T-72

I just like this photo. Me on the hulk of an Iraqi T-72 tank. Camp Slayer, Baghdad.

Pop Smoke

In our AO (Area of Operations) there is a police station smack in the middle of a Sunni neighborhood that is a hotbed of AQI (al Qaeda in Iraq). It is common knowledge that Iraqi police are dominantly Shia, and extremely vulnerable to corruption and infiltration by various factions of the illegal Shia militias. At best, the police operating out of this station were ineffective. They were ill-equipped to actually do any patrolling, and essentially were too fearful of AQI to venture beyond the walls of the compound. At worst, some of the top supervisors were thought to be corrupt, even to the point of collaborating with AQI in attacks against coalition forces. This was a situation that could not be allowed to continue. So, with the consent of the Ministry of the Interior, we moved on the police station with the intent of replacing the local police with the relatively better trained and less corrupt National Police.

It was an operation that required some finesse. After all, it would not be difficult in such a situation to inadvertently create more enemies out of disenchanted or embarrassed former police. Special emphasis was placed on treating everybody with dignity and respect as we attempted to separate the wheat from the chaff during the course of the operation. At one point I found myself in the position of standing guard over a small group of recently-relieved Iraqi police. One of the former police indicated to me that he need to go back to his "office" to retrieve some personal items before the trucks moved everybody safely out of the neighborhood. I found another soldier to take my place, and I escorted the gentleman to his "office" which turned out to be an outbuilding on the compound that was actually the kitchen. The man rooted through the cupboards and refrigerator (thoughtfully offering me a very refreshing ice cold Sprite), and filled a large plastic sack with dozens of cartons of cigarettes. I honestly think that the kitchen was stocked with nothing more than cigarettes and my one can of Sprite!

Less than a mile away is another Sunni neighborhood virtually free of AQI. The Iraqi Army has a very good reputation in the neighborhood, and on our last patrol it was not uncommon for people to honk and wave at us as they drove past. Time will tell if we can replicate these conditions in the other area. For now, however, it is enough that an operation of such delicacy went off without a hitch. No shots were fired, no IED's went off, no mortars impacted, and nobody was hurt. So, no violence means another uneventful day that did not attract any headlines.

Dark Helmet

There have been a grand total of two times in my brief military career when I've been the victim of larceny committed by my brethren in uniform. When it occurs, it is I think a deeper psychological blow than common thievery as it occurs in the civilian world. After all, these are the people you must trust with your life. These are people with whom are are supposed to be sharing a common bond; forging intimate ties that have been lauded in literature and lore as being stronger than blood. These are bonds that are supposed to be buttressed by the vaunted Army Values that have been drilled into soldiers from the day we sign on the dotted line: Loyalty, Duty, Respect, Selfless Service, Honor, Integrity, Personal Courage. It is, of course, true that these are aspirations rather than descriptors of a state of affairs within the military.

The first time was going through reception as a new recruit at Fort Jackson, SC. Even before we'd been issued combat boots, some bottom-feeding low life went through all the lockers in the bay and cleaned out all the cash. I was out $50. Welcome to the Army.

The second time was just a few days ago when my helmet was stolen from my locked humvee in the middle of the afternoon. Now, this strikes me as a particularly egregious offense. In a combat zone, you simply don't swipe another man's armor. You may ask yourself, well... if the humvee was locked, how did they get in? Here is the worst kept secret in the army: Humvee's are notoriously EASY to get into. They have to be for safety reasons. If a humvee is combat locked and there is a catastrophic event (IED), or a rollover, first responders must be able to get into the vehicle from the outside. So, bypasses are built into the design of the doors. Padlocks on the outside do nothing to counteract the bypasses. Furthermore, just about everybody has a heavy set of bolt cutters anyway. The point is, it is no great trick getting into a locked humvee.

