thedrifter
01-14-09, 08:25 AM
Marine tells of horrors and hardships
By Stacy Trevenon [ stacy@hmbreview.com ]
Things were different when Marine Lance Cpl. Kyle Gehret came home this year. When he came home from Iraq in August, it was midafternoon when the bus pulled into the Marine base at Twentynine Palms, where eager relatives waited. This time it was 5 a.m., so the crowd was smaller, but big enough that Gehret had to look around for his family who’d come from Moss Beach.
When he spotted his dad, Bob, he impishly circled through the crowd, slipped up behind him and grunted, “Who ya looking for?”
His father whipped around, saw him and, with the rest of the family, enveloped him in a loving, grateful greeting that left no doubt of the other difference: In Iraq, the fighting was cooling down, but this time he’d been in Afghanistan, where things were heating up.
Facing Al Qaeda was different than the Taliban, Gehret agreed, citing poorly trained Al Qaeda versus Taliban fighters who “knew what they were doing.”
“It was very different. We weren’t in Kansas anymore,” said his mother, Debbie Gehret.
She kept a journal when her son was deployed with the 2-7 (2nd Battalion, 7th Marines). At first, things weren’t too bad, but then she started hearing about casualties. “It was easy in the beginning, and then it became a white-knuckle ride,” said Debbie Gehret.
“There wasn’t a single day I didn’t hear gunfire, explosions, fighting” while in Afghanistan, where he had been deployed since April, said Kyle Gehret. “It was a regular thing over there, to hear something.”
Gehret, who chose the Marines as a boy and joined in September 2005, had spent seven months along the Helmand River in the southern part of the country. The river bisected a lush green zone where farmers grew corn and other crops. “We just missed the poppy season — opium poppies, that is,” he said wryly.
The greenery was bordered by desert where families lived in walled-in compounds connected by a maze of narrow alleys. Both alleys and fields were potential deathtraps: Taliban lurked in the eight-foot-tall corn or behind compound walls, their fingers on the buttons of improvised explosive devices.
Gehret and his unit were to mentor the Afghan National Police and provide local security, “denying enemy forces freedom of movement,” which entailed long patrols in 120- to 130-degree summer heat (cooling down to 90 degrees at night) and regular check-ins with the ANP. The farms were picturesque, the desert desolate. “I can’t describe a Third World country. You have to go there,” he said. “You appreciate a hot shower or a home-cooked meal by Mom.”
Despite language challenges, as the Afghans spoke Pashto and the Americans spoke English, Americans and ANP worked side by side to rout out Taliban. If they found unarmed Taliban fighters, they were to detain and question them; if they met armed ones, they were to take cover and were authorized to use deadly force.
The ANP were pros, said Gehret. “They were able to spot (Taliban) better than we did,” he said. “I liked to be with (ANP).”
Sometimes life took a funny turn. Gehret recalls sharing a meal with soldiers from other countries when explosions were heard nearby. “All the British and Danish were under the tables,” he said. “All my buddies were like, ‘Awright, seats!’”
Other times it became surreal. Gehret recalls one patrol when an IED went off. When it became clear that no one was hurt, “... one guy started laughing hysterically and dancing,” he said. “A couple of my buddies were laughing and dancing. It was like they were mocking the Taliban.”
All too often, tragedy struck. Gehret quietly tells of patrolling one of those alleys when Marines around him stepped on IEDs cached underground along the alley walls. One took shrapnel. Another fell into a brief coma from his injuries, but survived to receive a Purple Heart. A third was hit on his left side, and Gehret held his hand until help came. But the young man died before he could receive more sophisticated medical attention. “The only word out of him was ‘no.’ He knew,” said Gehret. “Nothing could be done.”
“The Taliban knew what they were doing with explosives,” he said grimly. “They’ve been fighting for 30 years, and I hate to say it, but they’re good at it.”
But so are the Marines. “We’re giving back to the Taliban more than they give us,” he said.
Back home, his family hung on news, phone calls and MySpace postings and winced when they heard of casualties. “It could be me — every parent reading (the news) knows that,” Debbie Gehret said.
“I knew he was in more danger than he was before (in Iraq),” said sister Kaitlin Gehret, 18. “I was relieved that I could hear his voice, but it was frightening.”
The family also counted on faith. “We were sincere in wanting to call on the Creator,” said his mother.
Gehret credits “prayers from home” with getting him through tight spots and was “helped by faith a lot,” but “you get to the point where you’re not too worried anymore. If it happens, it happens. Everything happens for a reason.”
His calm both impressed and reassured his family when friends warned of post-traumatic stress. “Kaitlyn’s boyfriend once said, ‘Kyle blows away the stereotypes (of PTSD). He’s so regular,’” his mother said.
He is also dedicated. He has already re-enlisted for another four years, with an eye on job security and education benefits to help him get a college degree in science. “I play things by ear,” he said.
One thing he doesn’t hedge over is his commitment. He got angry, he said, hearing protesters claim that God hates the military. “It sucks when I see someone say that,” he said. “God bless America. What can I say?”
He justifies American involvement in providing security for people who can’t do it themselves, which takes the fight away from American soil.
What would he like Americans to know? “Have patience,” he said. “It’s going to take time, to finish up what we’re doing, to have long-lasting effects.”
