Acute Politics

End of Innocence

2010-04-05T08:57:00.004-06:00

Staff Sergeant George Nickel is in court again today. Hopefully, this will be the last time. Hopefully, we’ll see him go somewhere where he can get the help he needs. He’s pleaded guilty to a felony, discharging a weapon into a building, in exchange for having all other charges dropped. He’s still looking at up to 15 years in prison. We want to see him put into secure care. Most of all, we want to see him get better. Very few have given as much as George and survived. He deserves better than we’ve given him.

Before I joined the Army, before we invaded Iraq- when I first went to college…

One of my friends was a Marine reservist. His brigade was on alert to deploy for the invasion. I remember him coming to the dorm with all of his gear and sorting it, packing each piece of equipment away. He didn’t go, then, but he went twice later. The second time, he got to Ramadi just days after I left.

War came while I was on spring break from my freshman year of college. We were younger then, carefree and troublesome. Neither of us had much idea what war was like, but we were more than ready to defend the rightness of it all, and to go and fight ourselves.

We could have looked around and seen what war can do to a man, but we didn’t. There was a grounds man there at college who was a veteran of Vietnam. One day, some students made a dry ice “bomb” by dropping chips of dry ice in a plastic soda bottle, adding water, and screwing on the cap. They dropped it out a window, and this man, this veteran, came around the corner and saw it lying there on the grass. He went to pick it up, like he did with all the rest of the student trash. Just before he got to it, the bottle exploded. He tucked and rolled, and ran behind cover, scanning the courtyard.

Hilarious, right? I thought so. I wasn’t one of the guys involved, but I sure laughed about it when I heard. Like I said, we were younger then, and troublesome. We thought that flashbacks were something that ‘Nam vets had drugged themselves into, or made up so they’d have something to write on their cardboard signs. PTSD wasn’t really real, either- we all knew that that was largely an invented boogeyman. I knew all of this before I saw a bomb explode in earnest.

I know better now.

UPDATE: SSG Nickel is out of jail and checked into the VA for resident treatment. He will be on strict felony probation, but if he fulfills all terms of probation he can actually get it removed from his record once it's over. This is about as good of a result as we could have hoped for. George has a chance to get his life back.

http://www.idahostatesman.com/2010/04/06/1142707/iraq-war-veteran-gets-opportunity.html

New Dawn

2010-02-21T19:19:00.001-07:00

David Bellavia:

That young woman wanted nothing else than the chance to explore her newfound freedom. She didn’t beg for help, or plead for her life. Voting would become her final act. In that moment, she matched our own sacrifices. Denfrund, Carlson, Sizemore. Iwan. Gonzales. Mock.

Our friends died to secure this day. And here on this road in Diyala, I saw proof that the blood spilled in this backward country had value. It made the cause noble and just. This may not mean much to someone who stands in opposition to our fight, but it is the legacy of our fallen. The honor of their sacrifice.

Go read it.

Remembering

2010-02-08T09:18:00.003-07:00

To Absent Companions!

It's been three years now, and I can still taste the dirt, still feel the loss, and still remember watching my platoon slowly inching home.

Rest in Peace:
SGT Jim Holtom
SGT Ross Clevenger
PFC Raymond Werner

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

SSG Nickel almost died 3 years ago, too, and he's fighting his own battle back here at home now. We could use you to write letters and lend support. Go read Badger 6 for the background.

" So the issue for those of us interested in Staff Sergeant Nickel's treatment is this, can we get the prosecutor to be more flexible and can we push the VA to do more. I think the answer is yes.

The public needs to let the relevant decision makers, all of who work for you, the taxpayer, know how you feel. Citizens of Idaho, and in particular Ada County, can let the prosecutor know that while you appreciate the concern for your security, you also appreciate what Staff Sergeant Nickel and his fellow Idaho Army Reservists did in Iraq. People from out of the area (and I am looking at many of my fellow Springsteen fans up and down the coasts) can let the prosecutors know this case has national attention.

