We had sat in place for over twenty-four hours. Using the vehicles as an escape from the heat and the sun, the Canadian soldiers tucked themselves into the seats and crew areas in an attempt to remain cool. Empty water bottles were piled in the open on the desert floor along side of the now torn cardboard boxes in which they were packed. Water is life here, the discarded plastic bottles sitting as a reminder of the fine line between success and failure.

The waiting is the most difficult, even more than the heat. With the pulse of intensity from the previous morning's raid still flowing through these soldier's veins, the order to shave, given from the visiting senior staff, sparked emotions and frustration. "We haven't even been thanked for yesterday's success, but there's time to tell us to shave," were the words from one of the A Company, Red Devils, 2d Platoon soldiers. The discontent continued to be voiced as the day progressed.

When the order to move was finally given, preparations were precise and focussed. The Red Devils quickly suited into their body armor, completed last minute weapons checks, finding their places in their vehicles. The day had pushed to early afternoon, and there were still several hours of travel ahead. As we left our camp, the fires that had been set to incinerate the piles of bottles and emptied packages from meals-ready-to-eat, could be seen thrashing in the desert winds.

The mission was divided into two parts: secure a landing zone for a resupply drop for British troops; and, then move to secure the pass at Gorak, in the northeastern part of Helmand province. Now two days delayed, the beginning of the main effort for Operation Mountain Thrust had finally begun. We arrived at the site of the landing zone within an hour, having driven north of Sangin through Helmand Province. This part of the operation represented the third major effort of Canadian and US forces working together to try and keep the British troops adequately supplied.

Within an hour of establishing the security at the landing zone, the second phase of the operation was put in play. Traveling east, Red Devils, 2d Platoon were tasked with what was termed as a "blocking maneuver." Essentially, they were responsible for controlling all people and vehicle traffic in a narrow valley created by the merging of two mountain ranges. We arrived at the location as the final bit of light from the setting sun disappeared in the western sky.

"Okay, boys. Let's get those vehicles moved over there!" The voice of Warrant Officer Pickford could be heard as he quickly moved the platoon into place. "We need to pull back from these steep slopes, and get onto the flat to give ourselves some range from any snipers or attack." He was reacting as much out of instinct as he was out of experience. Over the next thirty minutes, all was in place, and the soldiers of 2d Platoon had begun to bed down for the night. Pickford was right.

Tracer fire. It's like a flaming arrow cutting through the darkness. The first round hit just as as a shift change was taking place. Two more rounds followed. "Get the mortars ready! We need to target that upper peak," were the commands of WO Pickford as the rest of soldiers of Red Devils, 2d Platoon scrambled from sleep to their fighting positions. The mortar team began setting in their aim. The sniper fire stopped.

Minutes passed. The quiet of the night returned. A space of calm within the reach of vulnerability. However, snipers can also be patient, as this one was. As the hours ticked by yet another shift change was due. A Red Devil soldier stepped from the back of the vehicle only to have another tracer round streak past, followed by more rounds, all missing their intended mark.

Gun fire from the Red Devils lit up the night sky. The mortar team, having already prepared their targets, began firing their rounds, adjusting their fire to the area from which the sniper seemed to be hiding. The platoon was then told to stand down, as squad leaders checked their men and reported back to Pickford. With all accounted for, there were no casualties to report.

The balance of the night remained calm, though sleep never returned in full. The anticipation of the now familiar crack, as the bullet tears through the air, leaves the mind listening, and waiting. Morning is met with fatigue, saved only by the coffee maker and a fresh cup of brew.

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Copyright, Scott Kesterson- 2006

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