During the coronavirus crisis, a trip to the grocery store can feel like a tense patrol through hostile territory, and with empty store shelves, it can be hard to find what we want. Stuck at home, we might tire of eating the same things every day.
This desire for something different to eat reminded my friend J.P. McCormick, who served as an Army first lieutenant in Afghanistan in 2007, of a time when his men were weary of the limited variety of their field rations.
McCormick’s infantry unit was securing a convoy in Afghanistan’s often chaotic Helmand province. The trip to their destination went well. The return trip had more problems. The Taliban launched sporadic attacks. One of the American convoy’s trucks, which had been hauling field rations, was destroyed.
Field rations are known as “meals ready to eat,” or MRE. But that doesn’t mean soldiers are always ready to eat them. 1st Lt. McCormick, like any good officer, was concerned about morale and had an idea.
“I figured I’d get our Afghan soldier friends to go find a goat or chicken. Then, the men could eat real meat,” he told me. “Anything to escape the f—ing bags of cheap intestinal dough.”
McCormick and his men collected $45 and sent out the Afghans.
“I was thinking they’d have chickens. We might keep one for eggs.” McCormick’s food fantasies grew and grew.
But like so many other soldiers’ dreams, his hopes proved to be delusions.
“The Afghans brought back the most miserable goat I’ve ever seen. This goat had endured a very rough life.”
The Afghan soldiers, always eager to impress their American allies, were extremely proud of their goat. They thought they’d found an amazing animal. And since there was no way this goat had cost the whole $45, they were also pleased to have pocketed a lot of change.
So goat was on the menu. But what to do with the thing? McCormick hadn’t been hunting since he was eight years old, when he shot a duck and cried for a week. He wasn’t excited about killing the animal. Fortunately, one of his sergeants said he’d grown up in the country and could take care of the goat.
For very good reasons, the Army doesn’t allow campfires or cooking fires at night. The light silhouettes targets for the enemy to shoot. To compensate for this, soldiers held up plywood sheets to hide the light.
A Canadian artillery unit rolled up, very interested in what the Americans were cooking.
“It was like a Lord of the Flies circus,” McCormick said. His soldiers were very excited about the goat. They’d even hauled out their bayonets, which they otherwise never used, for eating utensils. No way their Canadian friends would be snagging any of that feast.
Finally, the food was cooked. “Chunks of meat were coming out, and they were these gristly, blackened chunks of charcoal with a trace of meat.”
Normally, officers eat last, but in this case, 1st Lt. McCormick wanted to eat first to see if it was safe. He speared a piece with his bayonet and popped it into his mouth, closing his eyes as he tasted. “F—! After the char and the smoke, that tiny chunk of goat meat was one of the most delicious things I’d ever had in my entire life.”
Right about then, the Canadians received a fire mission, and 155 mm howitzers were soon roaring in the night. But gunning for the Taliban didn’t ruin the feast. By the time McCormick opened his eyes, the goat was gone. His men sat back, relaxing around the fire, faces smeared in goat grease and charcoal.
“Just for that one little moment,” he said, “there was that little bit of bliss.”
McCormick and his soldiers found a bit of joy in a troubling time. My friends, as we struggle through this pandemic, I wish the same for you.
Trent Reedy served as a combat engineer in the Iowa National Guard from 1999 to 2005, including a tour of duty in Afghanistan.