You can write, and I suggest snail mail letters to demonstrate your seriousness to

Greg Bower, Ada County Prosecutor
Shawna Dunn, Asst Prosecutor
Ada County Prosecutor's Office
200 West Front Street, Room 3191
Boise, ID 83702

I urge you to be polite and respectful to these people. This is not personal to them. Profanity and threats would be counter-productive. A friend who has already written them wrote -

I of course recognize that my own knowledge of this situation is, like that of anyone else interested in this matter, inherently incomplete. I also appreciate that the psychological issues presented in this situation are complex. Finally, I fully understand the seriousness of the acts of Mr. Nickel on July 28, 2009, and do not mean in any way to minimize or trivialize them. However, based on my understanding of all of the background facts concerning Mr. Nickel’s case, as well as my personal confidence in the judgment of Mr. Coulson, I write to express my opinion that Mr. Nickel should not be criminally prosecuted in this case, and certainly not with the goal of securing a 15-year sentence for him, as I am informed your office intends to pursue.

I think he puts this professionally and politely. That is what we need to be, polite and professional and urge compromise.

Conversely we need to write, again snail mail demonstrating seriousness, to the Veteran's Administration urging them to do more to present alternatives to incarceration for Staff Sergeant Nickel. You need to write two people -

The Honorable Eric Shinseki
Secretary of Veteran's Affairs
810 Vermont Avenue, NW
Washington, DC 20420

and

Ms. Sue Hicks, OEF/OIF Coordinator
Boise VA Medical Center
500 West Fort Street
Boise ID 83702

What ever rules and regulations may be blocking some sort of resolution of this matter that benefit both the community and the American War Hero Staff Sergeant George Nickel can be waived or adjusted. They do not exist for the mere reason to exist; they should exist to help the Veteran. I urge you again to be polite and respectful in all correspondence.

Finally I would note the Boise Chief of Police, has written to the Idaho Congressional Delegation to urge help for Staff Sergeant Nickel and other vets suffering from the unseen wounds of PTSD and TBI. I urge you to add them to your letter writing. They are -

Senator Mike Crapo
239 DIRKSEN SENATE OFFICE BUILDING
WASHINGTON DC 20510

Senator James E. Risch
483 RUSSELL SENATE OFFICE
WASHINGTON DC 20510

Representative Mike Simpson
2312 Rayburn House Office Building
Washington, D.C. 20515

Representative Walt Minnick
1517 Longworth House Office Building
Washington D.C. 20515

Additionally I would suggest writing to the Governor of Idaho. Staff Sergeant Nickel has many years of service to the State in the Department of Corrections.

Governor C.L. "Butch" Otter
Office of the Governor
PO Box 83720
Boise, Idaho 83720

We need to be motivated and tell our public servants what serves the people of Idaho and the United States the best; balancing the security of our communities with the needs of our veterans. It could be any of us in that apartment, and for those of us that have seen our friends killed and wounded it could have been any of us in Staff Sergeant Nickels boots. If we flood them with letters we can influence the outcome. Please write now and pass this on. "

Winter Reading

2010-01-14T17:36:00.004-07:00

I had one heck of a hectic semester of school this term. By the end of November, I was devoting a ton of time to keeping ahead in my classes- more than I have since I've been back to school after Iraq. I did well, though, and I only have one more tough semester ahead before I graduate. This term will be fairly easy- some light math, physics, and a little American history to keep my mind active (and fufill those wonderful core requirements).

I've been blogging somewhat regularly about what I've been cooking. I know that's not why a lot of you come to this blog, but if you find that sort of thing interesting, mosey on over to acutecuisine.wordpress.com The most recent post is about kufta kebab, the roasted ground meat skewers that I grew to love in Iraq.

It's possible that I'll deploy again before my term in the Army is up- if that happens, I'll move this blog completely over to Wordpress. I maintain archives there, but continue to update here.

I've gotten to read a fair bit over winter break, which has been relaxing and wonderful. I finally finished off Ali Eteraz's Children of Dust. Frankly, it was hard for me to read some parts. Within the first 50 pages of the book, he'd been beaten at a madrassa, lost his baby brother (and had a relative accused of witchcraft for the same), and the neighbor's son had been caught (ahem) with a goat. Read it. It's a tender, dark and dryly funny account.

I also go to read through two military histories: If Not Now, When?, an autobiography written by COngressional Medal of Honor winner COL Jack Jacobs (Ret.), and The Bomber Boys, a history of B-17 bomber pilots in WWII. My grandfather was a co-pilot in the Army Air Corps (he retired as a Lieutenant Colonel in the Air Force). I still remember how proud he was of me for joining the Army. He died while I was in training to go to Iraq, and I regret now not asking to hear more about his experiences. Both books were excellent. I'll probably pass them along to my younger brother, who has recently become interested in military histories.

You know... the IED fight in Iraq and Afghanistan will make an interesting history someday.

