WHERE

YOUTH AND
L A U G H T E R
GO

WHERE
YOUTH AND
W i t h T h e C u t t i n g E d g e i n A f g h a n i s t a n

L A U G H T E R
GO

L t C o l S e t h W. B . F o l s o m , U S M C

N AVA L I N S T I T U T E P R E S S

Annapolis, Maryland

Naval Institute Press

291 Wood Road
Annapolis, MD 21402
2015 by Seth W. B. Folsom
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or utilized in
any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying
and recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without
permission in writing from the publisher.
ISBN: 978-1-61251-871-8
ISBN: 978-1-61251-872-5 (eBook)
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.

Print editions meet the requirements of ANSI/NISO z39.48-1992

(Permanence of Paper).
Printed in the United States of America.

23 22 21 20 19 18 17 16 15
First printing

9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Maps created by Charles Grear.

The opinions or assertions contained in this work are those of the author and
are not to be construed as official or reflecting the views of the U.S. Marine
Corps, the Department of the Navy, or the Department of Defense.

For the fallen . . . and the survivors

sang: [s] French, noun

1. blood: en sang (covered in blood)

: [sung-geen] Persian, adjective

1. heavy, burdensome, or cumbersome

sanguine: [sang-gwin] English, adjective

1. cheerfully optimistic, hopeful, or confident: a sanguine disposition;
sanguine expectations.
2. reddish; ruddy: a sanguine complexion.
3. (in old physiology) having blood as the predominating humor
and consequently being ruddy-faced, cheerful, etc.
4. bloody; sanguinary.
5. blood-red; red.

Contents

Authors Note

xi

Cast of Characters

xv

Marine Corps Rank Structure

xvii

Prologue

xix

Part OneThe Blade Is Sharpened

1. Dog Chasing a Car

2. Rerouted

3. End of the Honeymoon

14

4. Building Bridges

23

5. Mission Rehearsal

29

6. One Giant Minefield

36

7. Kill TV

45

8. Marching Orders

56

9. Troop-to-Task

62

10. Family Men

72

Part TwoThe Blade Cuts . . . and Bleeds

11. Five Kinds of Crazy

85

12. Southern Strike

103

13. Lord of the Flies

119

14. Known Better in Death

130
vii

viii

Contents

15. All-Around Bad Days

139

16. A Marine a Week

148

17. Luck, Distance, and Geometry

154

18. Eastern Seal

163

19. What Happens to Bad Boys

171

20. Actions and Consequences

180

21. Hearts and Minds

184

22. You Could Die Any Time

191

23. Dodging a Bullet

197

24. Snow Days

205

25. Time to Make the Donuts

213

26. Illuminating the Darkened Path

219

27. Taking Back the Night

227

28. The Good Guys

233

29. Dynamic Arch

240

30. Deluge

248

Part ThreeThe Blade Is Sheathed

31. Restraint

261

32. Moving North

269

33. Green on Blue

275

34. Brothers in This Fight

283

35. The Sand Monster

291

36. A Thousand Ways to Die

300

37. No Finish Line

307

38. Personal Association

314

39. Time to Go

322

40. A Great Cost

331

Epilogue

345

Glossary

349

Acknowledgments

355

Index

357

H E L M A N D P R O V I N C E , A F G H A N I S TA N

SANGIN DISTRICT MAP

A u t h o r s N o t e

Every now and then one of my Marine Corps colleagues approaches me

in a mild state of shock and says, I didnt know you wrote a book. I never
know how to react. After the publication of my first book my responses to
such challenges were generally sheepish, almost apologetic. It was as if I
an active-duty infantry officerhad committed some grave sin by putting
pen to paper. After my second book was published, similar feelings of latent
ostracism by my fellow service members returned. By recounting my experiences in command, by including my foibles as well as my successes, by telling
my story, I had somehow crossed an invisible threshold past the point of no
returnI was now a published author, a title frequently underscored with
overdramatic verbal emphasis or the employment of air quotes. My online
audience was frequently less kind. One angry pipe-hitter, who refused to
identify himself by his real name, said my first book was a creative work of
fiction from an author and a legend in his own mind. Something tells me
the dude didnt actually read the thing. Another anonymous blogger even
accused me from the virtual safety of the Internet of being a writer, NOT a
Marine. I am actually both. Trust me, its quite possible to be a Marine who
also writes; neither profession is mutually exclusive.
Not long after I assumed command of 3rd Battalion, 7th Marines (3/7),
one of the first rumblings I heard in the unit was the whispered caution, He
writes books. Once my men warmed up to me, some even flat-out asked,
Are you going to write a book about the Cutting Edge? Others asked
cautiously, What are you going to write about me? I answered questions

