IStock Photo 2265622 © Rockfinder

Got a care package today filled with candy. Most of it went to the kids of Afghanistan.

Every time we roll through their villages they run to the side of the road and wave at us. They give us the thumbs up and peace sign and we throw them candy. Adult men (the few women who happen to be in the street when we pass through are quickly hustled inside by their male escorts) mostly glower at us, either because we had an exchange of bullets recently or because we are rotting their kids' teeth—or both.

We recently made a permanent move to a small base in rural Afghanistan. It was an all-day convoy to move my platoon to this new area, and it is now 24 hours later and I still need to change socks and take a shower. I did not mention underwear because it is soon becoming what we call "commando season." Nobody wears underwear, it causes crotch rot in the quickly rising heat. We have rationed water so showers are an occasional thing. Most of the time we make do with baby wipes.

Making our way here, we started off leaving the comforts of the large air force base that was our temporary home and moving along the highway at a good pace. We normally move at a slow pace depending on the mission, seeing as our job is to search out IEDs. But today's mission was to get from point A to point B with the least amount of complications possible.

About three hours into the move we encountered a long line of "jingle trucks" stopped on the side of the road. A jingle truck is the Middle East's version of the line haul tractor trailer we see all over the highways in the States. Only difference is the jingle truck is elaborately decorated with tassels, paintings, designs, and writing. A good example would be these pictures.

Oftentimes we see jingle trucks piled high with some sort of load, teetering precariously and barely tied down with some twine, all topped with a half dozen laborers sitting on top holding on for dear life.

The particular area where these trucks are stopped in is a known area of enemy activity. Traffic on our side of the road was stopped and traffic coming the other direction was using the bypass on the far left of the road to move around. These are all telltale signs of an IED. Locals find out through their social networks and connections that there is a stretch of the road that is unsafe for passage, and we have had to learn to take heed of their caution. I pulled up next to one of the stopped vehicles and had my interpreter "Fred" (we give all the "terps" American names) ask what was going on. He shrugged and said they just felt like stopping.

I didn't believe it for a second, but I knew we couldn't stay stationary for too long, considering we had several non-combat vehicles hauling equipment in the convoy, so I decided to take a bypass route to the south. As we began to move off the main road to the left, several jingle trucks moved off the road to the right. Seconds later there was a loud explosion that shook my vehicle.

Deep in my bowels I felt an almost too familiar sensation. This is what is known as the pucker effect. It is a sensation you feel when something scares you, scares you to near panic, and it makes your anus constrict so hard it is somewhat painful. "Anyone hit?!?" I yelled into my radio.

Nothing. No answer.

"Was that an IED?"

"Yeah, that was definitely an IED" said my gunner.

"Was anyone hit?" I asked again.

"That jingle truck blew out a tire" was the monotone reply from one of the vehicles behind me.

"Well, is he OK?" I questioned.

"He is fine, he is still rolling down the bypass."

I could feel my heartbeat against the plate of armor I wore on my chest. My anus slowly loosened its death grip, and I tried to slow my breathing. To this day I swear that was an IED meant for us and we were fortunate to take a left turn instead of a right.

We made it to our new FOB (forward operating base) OK, only to find our new living quarters were not complete and nobody was present to greet us. It was pitch black so we decided to sleep out under the stars on the ground until daylight came and we could get our bearings. It was a generally peaceful night with the exception of the local battery of artillery cannons firing shells in support of a beleaguered patrol somewhere off in the mountains to the north. Their barrage ended sometimes in the early morning hours and I drifted off into sleep.

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