The 11th hour...

2009-11-11T14:35:00.003-07:00

...of the 11th day of the 11th month...

Happy Armistice Day, everyone. May someday all war actually cease.
To the veterans among you, thank you, and to the rest, thank you for supporting us.

I was walking from class today. The air was crisp, and the flag in the quad fluttered gently at half mast. In that moment, I felt more melancholy than I have all week as I remembered a few veterans.

Staff Sergeant George Nickel. He's still in jail, looking at a possible plea deal being offered by the prosecutor (I refuse to speculate that she has realized she has an unwinnable case).

The combat wounded, combat dead at Fort Hood. I completely agree with Jules' take here.

Finally, let's remember a another soldier- a member of a religious minority who endured criticism and threats of violence for his beliefs after he enlisted in the United States Army. Let's remember a man who served his country willingly and well; a man who in spite of prejudice against his beliefs carried himself with distinction into the finest traditions of the military.

Corporal Desmond Doss
Bronze Star (2)
Purple Heart (3)
Congressional Medal of Honor

The Continuing Story

2009-10-13T15:29:00.005-06:00

The VA jumped in to try to right the problems faced by thousands of veterans who switched over to the "Post-911 GI Bill" who then experienced delays in getting their money. This is now called the VA GI Bill Emergency Payment process, and it pays out a $3000 advance to anyone enrolled in college with post-911 active duty service. Unfortunately, it sounds like it can be hard to get banks to take the emergency checks.

Rock, meet hard place.

I'm so glad I didn't switch over this year.

In the time I save not having to worry about my GI Bill coming through, I read. I've got Children of Dust coming in the mail. Children is Ali Eteraz's autobiography, tracing his journey from Pakistan to America and back again. I'm looking forward to it- I got to meet Ali at the Blogworld Expo back in 2007, and I followed his blog at http://alieteraz.com/ until he shut it down. (There's still a collection of links to his articles there, though.) He's a sharp guy, and I'm looking forward to reading his book.

George Nickel is still in jail. The Idaho Veteran's Network benefit is on the calender for 5pm on Saturday, Oct. 17th. If you're in the Boise area, swing by the Eastside Tavern at 610 E. Boise Av. for food and drink specials and a raffle with some sweet donated prizes. Monies raised will be put towards George's defense, as well as TBI awareness in Idaho.

Et tu, VA?

2009-09-25T09:12:00.003-06:00

The Washington Times reports that thousands of veterans have been approved for GI Bill funds but have not received their money:

The Veterans Affairs Department blamed a backlog of claims filed for GI Bill education benefits that has left veterans who counted on the money for tuition and books scrambling to make ends meet.
(clip)
Out of more than 277,000 veterans who have filed for the college tuition benefits this semester, more than 200,000 claims have been processed and approved, but fewer than 11 percent of the veterans have received the funding, according to the Iraq and Afghanistan Veterans of America (IAVA)

My benefits are fine. Of course, I filed well in advance of the beginning of the semester, and I chose to stick with my old Chapter 1607 for another year rather than switching to the new Post-911 GI Bill that was supposed to be so great but wasn't really all that great. I'm betting that's where the problem happened: there was a new GI Bill chapter on the books, and they weren't prepared to help the vets who wanted it. I'm even more glad I didn't switch over this year.

Roundup

2009-09-24T10:22:00.002-06:00

The Department of Defense may soon be releasing a comprehensive policy for social media. This would most likely include blogging, as well as Facebook and other social networking sites.

ROBERTS: And what is the current Pentagon policy on social media?

Mr. FLOYD: It currently doesn't exist. Right now, there is no policy on working with or in social networking sites or media. It's currently under review. It's on course to be finished within about two weeks, or at the end of the month, it's supposed to be done, presented to the leadership and a decision made. And that decision is supposed to be pushed out to all the combatant commands and all the people in the Defense Department soon after.

The entire segment is interesting. I'd never even heard of this, but it doesn't surprise me one bit:

Mr. SHACHTMAN: …and to other things. But the funny thing about the military policy is that it's really contradictory. And that's why the review, like the one Price has been talking about, is so important. For example, not only was - were many bases blocking YouTube because it took up too much bandwidth, they're also blocking the Defense Department's own answer to YouTube, which is a low bandwidth, totally secure, safe, no-bad-stuff version called TroopTube. They were blocking both YouTube and this military alternative. So, it just goes to show that, you know, when the military's blocking its own video-sharing site, we need a cleaner policy.

