I'd planned and executed many missions with varying degrees of success; I was good at it, seeming to have the talent for observing all the moving parts individually and within the scope of the greater objective. Strengths, weaknesses, opportunities and threats were determined and either mitigated or integrated into the greater plan. I was confident in my ability to plan and execute a mission, not arrogant -only a fool would allow that insidious trait into their make-up. No, I was confident in my skills and ability, planning and execution, and my operational tempo. I took ownership, applied myself to the task, did difficult things and had managed to survive, so far.
Operation special chocolates
The objective was simple, a typical 'snatch-and-grab' mission.
It was set to jump-off at 14:00H and, as I ran over the mission elements once more I could hear the twin turboshaft engines of the UH-60 Blackhawks spinning up. It was almost go time.
I felt that feeling, the moment just before combat in which everything is clarity, total and utter clarity. Will I be able to operate effectively, will I let my team down, have I planned for everything, is my gear squared away, will I react correctly to the changing environment that is combat, what does it feel like to take a bullet, will I see the IED before I step on it, will I be wounded or killed...It didn't matter what one thought, and the thoughts people had were vastly different...but what was common to everyone was that those thoughts were clear and pure clarity.
OK, that wasn't really true at all. I was in my bedroom, otherwise known as the planning room, and which doubled as the Tactical Operations Centre (TOC) during missions...OK, it didn't do that either...it was just my bedroom...but I was in it and about to deploy on operation special chocolates.
Back to the story.
I deployed.
The Blackhawk descended to twenty-five feet above the ground and the pilot held it steady whilst the crew chief deployed the rope, it's thick green length snaking down like some kind of serpent into a pit; down into the cloud-pit of dust and sand, lifted by rotor-downdraft, it went.
I watched it fall away as I knew the crew chief would watch me as I descended down it's serpentine length, my mission-clarity seeing every speck of sand, glittering shards in the sunlight, through which I'd soon descend as I fast-roped downward into the chaos of combat.
A moment of thought went to the pilot holding the bird steady. In urban areas, buildings prevented the dust from spreading outward lifting it back upward instead. They could see nothing. They'd told me they picked a point ahead of them and relied on that reference to hold the correct position, I don't know how they could see anything though and, if they got it wrong, the operators would fast rope into oblivion...and ground was hard and unforgiving.
Down I went, once again, registering surprise as my feet slammed hard into the ground, I always expected that descent into hell to take longer. I looked up but couldn't see the helo, just my last lifeline moving upwards as the pilot gained height and moved away. Staying still and at the same altitude invited ground fire, and a Blackhawk presented a juicy target. As the heavy chopping of rotors and engines faded, I found cover and, with the mission burned into my brain, moved to execute.
This all actually translates to, I waited for my mother to leave home to take my older brother to a sporting event and I made my way to her bedroom where I knew she had hidden a tray of special Swiss chocolates she'd been given as a gift.
Back to the story.
Mission success
It's classified.
I could tell you, but I'd have to kill you. I know, it's not ideal, but mission details are often kept secret for fear of the enemy gaining intel on tactics. This is especially the case when missions fail. Although, this mission wasn't exactly a failure I suppose; resounding success would describe it better...initially.
The HVT (high value target) was located, secured and exfil occurred, all without casualties. Later, in the mission planning/TOC/debrief room the HVT was interrogated.
By interrogated, I mean fucken eaten all up, and enjoyed too.
Back to the story.
I was feeling pretty good.
There's a certain feeling after a mission; it's difficult to describe. Making it back to base is always good, but if the unit took causalities there's something else - I'd rather not say to be honest. In this case I was feeling good, although a little guilty.
The professional in me knew the mission was executed well; I never used the word perfect as there's always room for improvement. I was content with the spoils of war, and overall felt I'd attained mission-success...but...that nagging guilt wouldn't leave me and it gave the mission a sour taint. I sat contemplating the feelings, and even found myself wishing I could somehow reverse the action, take it back. But time moves in only one direction and if I wanted to make amends, I'd have to do so in other ways.
It wasn't until a few days later that I decided ownership was the best way to go and the only way to release the feeling of guilt that had built up within me and threatened to overwhelm my emotional wellbeing.
It was at that point I decided to run the white flag up the pole, approach the enemy and make amends.
Surrender, punishment and lessons
I confessed to my mother about what I had done.
She already knew of course, I was somewhat indelicate when it had come to removing those Swiss chocolates and instead of taking one or two had...well, sort of gorged myself. She'd been furious with me, more at my underhandedness, but had remained silent to see if I would confess later which, of course, I had just done.
She explained a few things, quite calmly which, when that happened I knew I was really in for it, and then told me I was going to be punished. I knew I would be, however had thought I might escape another Guantanamo Bay-style beating because of my confession.
My punishment was going to be eating chocolate.
That's right, punishment by chocolate eating. I was ecstatic...but fucken confused.
That weekend, I sat at the dining table with my mum and dad also in attendance and before me sat six 250g blocks of Cadbury milk chocolate that I was expected to eat in one sitting. I know, it sounds wondrous...but it really isn't, and wasn't.
I began with some gusto though. I remember thinking, what the bloody fuck, this is an awesome punishment. #WTBF
After a half block, I was feeling ok and was still enthusiastic.
I was almost at the end of the first block when I began to realise that this wasn't going to be an easy punishment, and that I'd not be able to succeed; the awesome nature of it dissipated really quickly. But, even back then, I wasn't one to quit and I ploughed on...and on and...on...until I was rather green around the gills and unable to eat any more. I'd made it through the first block and almost half way through the second. I was a shattered man. (Boy).
It was then that the true lecture came.
It was about honesty and integrity, greed and hubris and was about being man enough to work for what I wanted or to have the courtesy and respect for others to ask for it, and to have a reason to deserve it in the first place. It was a long lecture, especially considering the amount of chocolate I'd just eaten.
I was very ashamed of myself by the end of that lecture. I was excused and went off to my room and thought about my actions and the lecture.
I learned many things that day, some of which revolved around the mission itself and what I could have done differently.
I know, this was not probably the right thing to think, but it was my nature, to learn from failures and it was something that worked well in subsequent missions in my life. But I learned a lot about myself and how I had a deep-seated need to do things to exacting standards, to be my best, and a need to do the right thing as I saw it. It was another lesson in honour and integrity and it showed me I had that...That's why I'd felt guilty and confessed in the first place. It was these things I built upon as I grew older.
I look back at that eight year old kid and Operation special chocolates with fondness.
I look back on myself and know that all of those moments have helped me become who I am today and I think I'm going ok...I've certainly never stolen chocolates again, and I certainly learned the value of a well planned and executed mission...but more than that really. Each of these things, the events of my life, are like layers I wear to this day and I value them, and, fortunately a few others value them in me also.
I wish I didn't hurt my mother like that, those chocolates were a gift and I had no right to take them away, but I did it and can't go back and undo it. My mum is gone now, but I like to think she knew the man I became before she departed...and partly thanks to all that chocolate she made me eat.
This post is based on actual events that took place when I was eight years old.
Design and create your ideal life, don't live it by default; tomorrow isn't promised so be humble and kind - galenkp
The image in this post is my own