http://www.thestarphoenix.com/news/saskatchewan/Remembering+Roberts+death+Taliban+Road/1098663/story.html
Pte. Eddy Staudinger sat an elbow's reach from where Master Cpl. Josh Roberts stood in the turret of their LAV III when the Afghan farmland around them was hit by a storm of rifle fire and rocket-propelled grenades.
Five minutes later, Staudinger heard Roberts, whose head and shoulders were exposed out the top of the turret, take a bullet and saw the crew commander's body go limp.
The circumstances of the Saskatchewan soldier's Aug. 9 death remain mysterious more than four months later. A military investigation publicly concluded Roberts, 29, was killed by Taliban, not guards working for a private security firm that wandered into the firefight. But the speed of the investigation and conflicting reports from the military leave his family with suspicions about who pulled the trigger.
From Staudinger's limited, but front-line perspective, Taliban fire ended Roberts's life.
"Absolutely (it) was," said Staudinger, a fresh-cheeked 21-year-old soldier, in his hometown, 20 kilometres west of Edmonton. "Because where we were taking fire from was in this ring here," he said, sweeping a pen over a sketched map to indicate the northeast to west position. "He was hit from the west."
Staudinger, a member of 2nd Battalion Princess Patricia's Canadian Light Infantry on leave from CFB Shilo, Man., for the holidays, said he had no firsthand knowledge of where Compass Security was positioned.
But based on his discussions with soldiers later that day, he believed Compass was to the northeast on a highway that ran perpendicular to the platoon's position along Taliban Road, from Kandahar City to Helmand province. Some soldiers have told Staudinger that Compass was too far away to be in firing range.
"It's frustrating that the other accounts are out there because we know it's not right," Staudinger said. "There was never any doubt about it being the Compass Security or the insurgents (who killed Roberts). Never."
Staudinger believes there were insurgents in the trees and huts between the platoon and the Compass position.
"It's just mixed up as far as where exactly firing was coming from that day."
Staudinger's account doesn't convince Beth and Gene Figley of Dalmeny, Roberts's mother and stepfather. They have heard more than half a dozen conflicting stories about how Roberts died, from top brass like army commander Lt.-Gen. Andrew Leslie to soldiers like Staudinger.
A quick investigation by the military police National Investigation Service concluded insurgent fire killed Roberts, but the military has refused to release that investigation and Roberts's autopsy report to the Figleys. At the time of the incident, the U.S. military newspaper Stars and Stripes reported Roberts had died after the security firm fired "indiscriminately" when they stumbled into the firefight.
"I want the truth," Beth Figley said. "I don't think that's unrealistic."
Another soldier in the firefight privately gave Figley a vastly different account than Staudinger's. He told her last month that the Compass convoy was advancing south on the platoon, launching rocket-propelled grenades and firing AK-47 assault rifles.
Staudinger was closest to Roberts when he died, but in the chaos of the firefight, admits he wasn't aware of all the circumstances around him. His field of vision was limited to the view through his sights, which give a binocular-type view of the scene.
Figley listened to an abbreviated version of Staudinger's account around Remembrance Day, when he and six other soldiers visited her and her husband,. The soldiers couldn't agree on details of the firefight without coaching from their warrant officer, she said.
"I have a lot of questions about this because none of the stories make sense," said Beth Figley. "I just need to find out what happened to Josh. I'm not saying these guys are lying, but their perspective was so myopic."
For Staudinger, the day he lost his commander and friend is burned "pretty vivid" into his memory even if some details, he admits, were lost in the fog of war.
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Around 9 a.m. that Saturday, the sky was clear and the heat already rising quickly. The mood was light when Nine Platoon of Charlie Company, patrolling in Zhari District west of Kandahar, pulled into the Spin Pir Afghan police substation. Roberts and Staudinger, having watched Black Hawk Down the night before, talked about watching another movie that night in their tent. Anything to pass the downtime. Roberts was to return home in weeks and counted the days to becoming a father and reuniting with his fiancee.
The LAV Roberts commanded turned off the main highway onto a dirt road infamously nicknamed Taliban Road with himself, Staudinger, a driver and one air sentry inside. Other soldiers walked in a spread-out pattern around the LAV as Afghan National Army or police -- Staudinger isn't sure which -- checked the mud-hut compounds along the road. Another LAV took a position north of Roberts's LAV.
"We were just doing regular patrol," Staudinger said. "Well, as regular as it gets anyway."
Trouble wasn't unexpected on Taliban Road and the enemy's presence soon became obvious. Terrified Afghan women, children and old men streamed past the two LAVs, running in the opposite direction. Staudinger tensed for a fight. He spotted an Afghan in front of the LAV carrying a rifle -- a friendly National Army or police officer, it turned out -- and breathlessly alerted Roberts. "He said, 'calm down, he's one of ours.' "
Then it started for real.
"We started getting shot at within seconds," he said. "It seemed to be coming from all directions."
Staudinger quickly corrects himself. Firing came in an arc from positions sweeping from the northeast to the west, not every direction, he said.
Staudinger and Roberts had been in firefights before, but none against this many insurgents -- one estimate is 30 Taliban -- and this intense an ambush.
Fire from AK-47 assault rifles shredded trees. Bullets pinged off the LAVs. Rocket-propelled grenades cut through the din of war, but didn't hit Roberts's LAV. Staudinger could see smoke through his sights where insurgents were firing.