I'm hopeful that the policy, once it is established, will allow Acute Politics to continue posting the next time I find myself in a combat zone. That likely won't be for some time yet, but I'm still a part of the military, and there are still two wars being fought.

In the meantime, I've been reading a lot. I recently received copy of Racing Toward Armageddon, by Michael Baigent. I found most of the book familiar (it's often a rehash of previous dire warnings about apocalyptic cults). I grew up in a religious home; I've always disliked religious fundamentalism, and this book re-enforced that. Still, there's not a lot new here.
I also flipped through The Audacity of Help: Obama's Economic Plan and the Remaking of America, by John Wasik. Despite the title, the author remains fairly apolitical, which I like. Wasik examines the campaign promises of the President, the proposed legislation, and the bills that Congress actually passed. He then explores who benefits and who loses in each piece of legislation. It's not for everyone, but the author seems to have actually read through the legislation. Maybe we should send him to Congress.

Staff Sergeant George Nickel is still sitting in jail. For those of you who asked about his dog, Spike is safe in the care of family friends. George will appear in court today for a second hearing- I won't be able to go, but I'll post an update afterwards.

The Idaho Veterans Network has been great throughout all of this. They have continued to raise money for a legal defense fund, and they will soon be putting on a charity auction for that fund. I know that there have been some guns donated for the auction by fellow veterans, and it sounds like there may be some other large ticket items as well. When I find out a firm date for the auction, I'll post it.

In the meantime, if you would like to send George a letter of support, shoot an email to me at acutepolitics at gmail dot com and I'll bundle them for forwarding on to him.

Badger Update

2009-08-09T10:04:00.002-06:00

Last week you read about SSG George Nickel. You know who he is and what he's been through. Many of you emailed and commented, asking what you could do to help.

The people from the Idaho Veterans Network have established the George Nickel Fund. This fund will go to pay the legal fees and costs that Staff Sergeant Nickel will incur.

You can make your donation at any Wells Fargo Bank or you can send it to the branch where the fund was established.

George G. Nickel Fund
Idaho Veterans Network Corporation
c/o Wells Fargo Bank
Idaho Center Branch
5607 E. Franklin Road
Nampa, Idaho 83687

Badger's Forward is Back!

2009-08-02T10:33:00.002-06:00

Long-time readers here remember Badger 6, my Company Commander while I was in Iraq. He extended for 6 months in Iraq after I left, and quit blogging on his return. Well, he's got more to offer us, and you can visit him at the updated address:

badgersix-lwh.blogspot.com

Shadows of the War

2009-07-30T19:04:00.009-06:00

I was driving late Tuesday night, heading home from seeing some friends. The lights were soundless as they came up behind me. I’d had a beer, and I pulled over and worried for a moment as the lights carried on past me into the night. Ahead of me, more lights flew by soundlessly, then more. As I pulled to the curb in front of my house, the first siren split the humid night air, and yet another set of lights burned down the road.

Let’s go back to 2006 and meet George Nickel. He’s been in the US Army a long time- he was a private in the Hawaii-based 25th Infantry back when the Tropic Thunder division still had an Air Assault regiment. When I met him, he’d already left the Army and come back to join the Army Reserve with friends of his from his work at Idaho’s State Penitentiary. He’s given this country of ours a lot. On February 8th, 2007, on a narrow road outside of Karma, Iraq, Staff Sergeant Nickel, USAR, very nearly gave it all. He was the lone survivor from the explosion of one of the largest IEDs ever placed in Iraq- his 12 ton bomb-resistant vehicle was thrown above the tops of the 10-foot high reeds that lined the road. Three other good men died- the truck’s gunner, just a foot away, was blown from the turret and died before he hit the ground. The sergeant riding shotgun was even closer to George- he too died instantly. The driver was the furthest from the point where the blast penetrated the armored hull- he lived long enough for a medivac helicopter to arrive, but he died en route to the combat hospital in Fallujah. George Nickel was separated from death by mere inches. Nearly every bone on the right side of his body was broken, and shrapnel from the blast tore his flesh.

George was a private man. He was the sort to get married to a woman, and only tell his best friends, the ones he had rejoined the Army with, when they noticed the ring he was wearing. Everyone who deploys overseas has a contact number on file, so if the worst happens, the military can begin the process of alerting loved ones of their service member’s death or injury. George gave the Army a number that he knew his wife wouldn’t answer, trusting his friends to tell her before the Army found her. In the end, that was exactly how it happened.

