Where there’s a will, there’s a way!

I don’t care where or when you served, I don’t care whether you were Army, Navy, or Air Force…everyone has a story about a bathroom or bodily function gone awry.

Maybe it’s the time you went to use the portable toilet on a frigid winter warfare exercise only to find a frozen “poo pyramid” poking out just above the seat. Grateful that your powers of observation did not let you fall victim to its glistening pointy malevolence, like a partially submerged iceberg waiting, lurking, for an unawares ship to bump into in the dark.

Or maybe it’s an experience tied to having to share a portable toilet with the Afghan National Army…those who know…know & thank you for your sacrifice.

Regardless, they’re always good for a laugh and the one you’re about to read below is an incredibly written account of one such occasion. It was submitted by a very good friend of mine who has asked not to share his personal details.

I hope you enjoy it.

All the best!

John

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Operation Moshtarak, D-1

The assault on Marjah that took place on Feb 13, 2010 was the largest joint operation that had taken place during the war in Afghanistan up to that point. It involved over 15,000 Soldiers and Marines, but amongst them on the ground was a small group of Canadian Advisors from 3PPCLI embedded with an Afghan Army Battalion. During the weeks that followed Moshtarak’s D-day I witnessed acts of bravery and selflessness in combat. But this story isn’t about that. This is the far less glamorous story of the day before the operation began, and so to tell that story we need to rewind back to Camp Bastion early on Feb 22, 2010.

After weeks of preparation and training with our ANA, it was finally time to marshall our vehicles at the front gate and join the procession of armoured vehicles that would crawl across the desert into the Northern District of Marjah to begin our advance. It wouldn’t just be our RG-31s and the ANA pickup trucks (attempting to corral our ANA by itself is complicated enough), it would also be dozens of American vehicles of every type and description. This massive convoy would move across rough desert terrain in the darkness for approximately 30km, moving at such a monotonous pace that it would take the entire night to move to our line of departure. 

As we left the front gate of Camp Leatherneck, hours behind schedule, night was already beginning to fall. So began our 8 hour drive to our line of departure, our top heavy vehicles swaying violently side to side as we advanced over the undulating desert terrain.

As anyone who has been in the army will tell you, sleep is always at a premium, this trek was no different. Already operating on minimal rest, the creeping pace of the convoy combined with the focus required to constantly maintain distance and pace quickly led to fatigue that would be illegal on any road in Canada. Running on stay alert caffeine gum and red bull can only last so long, which I promptly realized as I turned my gaze over to my driver after looking out my window for a few moments. Seeing him slumped over the wheel, I shook him awake. “How much longer do we have, this is painful” I commented, as he shook his head and inserted a wad of chew. Satisfied he was awake, I returned my gaze to my window as I listened to the radio reports occasionally cutting in. “What? What is it? Stop punching me” I yelled at my him. “Dude. You were asleep” he replied. I sat up straight in my hard plastic seat and decided to drink water in small sips to try and stay awake. 

My eyes opened suddenly and I quickly realized I had dozed off again. Looking over to my driver to see if he had noticed, instead I saw him once again collapsed over the wheel. Shaking him awake we both inhaled a pack of stay alert gum and fought to stay awake. Little did I know the solution to my fatigue would suddenly appear, and my ensuing misery would be comical enough for the entire crew to stay awake without issue. 

Anyone who has served in Afghanistan knows a few things are inevitable: IED’s are everywhere. The ANA will be late. Your tour will be extended. You will get gastroenteritis. 

Now, I don’t know if what I encountered that night was gastro, what I do know is in very short order I realized I needed out of that RG or there was going to be a catastrophic event occurring in my boxer shorts. The problem was that the convoy wasn’t going to stop for a bathroom break, so unless there was a short halt, I was shit out of luck.

As my stomach and bowels churned I prayed to any deity that would listen for a halt. Time after time I would run to the hatch as our vehicle came to a stop, only for the convoy to suddenly continue on at a snails pace. Time was running out. I needed out of that truck. Brake lights! Please god, don’t start moving again. Seconds tick by…. Still stopped. Half a minute…. No movement. With a swiftness born from sheer desperation I opened the hatch, jumped onto the hood and was on the ground in a flash. Leaning against the tire I was in my own world for a few beats, until I came to two sudden realizations. 1: Several pickups of ANA soldiers were laughing at me, the headlights from their pickups lighting up my misery. 2: I had no toilet paper. There was nothing I could do about the former, but the latter demanded an immediate solution. With the fear that the convoy could begin to move at any moment, I had only one option…. I tore the sand trap material from one of my pant legs, finished my gastro emergency evacuation drill and immediately remounted the RG. 

We were getting close to the objective rendezvous where we would finally dismount our vehicles, our move to the LOD was almost done. No one could be certain what would happen as D-Day for Operation Moshtarak began. But as we began our push into the northern Nad-e-Ali area of Marjah, I knew that at the very least I would face the enemy with empty bowels and clean shorts… and that was good enough for me.