Ellie
By Stacy Trevenon [ stacy@hmbreview.com ]
Things were different when Marine Lance Cpl. Kyle Gehret came home this year. When he came home from Iraq in August, it was midafternoon when the bus pulled into the Marine base at Twentynine Palms, where eager relatives waited. This time it was 5 a.m., so the crowd was smaller, but big enough that Gehret had to look around for his family who’d come from Moss Beach.
When he spotted his dad, Bob, he impishly circled through the crowd, slipped up behind him and grunted, “Who ya looking for?”
His father whipped around, saw him and, with the rest of the family, enveloped him in a loving, grateful greeting that left no doubt of the other difference: In Iraq, the fighting was cooling down, but this time he’d been in Afghanistan, where things were heating up.
Facing Al Qaeda was different than the Taliban, Gehret agreed, citing poorly trained Al Qaeda versus Taliban fighters who “knew what they were doing.”
“It was very different. We weren’t in Kansas anymore,” said his mother, Debbie Gehret.
She kept a journal when her son was deployed with the 2-7 (2nd Battalion, 7th Marines). At first, things weren’t too bad, but then she started hearing about casualties. “It was easy in the beginning, and then it became a white-knuckle ride,” said Debbie Gehret.
“There wasn’t a single day I didn’t hear gunfire, explosions, fighting” while in Afghanistan, where he had been deployed since April, said Kyle Gehret. “It was a regular thing over there, to hear something.”
Gehret, who chose the Marines as a boy and joined in September 2005, had spent seven months along the Helmand River in the southern part of the country. The river bisected a lush green zone where farmers grew corn and other crops. “We just missed the poppy season — opium poppies, that is,” he said wryly.
The greenery was bordered by desert where families lived in walled-in compounds connected by a maze of narrow alleys. Both alleys and fields were potential deathtraps: Taliban lurked in the eight-foot-tall corn or behind compound walls, their fingers on the buttons of improvised explosive devices.
Gehret and his unit were to mentor the Afghan National Police and provide local security, “denying enemy forces freedom of movement,” which entailed long patrols in 120- to 130-degree summer heat (cooling down to 90 degrees at night) and regular check-ins with the ANP. The farms were picturesque, the desert desolate. “I can’t describe a Third World country. You have to go there,” he said. “You appreciate a hot shower or a home-cooked meal by Mom.”
Despite language challenges, as the Afghans spoke Pashto and the Americans spoke English, Americans and ANP worked side by side to rout out Taliban. If they found unarmed Taliban fighters, they were to detain and question them; if they met armed ones, they were to take cover and were authorized to use deadly force.
The ANP were pros, said Gehret. “They were able to spot (Taliban) better than we did,” he said. “I liked to be with (ANP).”
Sometimes life took a funny turn. Gehret recalls sharing a meal with soldiers from other countries when explosions were heard nearby. “All the British and Danish were under the tables,” he said. “All my buddies were like, ‘Awright, seats!’”
Other times it became surreal. Gehret recalls one patrol when an IED went off. When it became clear that no one was hurt, “... one guy started laughing hysterically and dancing,” he said. “A couple of my buddies were laughing and dancing. It was like they were mocking the Taliban.”
All too often, tragedy struck. Gehret quietly tells of patrolling one of those alleys when Marines around him stepped on IEDs cached underground along the alley walls. One took shrapnel. Another fell into a brief coma from his injuries, but survived to receive a Purple Heart. A third was hit on his left side, and Gehret held his hand until help came. But the young man died before he could receive more sophisticated medical attention. “The only word out of him was ‘no.’ He knew,” said Gehret. “Nothing could be done.”
“The Taliban knew what they were doing with explosives,” he said grimly. “They’ve been fighting for 30 years, and I hate to say it, but they’re good at it.”
But so are the Marines. “We’re giving back to the Taliban more than they give us,” he said.
Back home, his family hung on news, phone calls and MySpace postings and winced when they heard of casualties. “It could be me — every parent reading (the news) knows that,” Debbie Gehret said.
“I knew he was in more danger than he was before (in Iraq),” said sister Kaitlin Gehret, 18. “I was relieved that I could hear his voice, but it was frightening.”
The family also counted on faith. “We were sincere in wanting to call on the Creator,” said his mother.
Gehret credits “prayers from home” with getting him through tight spots and was “helped by faith a lot,” but “you get to the point where you’re not too worried anymore. If it happens, it happens. Everything happens for a reason.”
His calm both impressed and reassured his family when friends warned of post-traumatic stress. “Kaitlyn’s boyfriend once said, ‘Kyle blows away the stereotypes (of PTSD). He’s so regular,’” his mother said.
He is also dedicated. He has already re-enlisted for another four years, with an eye on job security and education benefits to help him get a college degree in science. “I play things by ear,” he said.
One thing he doesn’t hedge over is his commitment. He got angry, he said, hearing protesters claim that God hates the military. “It sucks when I see someone say that,” he said. “God bless America. What can I say?”
He justifies American involvement in providing security for people who can’t do it themselves, which takes the fight away from American soil.
What would he like Americans to know? “Have patience,” he said. “It’s going to take time, to finish up what we’re doing, to have long-lasting effects.”
Ellie