He arrived from Germany at Walter Reed Army Medical Center just after the neglect scandal broke there. There wasn’t enough room for him; the administration there wanted to send him home to continue his rehabilitation therapy. He was on canes then- his house was in the woods of Idaho, an hour from the nearest VA rehab facility, and definitely not handicap accessible. Instead, he was housed in one of the old hotels nearby that the Army had rented out to house the overflow of wounded warriors from Walter Reed. A cab took him to his temporary home- another wounded veteran helped him carry his meager belongings upstairs. He ate from care packages rather than trust the meal service. He finally came home to stay in Boise on July 4th, 2008.

Fast forward to July 28th, 2009. Boise’s finest are running towards the sound of guns, and at the end they find George, still running toward the sound of his own guns. Towards his own demons. He’s lost his dog, and he’s searching the nearby apartments for the pup. A bullet into the lock. A boot into the door. Staff Sergeant Nickel is searching buildings, clearing rooms just like he did in Iraq. Suddenly there’s bright lights and a voice yelling “Police! Put your hands up!” He doesn’t. They start shooting, and he takes cover. Suddenly the war has come home for everyone, not just George. Trouble is, this is America and not Iraq, and in America we like to pretend that soldiers are GI Joes- like they’re heroes who never need our help. George is in a new world now- one where he is the 'perp' and not the hero, but in this new world he still needs our help more than ever.

Edit: I rearranged the wording a bit in a couple spots and clarified a couple points.

Welcome, Diggers, B5 readers, and everyone coming in off of other blogs and twitter!
If you haven't read the reporting on this in the Idaho Statesman, go to these stories, read them, and leave a comment:
Mystery still surrounds Iraq vet's clash with Boise police
Armed Iraq veteran charged in apartment shooting in Boise
Man shot at by Boise police Tuesday night is an Iraq war veteran

If you like, go ahead and leave your thoughts on this quote from the BPD chief:

"This is bizarre behavior," Masterson said Wednesday. "I don't know what would push people to that (level of) desperation."

SOFA - Step II

2009-06-29T22:54:00.002-06:00

Last fall, coalition forces began to turn over major military bases in Iraq to the Iraqi Security Forces.

Today marks the second major step towards fulfilling our obligations under the Status of Forces Agreement that has all combat troops out of Iraq by 2011. Today, the last bases inside the cities of Iraq will be turned over or closed. Today is one step closer to a free and sovereign Iraq.

It is not a day without trepidation. Many Iraqis worry that the security forces will be up to the task of securing their safety. Some most likely worry that the simmering crisis in Iran will boil over, and refugees will spill over into an Iraq just barely beginning to come out of a al-qaeda inflamed sectarian crisis.

If you pray, pray for the people of Iraq, that peace and freedom may come quickly.

I don't even know what to say

2009-06-02T09:47:00.004-06:00

1 dead, 1 wounded at the US Army recruiting station in Little Rock. Police have a suspect in custody. Unsuprisingly, he is a Muslim convert. Surprisingly, CNN reports that.

My prayers for the victims and their families. Man, that sounds trite.

My congratulations to Fox news for identifying a semi-auto SKS as an "assault rifle". Idiots.

Next up: apologists explaining how the shooter is/was drunk/high/mentally ill/retarded/from a broken home/etc/etc/etc

Still reading... apparently apologists have their work cut out for them. This useless piece of scum has been to Yemen and back and had the FBI "keeping an eye on him".

Memorial Day

2009-05-24T15:00:00.000-06:00

I posted this last year. I don't see much to improve on this year.

THE WHITE HOUSE

Office of the Press Secretary
________________________________________________________________________
For Immediate Release May 2, 2000

Memorandum on the White House Program for the National Moment
of Remembrance

Memorandum for the Heads of Executive Departments and Agencies

Subject: White House Program for the National Moment of Remembrance

As Memorial Day approaches, it is time to pause and consider the
true meaning of this holiday. Memorial Day represents one day of
national awareness and reverence, honoring those Americans who died
while defending our Nation and its values. While we should honor these
heroes every day for the profound contribution they have made to
securing our Nation's freedom, we should honor them especially on
Memorial Day.
In this time of unprecedented success and prosperity throughout our
land, I ask that all Americans come together to recognize how fortunate
we are to live in freedom and to observe a universal ``National Moment
of Remembrance'' on each Memorial Day. This memorial observance
represents a simple and unifying way to commemorate our history and
honor the struggle to protect our freedoms.
Accordingly, I hereby direct all executive departments and agencies,
in consultation with the White House Program for the National Moment of
Remembrance (Program), to promote a ``National Moment of Remembrance''
to occur at 3 p.m. (local time) on each Memorial Day.
Recognizing that Memorial Day is a Federal holiday, all executive
departments and agencies, in coordination with the Program and to the
extent possible and permitted by law, shall promote and provide
resources to support a National Moment of Remembrance, including:

