Three years and three weeks ago. Dusk was falling fast on the Korengal Valley. We were crouched on a shrub-laden plateau some 8,000 feet up in the mountains. The soldiers were exhausted and cold. We’d been sleeping in ditches for five nights. Insurgents were everywhere.
We could hear those insurgents on the radios saying things like: “They are all the way on the end at the top sitting there.” Pfc. Michael Cunningham, a deadpan Texan, said, “That is so us.”
We could hear those insurgents on the radios saying things like: “They are all the way on the end at the top sitting there.” Pfc. Michael Cunningham, a deadpan Texan, said, “That is so us.”
Actually, it was much of Battle Company of the 173d Airborne Brigade, which was spread across the mountains — First Platoon around Honcho Hill, watching over Second Platoon in a village below called Landigal. And the Taliban were itching to hit us again.
None of this had been part of the plan for Rock Avalanche, Battle Company’s six-day mission to tame the valley before the onset of winter. But then again, that is what war is, the mocking of plans. The reaction in those moments of mockery is why we have Medals of Honor. But no one knew that Rock Avalanche would be one of the defining events in the Afghan war. That Honcho Hill would be Afghanistan’s Hamburger Hill.
Two days earlier, the Taliban had ambushed Battle Company in the forests and spurs of the Abas Ghar ridge. At stunningly close range, they had shot and killed Sgt. Larry Rougle, one of Battle Company’s best, toughest and coolest. They had wounded Sgt. Kevin Rice and Spec. Carl Vandenberge, two of Battle Company’s biggest. And they had stolen night vision goggles and machine guns. That’s why, on this night, Dan Kearney, the 27-year-old captain, had sent Second Platoon into Landigal — to demand their stuff back from the villagers, who played dumb.
For a day or two everyone had been in shock and mourning and out for blood. Now the fear was palpable. “If they can get Rougle, they can get any of us,” said Sgt. John Clinard........
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......“I ran to the front because that is where he was,” Giunta said, talking of Brennan. “I didn’t try to be a hero and save everyone.”
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......“I ran to the front because that is where he was,” Giunta said, talking of Brennan. “I didn’t try to be a hero and save everyone.”
On Tuesday Giunta will become the first living soldier to receive the Medal of Honor since Vietnam. He has said that if he is a hero then everyone who goes into the unknown is a hero. He has said he was angry to have a medal around his neck at the price of Brennan’s and Mendoza’s lives. It took three years for the Pentagon to finalize the award. And it is puzzling to many soldiers and families why the military brass has been so sparing with this medal during the last decade of unceasing warfare.
As for the Korengal Valley, Giunta was right. The Korengalis would never leave or give up.
Last April, after three more years of killing and dying in that valley, the Americans decided to leave the place to the locals.
I decided not to summarize this story, I felt it was much more reasonable to keep it the way it was written. One reason I chose this article was because my dad and uncle both fought in Vietnam and my brother is stationed in Iraq right now. Learning about the troops over seas worries me. My sister-in-law had a baby a few months ago, my brother wasn't there and he won't get to see them tell Christmas, then not again until their baby is nine months old. This is normal for soldiers who are deployed, but I still feel awful for the families that have to miss their husbands and dad's that way. While these men and women are doing great in the middle east, I worry about them. I honestly don't understand the reasoning for them to be there any longer, and I feel this story shows how unnecessary it is. These young kids, just my age are dying and their lives are changing completely only to have to draw out of the areas they were fighting in.
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