The flight to Afghanistan is a two-day haul. We flew to Germany on a Boeing 747. After six hours there we swapped crews and flew to Incirlik, Turkey, then to Manas, Kyrgyzstan. Forty-eight hours after leaving U.S. soil, we landed at Bagram Airbase, Afghanistan.
Our helicopters moved by sea to Rota, Spain. From there, air force cargo jets fly transports to Bagram. The bulk of our personal gear was containerized at Fort Campbell, moved by trucks to the port at Jacksonville, Florida, and loaded onto ships. Less than a month later personal items arrived at Karachi, Pakistan, where it was transferred to trucks and driven through the Khyber Pass to Jalalabad. By mid-December helicopters, crews, and equipment were assembled at FOB Fenty, where we began the process of taking the reins from Task Force Out Front.
John Lynch sent a Black Hawk to Bagram to fly me to FOB Fenty. My operations officer, Jack Murphy, met me at the helicopter.
“Hey, sir,” he said with a warm smile. “Welcome to Jalalabad.” In the summer of 2008, I had been looking for an operations officer, whom we called an S3 in the army. I had scoured the list of candidates attending the staff college, but I only knew two of the officers on the list, and both of them were committed to the 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment. I called an old friend, Lieutenant Colonel Frank Muth, whom I had previously served with in the 3d ACR. Frank was serving as the aviation branch chief at Human Resources Command at the time. “Yes! The guy you want is in Rhode Island. He’s attending the Naval Post Graduate School. His name is Jack Murphy. He has his mind set on going back to the 82nd Airborne Division, but if you call him I bet he’ll change his mind.”
Frank gave me Murphy’s number. I called him immediately.
After identifying myself I said, “Frank Muth told me to give you a call. He said you had worked for him before, and that I should recruit you to be my S3.”
“That’s kind of him, sir, but I’m sure he exaggerated,” Murphy said and chuckled.
There are officers in the army that seem to try and fulfill a stereotype. They behave the way they think they are supposed to versus just being themselves. I was looking for a guy who was comfortable in his own skin, an authentic leader, someone I could trust to make good decisions in my absence.
After twenty minutes of small talk I put the pressure on. I needed an answer. “Jack, we’re deploying in November to eastern Afghanistan. It’s going to be a heck of a year, and I need a good field-grade officer, someone I can count on. I was told you want to go back to the 82nd, but what if I told you that if you come to work for me you’ll go directly into the job, and we’ll deploy to the toughest fight in the world a few months later?” I asked.
In a calm and sincere tone he said, “Who would say no to that, sir? I’m honored that you called.”
And just like that, Major Jean-Jacques “Jack” Thai Murphy became my S3. God could not have personally issued me a better one. The son of a Vietnamese librarian and a first-generation Irish-American cartographer, Jack is one of a kind. I saw him as a contradiction of the stereotypical army officer—diametrically opposed to the Hollywood image of a ranting meathead that views everything in life as black and white. Jack was laid-back and easy-going, collegial, and quite liberal for army standards. Yet despite his success and tremendously positive reputation it seemed that while he loved the army, he could take it or leave it. If the army stopped tomorrow, Jack Murphy would shrug his shoulders and go snow skiing or kayaking, while he decided what to do next.
My guess is that on the angriest day of his life, Jack Murphy did not raise his voice. I certainly never saw him do it. Yelling wasn’t Jack’s style. He took everything in stride. He was the big brother in the Jack and Jill relationship. While it was in Jillian’s blood to lash out against the army rules that she considered to be silly and pointless, Jack, who frequently agreed with Jillian’s reasoning and logic, chose to follow the rules simply because it wasn’t worth the energy to sweat the small stuff. “Is it really that big of a deal?” he’d ask when Jillian became frustrated.
Jillian’s typical response was, “It’s not that it’s a big deal, sir. It’s the point: that policy makes no sense.” She was born to challenge the status quo and demand “why.” Jack was her perfect counterbalance and she, his. I was thrilled with them both.
