a labyrinth of Emails, Bona Fides and general Shenanigans. When I went, the contact route was the Lions of Rojava website, which is now no longer in use. For those that are interested, I believe the route is now through https://ypginternational.blackblogs.org/ . (Knock yourself out, kids. That's how

it's done now.)

     After a trip to Suleimaniya Iraq, (right before new years, 2016) and a ten day stay in a safe house a group was smuggled across the border (Some things I won't go into detail about, even though the info is already out there on the internet. People are stupid.). From that point, a training program in Kurdish language, YPG tactics and ideology, and Soviet Style weaponry is embarked upon. I've heard of people going through this training in as little as three days, and as long as over two months. It really just depends on what's going on at the time. If, for example, you're a legit combat medic and there's a massive operation underway, you're probably getting sent to the front before you can speak much passable Kurdish. Overall, I found the training useful, mainly for the Kurdish lessons--and for the morning runs and afternoon hikes. I had showed up on the er, husky side.

        After about twenty days,  I, as well as the guys I'd been with up until this point were- out of the academy and on my way to Tabors (similar to a platoon). We were told there was a big operation coming up. Possibly within ten days or so... or even sebe...("sebe"-pronounced seh bay is equivalent in meaning and usage to "manyana" in Spanish. Want to know when something is happening? Sebe.)

 

     (Note: For anyone planning a hitch in Rojava, I highly recommend reading Orwell's "Homage to Catalonia." The parallels are great, and it was passed around as a sort of bible among some of the other volunteers and I.)

     

      And the next sebe or two, we were off to new things.



War is a Drug, Part One

War is a Drug.

     I'll say it again. War is a Motherfucking Drug. I OD'd a couple of months back--that's me flashing the "Fuck yeah I'm still alive and just did a big shot of Tramadol horns" up there. There's a story to how this happened, but if you asked my photo self what just transpired, I'd probably just say "I got my bell rung"--explosive force and shrapnel are like that. I'd been near a detonation of a Russian style grenade. It landed behind me on the roof Myself, another American volunteer fighter, and four Kurdish Guerrilla fighters were occupying in Northern Syria. So how did I, a 35 year old college educated father of two end up in the middle of a rooftop grenade fight in ISIS territory? Simple, I asked to go. 

     My reasons for going were two-fold.  First, like a lot of people, I'd watched ISIS swallow up huge swathes of the Middle East like an out of control brush fire--sometimes literally burning alive their enemies. I read up on the situation, and found a kindred political outlook in the YPG Kurdish resistance, as well as a ready-made pipeline for entrance to their forces. It was as simple as good versus evil to me. Then there was the other factor--as a young man, I'd been Army Infantry set to deploy to Iraq. I never made it. I was kicked out for fighting (yes, really!) and found myself as an involuntary civilian  reading about friends of mine who died in my absence. It left a mark. I wanted badly to fight, and found myself with a second opportunity.  I took it.

     What does it mean to want to fight? To the uninitiated, it can look like many things; a game or a movie. I was trained beforehand and had no such illusions. I knew war would be hell. And I couldn't wait.