* Encouraging individual department and agency personnel, and Americans everywhere, to pause for one minute at 3:00 p.m. (local time) on Memorial Day, to remember and reflect on the sacrifices made by so many to provide freedom for all.
* Recognizing, in conjunction with Memorial Day, department and agency personnel whose family members have made the ultimate sacrifice for this Nation.
* Providing such information and assistance as may be necessary for the Program to carry out its functions.

I have asked the Director of the White House Millennium Council to issue additional guidance, pursuant to this Memorandum, to the heads of
executive departments and agencies regarding specific activities and
events to commemorate the National Moment of Remembrance.

William J. Clinton

Who do you remember today?

Dong.
3 o'clock.

Lieutenant Colonel Jack Friedrichsen, US Air Force

Dong.
Second bell.

Major Andrew Olmsted, US Army
Captain Thomas Casey, US Army

Dong.
3 strikes for the hour.

Sergeant Ross Clevenger, US Army
Sergeant Jim Holtom, US Army
Private First Class Ray Werner, US Army

Today, I'll remember.

Acute Library, continued

2009-05-21T10:18:00.006-06:00

Thanks to Jules Crittenden for the link last week. Jules has a great site, and he's a lover of books as well- Crittenden's Botique: Right-Wing Bookshop and General Store

I got two books in the mail on Tuesday- The Islamist and Horse Soldiers. Both look to be excellent- Horse Soldiers in the sense of the most timeless military history (by the way- check out In Harm's Way by the same author for the story of one of the most fascinating tragedies of WWII, the sinking of the USS Indianapolis). The Islamist reads worryingly. I'm only 70-odd pages in, but Ed Husain is already painting a picture of his path from bored western Muslim to extremist.

I had Army drill this weekend, and inbetween qualifying on my rifle and teaching new kids how to clean an M-16 (seriously... what do they learn in basic training now?), I read most of Militant Islam in Southeast Asia: Crucible of Terror by Zachary Abuza. Most of the book was good. I learned quite a bit about the religious and political history of Malaysia and Indonesia, and there is a wealth of extensively footnoted information detailing the spread of al-Qaeda in SEA and how AQ was able to co-opt local muslim extremists into part of the larger organization. That said, there are a lot of typos in the book- one (which is mentioned in an amazon review) made me laugh out loud when I read it out at the rifle range. The author claims that "15% of Cham Buddhists are Wahhabi", which makes about as much sense as saying that 15% of all trucks are bicycles. Overall, though... it was a good intro to the topic.

Speaking of Jules Crittenden and militant Muslims, here's Jules on Josh Marshall on homegrown terror:

It appears that this is one of those cases where the group was under surveillance for a very long time and helped along in what turned out to be a bogus plot orchestrated by federal authorities.

O, when will the feds stop persecuting Muslims and forcing them into man-caused-disasterism!

I'll tell you what... seeing "jailhouse converts" to Islam getting arrested while placing C4 bundles around a synogogue makes me real comfortable with the idea of moving Guantanamo detainees into American mainland prisons!

The Library

2009-05-05T10:24:00.005-06:00

I've always been a bookworm. My parents raised me in a house that had virtually every open wall covered up by a bookcase. I read through most of the Encyclopedia Brittanica as a kid, and I hit up old chemistry and linear algebra textbooks for what I could understand. We read classics at family dinners and on road trips- Swiss Family Robinson, The Wind in the Willows. I loved historical fiction, especially books from the age of sail.

Iraq was good to me on the reading front. I had a lot of spare time to fill, and instead of watching Simpsons, Girls Next Door or whatever $2 DVD the Iraqi vendor had just added to his lineup with a bunch of the other guys, I read. I got through Atlas Shrugged, The Face of Battle and The Mask of Command. I read Fiasco and The Golden Bough. I read through the Bible.

