Memorial Day.

"She's good to me."

Josh looked off to the left of the Suburban out at nothing as he drove, clearly thinking about her.

We were making our way north in a convoy on a cluttered nighttime road, headed back from General McCrystal's main headquarters in central Kabul up to our operational command headquarters at the Kabul International Airport.

Josh was our driver.  Once or twice a week, our team would move between headquarters this way, in up-armored Chevy Suburbans, loaded up with as many us as would fit, in a convoy of 3-4 vehicles.  My team and I were part of the Air Coordination Element, and my job during this non-flying deployment was to solve problems for Airmen in units all over Afghanistan.  We had visited our two-star with the bigger team to give an update and get guidance. And now, for the late ride home we were packed into these Suburbans, wearing our helmets and flak vests, with combat drivers like Josh keeping us safe for the trip.  These men in Josh's Drive Team taking care of us on this night were very disciplined, and we knew they took their job seriously.

Their mission was to get us safely home.

General McCrystal's ISAF Headquarters, May 2010, with Suburbans used for transport

Army Specialist Josh Tomlinson was focused.  As part of this detail, he was trained to anticipate and see any threat, and then get us out of trouble when trouble came to us along the route.  And on this night, I got to ride shotgun with him.  Often, he had another crew driver with him, but tonight was the last run of the day, and with our team all piled in back, the seat was empty so I jumped in the front.  I had seen Josh many times around our camp and on these frequent trips- always professional, competent and alert, sharp, always smiling - but tonight was my first chance to talk with him.


We had made our way out of the big concrete barriers at ISAF Headquarters there in the center of Kabul, slowly north past the Embassy, around the Roundabout at Massoud Circle, and now were out of the heavy traffic area moving smoothly north in the dark on Airport Road.  I could see Josh visibly relax just a bit, and begin to feel a little more comfortable about the trip, and as we moved along I looked out my window at the groups of people walking by the road. 

Some gathered by small fires in the dark in front of little shops and huts where people congregated by the road - mostly men and kids but not many of the ladies in the pale blue Burkhas we'd see during the day.  Stray dogs.  As I looked out the thick bulletproof window, I remembered hearing the lead driver discuss specific threat intelligence they had just received about our route ...probably a daily thing in Kabul.  This Drive Team was not taking anything for granted tonight.

Radio chatter blasted constantly from the dash radio as the convoy talked with itself about potential threats along our way - things to look out for they were seeing.  Gradually, these scratchy transmissions eased off the more we traveled away from the busy center of Kabul, and the increasing peace on the radios made it easier to talk.  So I did what I usually did when I met and talked with Airmen and Soldiers on my trips around Afghanistan:

I asked Josh how long it had been since he'd been home.  I liked to ask that question because the answer said so much about a person.

"Too Long, Sir!" he said.  Shaking his head.

"I don't even like to think about it!  ...Can't wait to get back to Germany and see my wife!"

He reached up and pushed his helmet back on his head with his thumb just a little, and fiddled with his chin strap.  Josh wore those neoprene 'mechanix' style gloves, and his dark grey wraparound shades were looped into one of the rings on his flak vest.

Josh and I both talked about our families - his wife in Germany where he was stationed as an air defense artilleryman, and his folks and his friends back home in Louisiana and how much he missed all of them. I talked back, too, but I mostly just tried to listen to him.  He seemed like he was in a reflective mood. Or maybe he was just really tired.  Was hard to tell, but his constant positivity flooded the conversation.  He had a way of making me feel like I had known him a long time.

Josh was tall, very thin, was fit, and he was just one of those guys you could tell was fun to be in a unit with.  He smiled easy, he was animated behind the wheel with his long lanky arms, and he sort of acted like a playful kid on a high school team or group who had grown up, but still had that playfulness in him.  He was young. This was his first deployment.

"What's her name?" I asked.  "What's she like?"  I asked.

"Well, on my birthday, she makes me a cake.  And it's the best cake you ever tasted.  I love it, but I mostly just love the fact that she makes it for me like that.  She's so good to me." 

"She takes care of me, you know?"

We talked for a while like that in the quiet of the drive, watching the lights of Kabul go by the window, looking for things unexpected.  He was alert, he was worried, and he was tired.  Josh had made several of these trips today all over Kabul, taking teams like mine to various camps and meetings and I think he was looking forward to getting some sleep.  The distance was short but it always seemed to take forever.  By the time we arrived at the Kabul Airport, I felt privileged to know this Soldier.