xi

xii

Authors Note

regarding a potential book with Well seean evil phrase I gleaned from
my parents, one my two daughters have similarly come to loatheor, more
simply, I dont knowbecause I honestly didnt know. If I had assumed
command with the intention of writing a book about my exploits, my entire
tenure as a battalion commander would have been a fraud, a fabrication
something it will no doubt be characterized as anyway by the same nameless
dude on the Internet who insisted I was a writer and NOT a Marine. Had I
begun command with plans to write a book, subconscious decisions might
have been made and actions might have been taken based on how I thought
they would look in print. So I pushed the idea of writing a story about my
Marines from my mind as far as I could. And, truth be told, once I found
myself in the canals and alleys of Sangin with my men there was little consideration on my part for what lay ahead in the future. Simply put, I wasnt
altogether sure I would survive to tell the tale.
So, contrary to popular belief, I have never reported to a new unit in the
Marine Corps with the goal of writing a book about it. For me, writing is a way
to reconcile my experiences, to make sense of the senseless, to find answers to
difficult questions. Most important, though, is that writing has been a way to
tell the story of the Marines who have served alongside me. But to tell their
story, I must tell my own first. And so, as with my two previous works, the
primary source of my writing for this book was my daily journal. Journaling
has been a hobby for much of my life, and the times I have been most diligent
about maintaining the practice have been during the most stressful periods
of my life. As it so happens, the most stressful timeswhich have also been
among the most rewardinghave been during combat deployments with my
fellow Marines. My research for this work also drew heavily from a notebook
I carried that contained details about every single patrol I conducted with my
Marines, as well as a copy of 3/7s command chronology of the deployment.
I drew biographical and unit information about my Marines from a combination of my personal interaction with them, administrative rosters, and the
mens own brief autobiographies, which they were required to write before
deploying to Afghanistan.
At the height of 3/7s deployment to Afghanistan the battalions rosters
included more than twelve hundred Marines, Sailors, soldiers, contractors,
and government civilians. It is impossible for me to tell the story of every
single man and woman who served under my command, and yet I believe

Authors Note

xiii

this story captures a broad section of our reinforced infantry battalion as we

struggled together in that miserable place. This is not a work of fiction, but
rather my recall of events as they happened. Accordingly, my recollections
of incidents and conversations are only as accurate as I could record them in
my journal and my patrol book. Im sure some people who were there with
me will say I got it all wrong; Im also sure quite a few who werent there will
scream it as well.
And so, with more than twelve hundred versions of the truth about the
Cutting Edges 201112 deployment to Sangin, the story contained in these
pages is but one of those versions. As with my previous books, I have sought
to preserve as many actual names as possible. To do otherwise would be a
disservice to the ordinary young men and women who were thrust into
remarkable circumstances and performed even more remarkably. The task
of keeping all names intact, however, inevitably proved impossible. I mention more than one hundred Marines and Sailors in this book. Even in the
age of the Internet and social media, contacting each and every one of them
proved to be a futile task. Obtaining permission from all of them was similarly frustrating. And so, in keeping with the wishes of someand using my
better discretion with othersI have changed or removed certain names
to protect the privacy of those individuals. Others were unfortunatelybut
unavoidablyomitted in the final editing of this book.
As always, any mistakes or opinions contained in this writing are my own.

Cast of Characters

LtCol Seth FolsomBattalion Commander, 3rd Battalion, 7th Marines

(3/7)
SgtMaj Rafael RodriguezBattalion Sergeant Major
Maj Michael FittsBattalion Executive Officer
Maj Patrick McKinleyBattalion Operations Officer
Maj Alton WarthenSenior Afghan Advisor
Capt Evan BrashierHeadquarters and Service Company Commander
Capt Michael SimonIndia Company Commander
Capt James LindlerKilo Company Commander
Capt Colin ChisholmLima Company Commander
Capt David RussellWeapons Company Commander
Sgt Michael DurkinPlatoon Commander, Battalion Jump Platoon
LtCol Tom SavageBattalion Commander, 1st Battalion, 5th Marines (1/5)
Col Eric SmithRegimental Commander, Regimental Combat Team-8
(RCT-8)
BGen Lewis CraparottaCommanding General, Task Force Leatherneck
Muhammad SharifSangin District Governor
Colonel Ghuli KhanSangin District Chief of Police
Colonel Muhammad MirSangin District Chief of Police
Lieutenant Colonel HezbollahKandak Commander, 2-2-215 ANA Kandak
Lieutenant Colonel SaboorKandak Executive Officer, 4-1 ANCOP Kandak
Colonel NazukmirKandak Commander, 1-4 ANCOP Kandak