I haven't been as much of a reader since I've been home. College classes hit hard, and my perfectly delightful girlfriend occupies a good bit of my time as well. Still, though... I recently read most of the way through Martin von Crevelds The Culture of War (the library asked for it back before I quite finished). I enjoyed it, though longtime Clausewitz fans may disagree. The Al-qaeda Reader is on my nightstand, and Militant Islam in Southeast Asia is waiting for its turn. The Islamist and Doug Stanton's Horse Soldiers are in the mail.

Summer is coming.

Welcome, Crittenden Warmongers! Feel free to browse around.

I Just Fixed the Pentagon's Budget

2009-04-24T16:14:00.003-06:00

So I came up with a great idea to save the military money.

Get rid of this abortion:

If you've never had the pleasure of sampling this questionable delight, let me just say this: there are hundreds of thousands of young men and women under arms in this country, and every single one of them will go hungry rather than eat this MRE.

The Pentagon buys something on the order of 50 Million MREs a year. Since there are 24 different varieties, that's on order 2.1M Cheese and Veggie Omelets per year. At an avaerage of $7.25 per MRE (I couldn't find a price for the CaVO by itself, so I used the cost of a box divided by 12), that is $15 Million a year spent on the excrement of Satan.

It's wasted. All of it.

Update: So according to Wikipedia, this MRE is already on its way out this year. That's the bright side (and trust me... it IS a bright side).

The downside is that the Pentagon kept it on the menu for 4 years. That's $60M of your money forgotten in storage lockers, discarded in the trash, and picking up dust.

Plank Walked

2009-04-12T13:12:00.005-06:00

Three times, anyway. Courageous captain is safe.

Question: did these guys know they were pirating a US-flagged ship?
I keep hearing about how canny and technologically-advanced these pirates are- how they identify ships before they depart port, targeting those with valuable (read: worth a ransom) cargo. If all that is true... did they really expect hitting an American ship to end well for them?

I'm just glad this immediate situation is over. Now I don't have to listen to every pants-on-head retard suddenly turned hyperventilating armchair admiral blather on about how the Navy should have been ready to snipe those pirates and scoop the heroic captain from the water.

I'm not a expert on naval affairs, but I don't think I'm out of line saying that sniper teams are not part of the modern equipment issue on guided missile destroyers. Tomahawk cruise missiles? Sure. Sharpshooters in the topsails? Pretty sure those went out with the feather-plumed tri-corners.

Update: Those guided missile destroyers may not have snipers in the rigging anymore, but those amphibious assault ships have them in the holds. Sounds like the good captain bailed a second time, at which point a SEAL team promptly ventilated the pirates. I'm sure this means at least one or two armchair admirals will find it a good idea to tie up a SEAL team on every anti-piracy patrol boat.

Also worth mentioning: piracy was the immediate threat in this instance, and by nature demanded a response. The long view in Somalia must address the terrorist haven it is becoming. In the short term, sinking a few boats or something will satisfy the American people (just as bombing a couple afghan al-qaeda camps used to). Cathartic? I suppose so, if you take comfort in decisive battle. Effective? No. We also can't forget that we just rescued our guy- there are still hundreds of captives of other nationalities still in the hands of pirates, and any "anti-pirate" activities must consider the well being of those prisoners.

Spring Break!

2009-03-21T18:23:00.006-06:00

I'm back in school now, after a 2 1/2 year break thanks to Basic Training and deployment. Most of my homework starts with this simple equation:
It gets more interesting from there. I just started Spring Break, though, so I have a week of relief.

I would be wrong not to mention that my last post is no longer valid- President Obama is no longer considering requiring combat wounded veterans with private insurance to use their policies for care "Based on the respect that President Obama has for our nation’s veterans and the principled concerns expressed by veterans’ leaders." Of course, a metaphorical 2x4 and (censored) WTF are you thinking!?! from Jon Stewart couldn't have hurt either.

(Note for Aprillini: the primary opposition to the proposal was not concern over coverage for veterans so much as it was concern about what would happen to the premiums of privately insured veterans once their insurers were forced to accept thousands of expensive pre-existing conditions, as well as concern over private coverage for families of vets forced to max out their plans for war wounds. The American Legion hit the opposition points extremely well.)

So Much For My Pleasant Demeanor:

2009-03-17T11:08:00.004-06:00

Have a Purple Heart?

The government might be sending you a bill

Next up: billing for expended ammunition?