ISAF Joint Command at the Kabul Intl Airport, where Josh worked as a combat driver

Finally, winding through tall concrete barriers under the high, bright, blinding spotlights into our camp at ISAF Joint Command, I could see Josh literally deflate as the tension of the drive seemed to leave him.  We were safely inside the wire, and the day was done.  Handshakes and enthusiastic "Thank You"s all around to these great drivers as our team piled out of those heavy trucks and moved back to our quarters. 

It was dark and quiet now, and most of the NATO camp was indoors. We walked across grey gravel rocks towards our rooms for the night under the dusty orange glow of the occasional streetlight.  Josh walked with us a short distance then said goodnight as he headed off towards a different direction to turn his keys in for the night.

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Josh Died The Next Morning. 

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On the morning of May 18th 2010, Josh was driving a group of officers towards Camp Julian.  In the general area of the King's palace, an old bombed-out multistory building in the southern part of Kabul, a devastating vehicle bomb, built with over 1600 pounds of explosives, detonated on Darulaman Road as Josh's convoy passed by, killing Josh and five others, along with over a dozen civilians walking.  I had traveled that same route, in those same vehicles, days earlier and knew exactly where it happened. 

King's Palace, south end of Darulaman Road, about 2 blocks from where Josh died.

As I sat in the headquarters that morning and heard the report come in, it initially sounded like so many others I had heard during my time there.  Every Monday, we'd all stand at attention throughout the headquarters as the names of all those Soldiers, Sailors, Airmen, and Marines who had been killed in action the previous week were read over the PA system-  their pictures slowly displayed, one at a time on the morning Powerpoint Situation Briefing we all attended.  It was always so sad, but not always really so personal, because I hadn't known any of them on this deployment.

But on this morning it hit me very hard because I began to realize who was killed in this attack.  Josh, the young soldier I had talked with last night on the way home, was going to be on our next casualty list. I was overwhelmed with a deep feeling of loss for this great Soldier I had gotten to know just hours earlier.

And I realized at that moment that I was very likely the last person he had talked with about his wife, and his family, and his friends back home in Louisiana.

We held a service in a large gymnasium-style building to honor Josh and fellow driver Sgt Tieman who was also killed in the blast.  At the front on a table were their boots, weapons and helmets set up as a tribute and a focal point, and I stood to the side of the room because I didn't feel like I knew Josh as well as others in the huge crowd gathered that day.

People grieve differently.  Older faces seemed to have a hardened stone quality at the service; they had seen this before too many times.  Some younger ones sitting in chairs were openly crying.  As I surveyed the room, I didn't see a dry eye, and it was so evident to me then how Josh had impacted everyone in that big filled-up room the same way he had me.  He was going to be missed very much.  At the end, everyone took a turn and walked up to the boots, stopped for minute to pay last respects and honor these men.  Some left notes or small mementos on the table there.  I waited till last and when it was my turn, I stepped up and looked down at all these memories laid on the table and thought about each person Josh had connected with.  I ripped off velcro patches from the shoulders of my tan flight suit and put them down with the others there and moved on.

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I do not claim to know Josh, any more than any other officer could know Josh after a good half-hour conversation in that situation.  I'd seen him drive us before, seen him in in line at the dining hall joking with his friends, and knew he was one of us - but for some reason, the late hour convoy and the way he spoke of his family and friends that night made my talk with him unlike any other I experienced during my time in Afghanistan, or really on any other deployment.  It was very significant to me personally, and because of that, for me, whenever I see a yellow ribbon displayed on a patriotic car,  or when I think of the Memorial Day holiday, my thoughts always turn to Josh.

In late May, when the TV ads and the radio spots begin to mention the words "Memorial Day," and all the sales and the beach trips and the cookouts so many associate with the holiday come into focus- my mind instead flashes to May 17th 2010.  And my talk on the dark ride home through Kabul in that heavy black Suburban.  And the way he spoke about his wife back in Germany and family and friends back home in Louisiana.  I will never forget that short conversation, and after many years now, I have learned that each passing Memorial Day makes my time with that soldier more meaningful.

Josh was a great American, who loved his family and friends. And like many, many Others, he died for his country doing his very best work to keep people like me and You safe from the Enemy.  He paid a heavy price for our Freedom, and his Gold Star Family continues to pay, too, on our behalf.

Josh Tomlinson will always be remembered, especially in May, with my greatest respect and admiration.

Memorial Day is about Josh.

James Jinnette                 
Colonel USAF, (Retired)

Facebook Memory Page:
https://www.facebook.com/groups/120572277981247/


http://thefallen.militarytimes.com/army-sgt-joshua-a-tomlinson/4635354

http://livinglegendteam.blogspot.com/2010/05/army-spc-joshua-tomlinson.html

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