Welcome to Afghanistan.

The ride from the airport to Camp Phoenix is nearly just as harrowing. It's a short trip – less than ten minutes – but no less thrilling. We loaded in the back of the five-ton trucks and were told to lock and load our rifles. That's when it set in: this is for real.

Fore and aft there are up-armored guntrucks with soldiers topside at nametape defilade and high powered M240B machine guns adorned in brass belts of ammo. The guntrucks drive fast and set up traffic control points in an instant so that the rest of the convoy can safely pass, limiting the IED threat.

IEDs are a new trend in Afghanistan, spawning from their widespread insurgent use in Iraq. The growing insurgency here is adopting similar tactics and the U.S. is pouring billions into exploiting them in this country alone.

Without effect we arrived safely at Camp Phoenix and are promptly ushered into a series of briefings containing topics we've heard a thousand times prior. Camp Phoenix is actually an old Soviet post, a relic of a different war in a different time, but nevertheless familiar to the Afghan people. Now, in somewhat ironic fashion, it is occupied by the U.S. and its NATO allies hoping to make more of this country than our old Cold War foes did.

Unlike the Soviet war, this one is different. The Afghans for the most part react positively toward American presence in their homeland. They wave cheerfully as our convoy passes and they are eager for the increased security Coalition presence brings.

I asked Abbas, one of our interpreters, about the difference between Soviet occupation here in the 80's and American presence here now. "When Soviets here, no one was happy. Everyday we hide from them because they were very cruel," he explained in broken but cohesive English. "Now when America come, we are glad. America is good and tries to help us."

Abbas also told me of how they hated the Taliban, too. On that first day in late 2001 when U.S. forces arrived in Kabul, Abbas said he and his friends shaved the beards they were forced to grow by their militant rulers. They climbed on the rooftops and began to dance, cheering the end of radical Islamic captivity. After the cheers and dance, Abbas and his friends went to find alcohol – a forbidden fruit before – and a vice to celebrate once again.

I guess freedom has that effect. The human soul abhors captivity. It yearns for liberty of the most basic kind. Abbas proved that when he no longer wore a beard against his own choosing. Liberty, as it has been said, is the soul's right to breathe.

The Afghan National Army (ANA) – the chief reason for continued American presence here – is eager to learn. We are here now not to be at the forefront of the battles and skirmishes that take place on a daily basis, but rather, to train and mentor the ANA in hopes that they will soon be able to provide security for their country autonomously.

With every weapons cache discovered and every insurgent nabbed, the ANA gets full credit. The Afghan citizenry is ever-growing in its confidence that their own will restore peace and normality after decades of war with an ever-changing enemy.

My assignment here is to an Embedded Training Team (ETT) in Gardez. It is a small town that is three hours southeast of the capitol and tucked up into the mountains that border Pakistan. ETTs are the American mentors that actually patrol with the ANA. There are usually only one or two Humvees of them amidst an entire ANA company on patrols. When the firefight starts, these guys direct Afghan commanders on combat maneuvers – it's training in action.

Aside from the thrills and dangers of working here, there has also been plenty of opportunity to experience Afghan culture. Just the other day, one of the airmen in my shop told me that she had been invited to lunch with the Corps Chief of Staff – a two-star general in the Afghan Army. Females require a male escort to go to "ANA Land" – the Afghan base juxtapose our own – so, we spent the better part of an afternoon sipping chai and sampling Afghan cuisine, listening to the General tell stories about the Soviets, the good times before them, and the good times he dreams of having again.

There is a chain-link fence that is manned by Afghan sentries that separate our camp from the refugee camp that is literally right outside our gates. For Halloween, myself and the two airmen I work with, along with our interpreter, bought some candy at the Afghan store and went to hand it out to the "Kuchi Kids" – the refugee children who live at the camp. It was the single greatest joy I've had since arriving here.

At first there was just one little girl. She shyly approached the gate as we held the candy out to her through the fence. The girl had beautiful light-brown eyes and a traditional Afghan burqa' with a hand embroidered design. She would have looked like a princess had she not been so dirty. She took the candy and then ran back to her camp. A moment later she returned with three more children. We began throwing the candy over the fence. Then there were more, then more and more children, all running from every direction shouting "How are you! How are you!" – the only English they knew. Before we knew it, there was a frenzy, each child yelling for candy. Finally the candy was gone and we had to rip the bag open to prove it to them. I intend to go back armed with more candy next time!

Overall, life here hasn't been bad. Camp Lightning is a smaller Forward Operating Base (FOB) comparatively, but the fewer numbers are welcome as everywhere else we have been the crowds have been cumbersome. Supplies are scarce, the PX is only open three times a week for three hours at a time, but we find that we really don't need much. The company is good and there is scarcely a face you don't recognize.  

In my battalion staff, I am the only sailor of the team. Most of the Navy I arrived in country with are now scattered to the four corners of the country supporting various operations. Even the original six other Navy reservists I left Washington with are now in their own jobs elsewhere.

Home is still far away to me, in space and in time. I miss my wife and often think about returning to normality. Family, Starbucks, paved roads and a more diverse wardrobe are all a world away. For now, those things are restricted to my own recollection of them. I miss home, sure, but the sense of duty here, knowing that maybe I am making the world a little bit better for having lived in it helps me see the job through.

America just observed Veteran's Day 2006. That was four years to the day since I left for boot camp. Now, I am in a company of veterans; all serving proudly without regard for their sacrifices. Whatever is said about Americans and their soldiers in the mainstream, there still exist the virtue that each man and woman in uniform cares deeply about why they are here and does their job, although difficult a times, with a great deal of pride.

I am at eight months and counting until I can return to the life I once knew. Eight months! That still seems a long way off yet; but it can't come too soon. There are still soldiers to mentor, peace to secure, and alas, Kuchi kids to treat. I look forward to it all, and all of it awaits me. This desert, these mountains, they are my home for now. And like home should be, it is the place where I am challenged, where I grow and where I seek to improve the world around me.

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I will close by again saying thank you for your support, your encouragement and your continued prayers. Their effects are noticed by all stationed here.

All the Best,

Matt