xv

Marine Corps Rank Structure

Enlisted Ranks
Pvt: Private
PFC: Private First Class
LCpl: Lance Corporal
Cpl: Corporal
Sgt: Sergeant
SSgt: Staff Sergeant
GySgt: Gunnery Sergeant
MSgt/1stSgt: Master Sergeant/First Sergeant
MGySgt/SgtMaj: Master Gunnery Sergeant/Sergeant Major

Officer Ranks
2ndLt: Second Lieutenant
1stLt: First Lieutenant
Capt: Captain
Maj: Major
LtCol: Lieutenant Colonel
Col: Colonel
BGen: Brigadier General
MajGen: Major General
LtGen: Lieutenant General
Gen: General

xvii

Prologue

Our armored vehicle bounced along Route 611, churning the rocky,

unpaved road beneath us into a billowing curtain of dust as our convoy of

MRAPs (mine-resistant, ambush-protected vehicles) rumbled south from
Patrol Base Alcatraz. In the previous year, Coalition forces had cleared 611
through the Sangin District and paved it as far north as FOB Inkerman. But
the development project had abruptly ended there. Traversing the unproved
route the rest of the way from Inkerman to Alcatraz, through the Upper
Sangin Valley and onward to Kajaki District, was painfully slow for good reason. No pavement meant IEDsbig ones that could easily split our armored
vehicles in half.
A fine mist of brown grit drifted down from the gunners open turret hatch into our sweltering troop compartment. Some merciful soul had
cranked up the air conditioning unit to the max, but it did little to bring
down the temperature inside the vehicles cabin. The dust clung to my gear
already filthy from trudging around the moon dust of Alcatrazand caked
into globs on my sweaty face and neck. I leaned toward Maj Pat McKinley,
my operations officer, sitting across from me.
This sucks! I shouted above the vehicles whine. He smiled slightly
and continued to peer out the MRAPs porthole, a silent reminder to me that
this wasnt his first rodeo in Afghanistan.
McKinley and I had accompanied LtCol Tom Savage, the leader of 1st
Battalion, 5th Marines (1/5), to a conference our regimental commander
had scheduled at Alcatraz. He had organized the meeting to get all of his

xix

xx

Prologue

subordinate commanders in one room so he could talk with them face-to-face

as preparations for Operation Eastern Storm continued. Spearheaded by 1st
Battalion, 6th Marines (1/6), Eastern Storm was the Coalitions bid to clear
the route from Alcatraz and the Upper Sangin Valley all the way to the Kajaki
Dam. It would be a complex, dangerous undertaking, and the regiment was
reinforcing 1/6 appropriately to ensure their success. A day earlier, McKinley
had asked to accompany me. He expressed interest in meeting the operations
officers from the other battalions, but he had another, more personal, reason
for going: his younger brother was a Marine in 1/6. Given the uncertainty of
the operation ahead, there was no way I could refuse his request.
The vehicle shuddered roughly again, sending a jolt up my spine that
started at my ass and ended somewhere inside the base of my skull. I hated
MRAPs, and I couldnt wait to transition to an MATV (MRAP all-terrain
vehicle) once Savage and I completed our turnover. Sitting in the MRAPs
rear compartment reduced my situational awareness to almost nothing, and
I preferred the all-terrain variants forward-facing rear seats and its priceless ability to diminish the body-rattling shock of off-road travel. Others had
warned me that the MATV couldnt absorb an IED hit the same way the
MRAP could, but I was willing to take the chance.
The afternoon heat began to take its toll, and despite the jarring movement south my eyelids started to droop. Savage leaned forward, examined
the computer screen to his front, and then elbowed me. I strained against my
seat belts shoulder harness to read the alert that had popped up.
Message to Geronimo-6 and Blade-6. IED strike to Blackiron (B/1/6).
1 x FWIA [friendly wounded in action] double-amp. Casualty is from
I/3/7.

