Bright Lights, Big City

Moving day has arrived. The powers that be have decided to move some pieces around on the chess board, so we've been uprooted from our cozy little home in the Triangle of Death, and we're on our way to the big city. A brand new team arrived at our FOB to replace us. They still had that 'new car' smell. This is the first tour of duty for three of the four guys on the new team, and they'd only been on the ground for about three weeks, so it was a little strange for us to play the role of grizzled war veterans. We brought them up to speed as fast as we could, and gave them the grand tour with all the proper introductions. If you believe in omens, then this new team is in for quite a ride. As we were preparing to leave, the FOB came under mortar or rocket attack for the first time in about seven months. There were only two rounds, and they landed just outside the walls, but the experience was quite foreign to our little base. Additionally, a soldier nearly shot himself in the foot while we were on our very last mission. It was the first 'negligent discharge' we've witnessed since being in theater.

The first leg of our journey was pretty tense. Traveling at night through the countryside every dirt mound or cinderblock on the side of the road is a suspected IED. Traveling through towns and villages, every shadow in a window or flashlight in an alley puts you on edge. Suddenly the lights of an entire village go out. It is a signal. Or, they all suddenly go on. It is a signal. Or the blue and red light rack on top of an Iraqi Police car cuts through the darkness about a mile ahead. It is also a signal. The bad guys always know when we're coming. A broken down car on the side of the road may be a VBIED (Vehicle Bourne Improvised Explosive Device), and it is given a wide berth. None of this is alien to us, but the natives have been restless lately and I had the gut feeling that if something was going to happen, then this will probably be the night it does. It doesn't, however, and we complete our first leg without incident. There was a moment of humor when somebody from the lead vehicle in our convoy gets on the radio and tells us about a little hedgehog near the shoulder of the road. When the convoy commander's excited voice replies requesting distance, direction and positive identification by the vehicle gunner, it is obvious that something got garbled in transmission.

We greet the following day with question about the next scheduled convoy to Baghdad. The timetables have been scrambled because a VBIED the night before hit a US checkpoint, demolishing a bridge along our primary route, and killing three American soldiers. We're finally underway well after sundown. Our convoy is one of many that create a nearly constant stream of headlights along one of Iraq's busiest highways. There is no civilian traffic due to curfews, but we're all impressed with the sheer numbers of military vehicles. The trip to Baghdad takes about three hours. I nearly fall asleep at the wheel at least once. There's no remedy for it. Can't pull over and switch drivers, nap, or grab a cup of coffee. Just have to push on.

A stop at Camp Liberty, Baghdad brings reunions with guys we've not seen since we first put boots on the ground, but it doesn't last long. We've received some disturbing news. Team Centaur is to be split up. Nobody we talk to can explain the rationale behind this decision. I have been appointed as team leader for a new team tasked with supporting a battalion responsible for a sizeable piece of the city. As of this posting, my team consists of Bob. We wave goodbye from the side of the road as the rest of our detachment remounts their humvees and begins the last leg of their journey to their posh new home in the center of the city.

A new chapter begins. We've moved from a largely rural area to the middle of the big city. It is a whole new dynamic; a new team, a new detachment, a new supported unit.