The paths of two Connecticut men — one a state trooper, the other a businessman — would have likely never crossed had it not been for the Army Reserve. But when the two men met and traveled from the United States to Afghanistan, their survival depended on trusting each other.

The trooper, Scott Meyer, and the businessman, Timothy Christensen, are highly trained majors who served from October 2011 to April 2012 as part of the first Army Railroad Advisory Team in Afghanistan. They looked much less conspicuous than typical soldiers in a war zone. The two may have had sidearms strapped to their waists, but they wore civilian clothes to work in downtown Kabul, Afghanistan's capital.

Their role was to teach the Afghans to build and operate a railroad north of Kabul to transport not only military supplies, but also everyday goods, including wood, flour, sugar, oil and gas. They learned their craft while in the military.

"Most of the Afghans didn't know we were soldiers," said Christensen, 39, who lives in Manchester with his wife and two children. "We were embedded with them."

Their job meant leaving the safety of the nearby American military base, driving 2.5 miles through the streets in their white Land Cruiser, and working, with only each other as backup, in the offices of Afghanistan's Ministry of Mines. They were exposing themselves to potential Taliban sympathizers.

Meyer, 46, who lives in Naugatuck with his wife and two children, said, "You need a heightened sense of awareness when you're there."

Christensen said, "There was nothing to stop them from taking us out."

Allowing them to impart their knowledge seemed like a good deal for the Afghans. The pair's expertise in rail transport was in great demand. Officials in two other ministries, the Ministry of Public Works and the Ministry of Transportation and Civil Aviation, were both vying for the Americans' help. So, Afghan government officials compromised and had the two work at the Ministry of Mines so as not to offend authorities at the other ministries.

Christensen, who works in Hartford as a businessman in an IT environment at the Travelers, and Meyer, who's based at the state police barracks in Litchfield, were in high-level positions overseas. The two recall preparing presentations about rail transport for cabinet-level personnel who reported directly to Afghan President Hamid Karzai.

Sometimes one of them would have to travel, unarmed, to meet with Minister of Mines Wahidullah Shahrani. And the other would sit outside the door with a knapsack of 9mm Beretta pistols — just in case.

"One of us would sit outside the door with a bag full of guns," Meyer recalled.

But Christensen conceded, "If it started, we were done."

On otherwise quiet days, there were times when they'd get urgent calls from a fellow American soldier embedded in Afghanistan's Ministry of Defense. He was teaching the Afghans military strategy — and had an inside track on what was going on behind the scenes.

"He'd say, 'Hey, you gotta come back now,'" Christensen said.

The two would pack up their papers and high-tail it back to the base — no questions asked.

In February, the pair — along with all other advisers or embeds, as they are called — were pulled out of the Kabul ministries altogether. Two American officers — "our friends," as Meyer put it — had been shot dead in the Interior Ministry building in the wake of the American military's burning of Qurans at a U.S. military base.

"That was a bad day. … It was a bad week," Christensen said.

They say the Quran burning was a mistake. But the shootings marked the ultimate breakdown of trust between American and Afghan forces — who need to work together if the Americans are ever going to withdraw, relinquishing control of the country's security to the Afghans.

Despite the dangers, the two managed to accomplish their mission. The Afghans learned that they could have a railroad, that it was an important commodity, and that the various ministries would have to cooperate with one another to run it efficiently.

"We accomplished in three weeks what they expected us to do in six months — and just kept going," Christensen said. "It's viable. It works."

In March, the two traveled with others to northern Afghanistan to check on the railroad and help establish protocol for its use.

They took risks to build trust. Although they were accompanied by a close protection team, which had long arms like M-4 and M-16 carbines, Christensen and Meyer wore their civilian clothes — and no body armor.

"We couldn't wear the body armor when we were with the Afghans outside," Christensen said. "I'm going to trust you so you can trust me."

Both men minimize the risks they took, but they take pride in having served the United States.

"It's giving back to the country," said Christensen, who joined the military in 1995. "If everybody gave something back to this country, that's what makes this country great."

Meyer, who's served in the military for more than two decades, offered a message to the American public.

"They have it a lot better than they realize," he said.

Now, just a couple of months after stepping back on American soil, Christensen and Meyer try to reintegrate into society. While they had a sense of control over their lives while serving overseas, and that control signified safety, back in the States, they say, they have little control over their environment at all.

And they may be a little short on patience.

"You have less of a tolerance for idiocy," Meyer said.

The men are going from convening with cabinet members to bowing to bosses — at work and at home.

"I go back to writing a ticket," Meyer said.

"Now, we're back. We're taking out the garbage," Christensen said. "We're doing the laundry and the dishes and the yard."

They're going from a world of Humvees to the land of SUVs.

"You're trying to jump into your family life — in the minivan," Christensen said.
 

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