It was October 3, 2011. My unit, 3rd Battalion, 7th Marines3/7, the

Cutting Edgehad been on the ground in Afghanistan for only a matter
of days, and we had just taken our first serious casualty. Savage slowly shook
his head.
Holy shit! I exclaimed, the message catching me off guard.
Major McKinley looked over inquisitively. His face tightened as I relayed
the message, but he said nothing and continued to stare aimlessly out the side

Prologue

xxi

window. The wounded Marine was from India Company, which McKinley
had commanded the previous year in Sangin. Our unspoken feelings were
mutual: What the hell are we doing riding in this shitty vehicle when we need to
be on the ground with those Marines right now? Neither of us said much for the
remainder of the trip back to FOB Jackson.
As our convoy rolled through the outposts main gate I hopped out and
rushed to the command post with Rafael Rodriguez, my battalion sergeant
major. I burst onto the operations floor and grabbed the first Marine from
3/7 I saw.
Who was it? I asked.
Lance Corporal Fidler, from India 2-3, he replied. The MEDEVAC
went off without a hitch. Hes in surgery right now.
Mark Fidler, a twenty-two-year-old rifleman from Lebanon, Pennsylvania,
had joined 3/7 after a tour at the Marine Barracks in Washington, DC. He
was on one of his first patrols in Sangins Southern Green Zone when he was
wounded.
How bad? I asked.
Double-amp; an above-the-knee and a through-the-knee, as well as a
ruptured eardrum and massive gluteal trauma, the watch officer replied,
reading from a well-worn dry-erase board mounted on the wall. Hes in
pretty bad shape.
What happened?
He was walking a left seat-right seat patrol out of PB [patrol base]
Almas with one of 1/5s companies down south, he said. The squad got
him out of there pretty quick after he got hit.
Aw, Christ, I said, turning with Sergeant Major Rodriguez to leave.
We arent even two weeks into this thing.
The battalion staff was subdued during the evening meeting. With the
news of Fidlers catastrophic wounding, the reality of what we were doing
had finally sunk in. For the Sangin veterans in the room it was redolent of the
battalions deployment to the district a year earlier. For the uninitiated it was
nothing less than a complete overload to the systema grim reminder that
this was no longer a simple training exercise. I looked around the conference
room.
We knew this was coming, just maybe not this soon, I told them.
We cant let it distract us from what we need to do, and how we need to

xxii

Prologue

do it. Remember, attention to detail isnt just an administrative requirement

around here. Its an operational imperative.
After the staff meeting Sgt Michael Durkin, my Jump Platoon commander, followed me into my office.
Brought your blast panties, he said, holding up two packages shrinkwrapped in plastic.
I opened one and removed the silken undergarment. The stretchy black
fabric made the protective blast boxers appear like biker shorts. They
looked comfortable for a long bicycle ride, but not necessarily for a long,
sweaty foot patrol. And they were nothing compared to the cumbersome
Kevlar diapers we would eventually be compelled to wear.
What the . . . , I said, shaking my head. How in the hell are we gonna
patrol in these?
Gotta protect the boys, you know, Durkin laughed.
Yeah, tell me about it, I replied soberly, reflecting on the terrible
injuries the buried bombs had been known to inflict on those unfortunate
enough to trigger them.
Durkin walked out to prepare his Marines for the next days patrol with
Lance Corporal Fidlers squad, and I turned to my equipment to do the same.
Earlier in our turnover Lieutenant Colonel Savage had given good advice.
Whenever theres an IED strike I do my best to get out and patrol with
that squad as soon as I can, he had told me. It gets the men back in the
saddle and keeps their heads in the game.
My thoughts wandered as I cleaned my rifle and prepared my cumbersome gear. I was learning quickly that time alone was not necessarily good for
me, and thinking too much had its downsides. As I strapped tourniquets to
my body armor and rechecked my first aid kit I kept imagining the moment
Lance Corporal Fidler stepped on that bomb, and how his life had turned
inside out in an earsplitting, blinding flash. One of my Marines had already
suffered a gruesome fate. And then my own realization shocked and saddened me: I inherently knew he would be the first of many.

Part One

The Blade Is Sharpened

March 2011September 2011

Arthur:
Merlin:


Arthur:
Merlin:

What does it mean to be king?

You will be the land, and the land will be you.
If you fail, the land will perish. As you thrive, the land
will blossom.
Why?
Because you are king.
Excalibur

Here I was safe, but tomorrow I would be there. In that instant

I realized that the worst thing that could happen to me was
about to happen to me.
William Manchester, Goodbye, Darkness