Now I was presented with a problem. Officially reporting the theft (even though it was a theft) would have saddled me with the cost of a new helmet (in the neighborhood of $326.30) that would have been taken out of my paycheck. This was probably the motivation behind the theft of my helmet in the first place. Bob has a theory that some dough boy back in WWI lost his helmet, swiped his buddy's, and the chain has continued unbroken through the Army for the better part of a century. So, now the trick was to find a replacement without stealing one. I presented the problem to my capable NCOIC, and he went to work under the radar. In the meantime, I had to run missions with borrowed headgear. The first helmet I borrowed was an XL. I've got a big melon, but this thing made me look like a turtle (See photo. That is me on the far left).

Yesterday my problem was solved when my NCOIC strode into my room with an appropriately sized helmet in his hands. I'm back in business...and now I owe somebody a favor. Ah, Army life.

New Uniform Component

Today I entered the combat zone in a slightly different high-tech uniform. Just before I went on leave, we were issued the new Nomex combat shirt. Unfortunately, it sat on a shelf for three weeks and I wasn't able to officially put it to the test until today. The first impression right out of the bag is the overpowering chemical smell that immediately assaulted my sinuses and triggered a dull headache. Fortunately, an initial washing eliminated 95% of that problem. This shirt is designed to be worn under the IBA (Interceptor Body Armor), i.e. body armor. It takes the place of the tan t-shirt and the regular ACU shirt/blouse. This is a GOOD thing. The ACU shirt soaks up sweat, bunches up, gets very hot, and with all the Velcro badges, patches, name tapes, etc. can get pretty uncomfortable. The new combat shirt, is much lighter, has NO patches, badges, etc., etc., is very thin, and in MUCH more comfortable. Plus, it is supposedly fire retardant. (I hope I never have to put that one to the test.) The drawbacks are minor. It feels flimsy and is prone to ripping, especially when you're all sweaty and you try to pull it over your head by the back of the neck. Also, the mock-turtle collar - again, designed to protect the throat area from flame - is a bit uncomfortable and will take some getting used to. The most intriguing thing about these new shirts, however, is that we are one of the very few units on base to have been issued them. This made for some interesting rubbernecking and whispering on the part of other soldiers when we made our entrance to the main dining facility early this morning for breakfast.

Morning Run

I took a morning run yesterday around a large man-made lake here on post. It seems to have started cooling off a bit at night, so getting out there into the pre-dawn air is significantly more tolerable than before I left for R&R. By my measurement, it is about 3.15 miles around this lake, and there are typically quite a lot of soldiers out there in the morning running the circuit.

On this run I happened upon a confluence of events that created an image that was truly something to behold. The sun, massive and orange, crested the horizon as I ran the Western shore of the lake. Its reflection shimmered the length of the still water, and formed a stunning backdrop to the vivid pink flowers that grow clustered on stalks among the shoreline reeds. As the distinctive report of 50 cal. machine gun fire echoed in the distance, two Black Hawk helicopters emerged directly out of the rising sun and slowly thundered their way to a helipad to my rear. It was a moment no Hollywood cinematographer could replicate. Next time I promise to bring a camera.

As an aside, I would like to draw your attention to this wonderful tribute by one of my favorites, Peggy Noonan. I include this because I have have the great fortune to see first-hand the types of actions and behaviors she writes about, and can testify that no matter what the future holds for Iraq, there will be countless Iraqis who will treasure memories of their encounters with American soldiers.

Back To The Front

There are some interesting psychological side effects to taking R&R leave and traveling back and forth from Baghdad, Iraq to Anytown, USA. The most readily apparent is the predictable "time warp" sensation one experiences being away from home for any significant length of time. As indicated earlier, you very easily slip into old familiar routines, and you can quickly forget the you've been gone for six months. Then, while driving through town, you're jarred back to reality when you notice a building that wasn't there 'yesterday', or you glance at the marquis of the local multiplex theater and realize that NONE of the titles look even remotely familiar. The most unsettling sensations, however, can come from just from everyday interactions and conversations with family and friends. You find that you are somehow out of sync; that the gears of everyday life are stripped and no longer mesh. This slipping sensations comes from the loss of a common chronological frame of reference. After all, life has gone on pretty much business-as-usual for everybody else, and you are somehow expecting to step back into the world as if nothing has changed. You're a caveman just thawed from a block of ice, oblivious to the passing of history.