We had decided it would be better for Jack to travel to Afghanistan ahead of us, to prepare to receive the rest of the unit. As soon as Jack hit the ground he began synchronizing the relief in place, which was a two-week process during which time we conducted a deliberate transfer of responsibility from one unit to the other.
Initially, TF Out Front remained in the lead, calling all the shots on missions as our soldiers shadowed them. They made all the tactical decisions with our soldiers learning their processes. During the second week we assumed the lead role and they sat back, offering advice and counsel. At the end of the two-week process we would conduct a transfer of authority ceremony, which signified the official shift of responsibility from one unit to another. 2nd Squadron, 17th Cavalry Regiment had written another historic page in their unit’s history, and 7th Squadron had begun yet another historic journey.
“Come on, I’ll take you to your room and you can put your rucks down,” Jack told Command Sergeant Major Thom and me at the helicopter.
Eric Thom and I roomed together in a walled-off section of a bee hut, which would be our home for the next year. Eric Thom was a super battle buddy and a senior noncommissioned officer, but an even better friend. I had known him for several years. When I became the brigade operations officer in 2006, he was my operations sergeant major. My wife, Lisa, and I were great friends with Eric and his wife, Samantha.
Eric was lean and fit. He could max the army physical fitness test without breaking a sweat. He had run a sub-three-hour marathon, yet he was built more like a bodybuilder than a long-distance runner. A tight, blond flattop sat atop his fair-skinned, muscular body. Incredibly smart and well rounded, he was finishing the last requirements of his master’s degree online when we deployed. Our soldiers were blessed to have such a professional, caring leader as their command sergeant major.
* * *
The early morning sun reflected off the snow-covered mountains, lighting up the valley on January 6, 2009—a picture-perfect backdrop for the ceremony. As Command Sergeant Major Eric Thom and I unfurled the 7th Squadron, 17th Cavalry Regimental colors at Jalalabad Airfield, I was reminded that it was the first time the 7th Squadron colors had been flown in combat since they were cased in the spring of 1972, in Vietnam. I thought of Private First Class Garfield Langhorn, who gave his life for his fellow troopers.
On January 15, 1969, almost forty years ago to the day, a C Troop Cobra helicopter flown by First Lieutenant Sterling Cox and Warrant Officer 1 Birch Petteys went down in the heavily forested jungles of Vietnam. A rescue team was quickly deployed. The team made its way to the crash site but found both pilots dead. They prepared the bodies and began moving to the landing zone but came under heavy machine gun fire. In short order, they were surrounded and began taking casualties. As the men fought valiantly to defend themselves against superior numbers, an enemy soldier threw a grenade into their perimeter. It landed near several of the wounded men. Knowing for certain that he would die, yet without hesitation, Garfield Langhorn threw his body on top of the grenade, giving his own life so that his fellow cavalrymen might live. I could see his face in my mind’s eye that morning, a twenty-year-old African-American male in 1969. At a time when too many Americans still judged a man by the color of his skin, at a time when there was still too much hate in our society, Garfield Langhorn demonstrated infinite love—a soldier’s love. What an incredible legacy to carry forward.
Eric Thom and I slowly unfurled the regimental colors, a flag that represented the history of those who fought before us. It was now our turn to write another remarkable chapter in the history of our great squadron. I knew many of the men who had fought with 7-17 Cavalry in Vietnam, and I knew with certainty, though seven thousand miles away, January 6 was a special day for them as well. I sensed both their pride and their presence.
Task Force Pale Horse consisted of sixteen OH-58D Kiowa Warrior helicopters, six AH-64D Apaches, six UH-60M Black Hawks, four CH-47F Chinooks, three UH-60 medevac helicopters, three Hunter unmanned aerial vehicles, and a pathfinder detachment, which consisted of seventeen highly skilled and specially trained infantrymen. Almost six hundred men and women from all walks of life, unified in purpose. On that sunny bluebird day John Lynch bid farewell to the men and women of Task Force Duke, whom they had supported, and I committed Pale Horse to giving 100 percent in support of TF Duke from that day forward. It was time to go to work.