"You're getting shot at and you have to respond. But things happen too fast. Adrenalin kicks in, and your training especially. That's what carries you through."
With soldiers in front of the LAV, Staudinger couldn't return fire through his 25-millimetre cannon and machine-gun. Roberts, exposed on top of the LAV, shouted directions to Staudinger through their intercom. His last action was shouting an enemy position to a soldier on the ground south of him, Staudinger said.
That's when Staudinger says he heard Roberts being hit up top and saw his body go limp beside him.
"In the past, I've heard bullets go over the turret. I knew exactly what that sound was," Staudinger said. "I heard it again, but this time it was different. I knew it wasn't just bullets passing over top . . .
"At that moment, I was scared. More scared than I had ever been."
Staudinger and another soldier pulled Roberts down and moved him into the back of the LAV. Staudinger was convinced Roberts was dead, until he caught of glimpse of him in the light, eyes open. Another soldier performed first aid.
Blood was running down the right side of Roberts's face, Staudinger said, confirming for him that his commander was hit in the head.
The first account the Figleys got of Roberts's death, from Leslie at a repatriation ceremony at CFB Trenton in August, was that he had been shot in the neck. That detail was repeated to the Figleys by Maj. Dan Dandurand, commander of the National Investigation Service's western region, in a meeting later the same month.
"I don't know where neck came from," Staudinger said. "When we called it in over the radio it was head."
For details of the firefight he couldn't see through his sights, Staudinger said he has filled in the gaps by talking with other soldiers who were outside the LAV. One says he was south of the armoured vehicle, receiving instructions from Roberts when the commander was hit.
But Beth Figley says details like that keep changing. In her second conversation with Leslie during which she says he contradicted his earlier account and said insurgents, not Compass, had killed Roberts, he reported that the soldier was on the LAV's east side, she said.
After Roberts was hit, Staudinger took command of the LAV and directed it backward down narrow Taliban Road until there was room to turn around. The LAV crew drove about 150 metres to pick up the medic. Staudinger took about a minute, while the medic climbed in, to fire the LAV's machine gun into the treeline to the east, where someone was already engaged with the second LAV.
The LAV then rushed Roberts back to the police substation while the rest of the platoon continued the battle, before continuing to Forward Operating Base Wilson. A helicopter took Roberts to the hospital at Kandahar Air Field, where he was pronounced dead on arrival.
Staudinger's account rings true with Beth Figley on one point. She said she couldn't believe it when an NIS officer suggested to her in August that Roberts may have been partly responsible for his death.
Staudinger doesn't believe Roberts erred either.
"No. Absolutely not," he said, with a note of fierceness. "The No. 1 thing a crew commander has to do, especially in a firefight, is be up top to command. And he was doing more than that. He was pointing the enemy position out to the soldiers in front of us."
A week ago, the Ottawa Citizen quoted Leslie promising the family a severed copy of the NIS report "over the next few days."
The family is still waiting.
"If I had to choose a scenario, I would choose that Josh died fighting insurgents instead of being shot in the head by an undertrained security force," Beth Figley said, through tears. "Because if that's what happened, he died for nothing.
"No one will step up and tell us the truth. (No one) will show us."
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Roberts's death, weeks before the end of 2PPCLI's six-month tour, devastated his platoon. None of its soldiers had even been injured in combat before.
"It was pretty hard," Staudinger said. "One of the things he talked about most was getting home to see his fiancee (Lise Malenfant) and his unborn son (Meyer).
So tight was Roberts with his fellow soldiers that he asked their input in picking a middle name for Meyer (they picked Gabriel).
Staudinger remembers Roberts as fun-loving, but fiercely loyal to his crew. The same man who spiced up monotonous maintenance work by comicly tucking up his shirt to expose his belly also argued with his superiors on behalf of his men. Once, he fought for them to get fresher rations than the 2005-06 vintage they were supplied with.
Staudinger knew Roberts for two years, but got to know him a lot better when the elder man was moved into his section, shortly before 2nd Battalion deployed for Kandahar in February. Through more firefights than Staudinger bothered to count, the two soldiers were no more than a foot apart in the cramped turret for up to 20 hours at a time.
"By that time, we were a really good team together. I wouldn't say (he was) fearless, but he dealt with whatever fears he had with bravery."
Staudinger is preparing to leave the military in March. He found his attraction to the soldier's life waning during his tour, even before Roberts's death.
"I was less enthusiastic to do something that took such a toll on a person. I was stressed with everything going on."
He plans to apply to the Edmonton Police Service, a career Roberts had also been considering. Next summer, Staudiner will marry his fiancee, Jessica Lenz, who waited nervously for him during his six-month stint in Afghanistan.
While Staudinger is a happy-go-lucky sort, he wears his emotional scars on his sleeve, and his skin. Two black rubber bracelets ring his left wrist, commemorating two other friends who died in combat during his tour, Pte. Terry Street (April 4) and Pte. Chad Horn (Sept. 3).
"It's hard to deal with," he said. "But slowly I've been getting it out with the support of friends and family."
His upper left arm is tattooed with a helmet hanging on a cross and the inscription, Only God can judge me. His right calf is inked with a wooden cross amid maple leaves.
Now Staudinger is gathering first-person stories of soldiers, including his own, for a book he'd like to publish.
"There are too many stories out there that are too tremendous to fade," he said.
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