"What are your plans for the next two weeks?" This is a common question concerning R&R from Iraq. On the surface it is pretty simple. Given the restrictions imposed on young soldiers deployed to Iraq, most popular responses (depending on who is asking the question) inevitably involve some explicit reference to alcohol and/or sex. Duh. There is another dimension to the question however, that I found unsettling. Once I was home and the boots and uniform had been replaced with tennis shoes and jeans, that simple question acquired the psychological punch (I would imagine) of being told by your doctor that you have two weeks to live. So, how are you going to spend those two weeks? Okay, so the answer doesn't really change that much, but it acquires an intensely vivid urgency. This can be distracting, and if not properly recognized and controlled can adversely affect relationships, and ironically can make it very difficult to Rest & Relax.

Anyhow, playtime is now over and it is time to return to work. I'm back in Baghdad. The journey back to the sandbox was not nearly as bad as the trip home. For some unfathomable reason the army seems to make it so much easier getting to Iraq than leaving it. Hmmm. The flight back had a stopover in Budapest, Hungary as opposed to Shannon, Ireland. How exciting, as I have never been to Budapest. We never got off the plane. We sat on the tarmac for an hour an a half while they changed crews and refueled, and from the windows we watched Hungarian bunny rabbits scurry to and fro in the fields adjacent to the runways.

I popped awake and started this little blog entry at 3 AM, so I think it will take a little time to shake off the jet lag.

HOME!! ...well, for a little while.

I'm on R&R! What an absolutely horrific journey to get from Baghdad to the U.S.! First, my designated leave dates got screwed up, so I only learned at the last minute that my R&R was four days later than I was originally told. Then the flight from BIAP (Baghdad International Airport) to Kuwait was delayed for 24 hours...twice. Our decision to make our way back to base each time and sleep in our own beds in air conditioned rooms instead of waiting around in the sweltering 120 degree heat was roundly criticized by our company. So be it. We'll agree to disagree on the wisdom of that particular line of reasoning. Once we got properly manifested on the flight to Kuwait, it was still a 5 hour wait in the heat, but we certainly weren't going to complain. The flight to Kuwait was probably the worst I've ever been on. The C-17 was packed the the gills, and was essentially an oven with wings. I am honestly surprised that nobody on that plane passed out from the heat. Kuwait was tolerable, but it was still better than 24 hours full of paperwork, briefings, etc. before we boarded buses for the 1 1/2 hour trip to Kuwait Airport. Once there, it was a packed charter to Shannon, Ireland ("No alcohol while in uniform!!!"), then finally the long stretch to Dallas. Arriving on American soil was...well...simply awesome. Firetrucks meet the planes full of soldiers on the runway, and offer a tribute of arcs of water over the planes. Our walk from the gate to customs is through a terminal full of applauding crowds welcoming home all the soldiers. I'm a sentimentalist, so it was a very humbling experience. I know that they do this for flights coming back from the war zone every day, but it still feels fresh and very welcoming.

Then I was stuck in Dallas for a good ten hours until I could get a flight back home. Thank you United Airlines for overbooking EVERY damn flight, and not allowing ANY standby on the planes. Really appreciate that. Still, the people in Dallas were awesome. Very friendly, and curious about our experiences and impressions. Shook a lot of hands.

When I finally got home, my family was waiting for me at the gate; a huge professional sign all made up in my honor. When I walked off the plane the whole crowd at the gate (United Airlines customers waiting for delayed flights and no doubt pretty grumpy about it) erupted in applause. I couldn't help but choke up.

It is almost scary how quickly and easily I shed the skin of a soldier and stepped back into the role of a civilian. I feel as if I'm stepped through a six month time warp. Iraq very suddenly seems so far away. I drive around town, go to stores and restaurants as if I'd never been away. Still, there is a distance that is difficult to describe. There is a triviality to everyday life. I sometimes feel like I am seeing the world through eyes that are not my own.