If you look hard enough around our base you can find the occasional telltale sign that its Christmas Day.
There’s a lonely pine tree, wreathed in lights and baubles perched in the corner of the chow hall, courtesy of a passing helicopter crew. The usual tempo of operations has slowed a little, offering a brief respite for weary Marines. Festive packs sent by US veterans associations lie underneath our obligatory table decoration (a tiny plastic tree balancing atop a box of handy-wipes), containing a rifle cleaner and mini-first aid kit – a somewhat macabre gift. A deafening flyover from a fighter jet makes us all duck for cover, until we realise that the US Air Force has just delivered their seasons greetings.
We broke from tradition for our weekly barbeque last night, seeking shelter from the cold inside the chow hall to swap memories of Christmas Eves gone by. Tales of celebrity visits to Lashkar Gah reach us, along with mythical stories of fine food and festivities – things are a little more austere here, though the grilled goat kebabs are especially fine. (We all remind ourselves that at least we’re spared the frenzied crowds and last-minute mayhem).
The Commandant of the Marine Corps flies in for a brief visit. His whistle-stop tour takes a moment to award the Purple Heart to half a dozen Marines injured in the line of duty. His words strike a chord of hope in those listening that things will get better.
Though we wish it otherwise, life goes on. Marines stand guard throughout the freezing night. Vehicles roll in delivering fresh supplies, and the operations room hums 24/7. Late on Christmas Eve, the sharp crump of an explosion startled me. Yet another roadside bomb and someone has their life torn to shreds at the hands of the Taliban. No Happy Christmas for them.
Our Afghan friends of course don’t celebrate Christmas, though the District Governor and his team join us for the celebratory meal. Beyond the canvas of the mess tent, the mosques singing the call to prayer offer a musical reminder that for them the day is as any other.
And throughout it all, though we don’t speak it, we know that tomorrow this festive pause will be over, and the war will continue.
