Women under burkhas, tribal warlords rule a land full of goats, and huts and jingle trucks is the dust of Uruzgan.Īnd the Education Minister can neither read nor write, and the Minister for Women runs a knock shop there at night. It’s a long, long way from Townsville, not like any place you’ll see – suddenly you’re walking through the 14th century. Working under open skies in the dust of Uruzgan Mentoring a Kandak from the Afghan 4th brigade.ĭown through the Baluchi into eastern Dorafshan We started up near Chora working 14 hours a day Body armor chafing through the dust of Uruzgan. Walking through the green zone with a Steyr in my hand. We shook hands as the boys RIPped out from MRTF 1 and pretty soon were out patrolling in the Afghan summer sun. Then up at 0530, and on the Herc and out in twenty flying minutes we were into Tarin Kowt. Sucked back on our near beers in the Camp Baker Bar. Me and Benny sat together flying into Kandahar. Then the RSO&I course in Ali Al Salaam, but nothing can prepare you for the dust of Uruzgan. It took seven months of training just to get into the joint, there were pushups and procedures, there was death by power point. We were next up for deployment into south Afghanistan to combat the insurgence in the dust of Uruzgan. I had just turned 28, just bought a new car when I joined the first Battalion of the big 1 RAR. As to how I came to be here, this is what I understand, in this hospital in Germany from the dust of Uruzgan. In the ring they called me “Warlord”, my mother calls me Paul, you can call me Private Warren when you’re filing your report.
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