(Hat tip: Jules Crittenden.
I'd heard about this before, but refrained from posting because it seemed to be a lot of rumor and little substance. The American Legion meeting gives it a lot more weight)

Beating Up Old Ghosts

2009-02-09T11:50:00.002-07:00

That was what the company 1st Sergeant called it last night, when he gave our toast to absent companions. That was why we were there- to talk, to drink, and to remember.

We've been 2 years on now, but there isn't a one of us who doesn't remember.

In A Time Of War

2008-10-01T13:23:00.002-06:00

I recently received a copy of In A Time of War, Bill Murphy Jr.'s book on the West Point Class of 2002.

I started reading a random chapter in the middle of the book, and quickly stopped and restarted at the beginning. I couldn't put it down. Bill Murphy Jr. offers an amazing look inside the warrior culture that drives men broken by war to return to the battlefield. He writes eloquently of commanders good and bad, of fobbits and frontline grunts, of homesick soldiers and of the too-often forgotten "home front" of worried, scared and proud wives and families. In A Time Of War took me back to Iraq- I smelled it, heard it, and tasted the dust. This is more than a book about West Point cadets- this is a book about the entire thin line -volunteers all- that protects and defends our great nation. It belongs on the shelf of anyone who cares to understand the military and its culture.

If you want to know what pre-surge Iraq looked like, if you want to understand why soldiers volunteer for multiple tours, and conversely, if you want to understand why those same soldiers serve their time and leave, you should read this book.

Just In Case

2008-09-26T12:08:00.002-06:00

...you missed it in the midst of wondering if the sky was going to fall:

Iraqi Parliment passes Provincial Elections Law

The Washington Post opines:

But it's now clear that the political progress that the Bush administration hoped would follow the surge of U.S. forces in Iraq has finally begun. How can the next president preserve that momentum? Democrat Barack Obama continues to argue that only the systematic withdrawal of U.S. combat units will force Iraqi leaders to compromise. Yet the empirical evidence of the past year suggests the opposite: that only the greater security produced and guaranteed by American troops allows a political environment in which legislative deals and free elections are feasible.

I disagree in part with their conclusion- American (and Coalition!) troops played a large part in producing the present security, but there are multiple areas in the country where the Iraqi Security Forces are growing more and more capable, often taking the lead in security operations and operating effectively outside Coalition support. Ironically, the troop surge that Sen. Obama opposed is the very thing that will give him the security "space" to pursue the drawdown he has promised if elected. For that favor he should thank Sen. McCain.

Mmm.. I Love Fall

2008-09-25T19:59:00.002-06:00

For dinner- a creamy turnip soup with paprika, french bread, and a roasted beet and Bartlett pear salad with a balsamic dressing.

To drink? Beer, of course. A Widmer brown ale for me, and a Blue Moon harvest seasonal for her.

Annual Training

2008-09-12T12:14:00.004-06:00

The first few days of AT were filled with the usual settling-in activities- privates sleeping wherever and whenever they could; sergeants grabbing groups of privates to go unload supplies; specialists generally trying to stay out of the way and under the radar. A specialist's rank insignia looks like a medieval shield- they commonly refer to it as a "sham shield" because of its appearance and their mantra of "Out of sight; out of mind".

After everything was settled, we moved quickly into training. Three days of ranges (Demolitions, Rifle Qualification, and Pistol Qualification) were followed by two 24-hour mission rotations where we split into 8-man squads to be graded on our performance on a total of 16 squad tactical exercise lanes. At stake were the titles of Best Squad of the Battalion and Best Company of the Battalion (based on the sum score of squads from the companies).

This was the demolition shot that went awry and set California on fire. Unfortunately, my pictures of the fire didn't turn out very well- I got a lot of dirt on my lens while trying to multi-task photography and demo.

The coastal highway 101 runs through part of Ft. Hunter Ligget, and we occasionally used it while traveling between lanes. We had just turned off of 101 on our way to another lane when I took this photo. It was near sunset, a little over five hours into our first 24-hour mission rotation.

The lane we were moving to was run, graded and supervised by our company's ROTC cadet (a former 82nd Airborne Sergeant), and my platoon's Platoon Sergeant (a decorated combat veteran of the 2nd Ranger Battalion). The lane was set up to evaluate squads on their ability to conduct a dismounted combat patrol. In this photo, PV2 Engel checks his helmet-mounted night vision device. We actually ran the lane to old-fashioned way- in soft caps and naked eyes.

We had a day of rest between the first 24-hour rotation and the second; it just happened to include some rappelling. There are a number of ways to rappel a cliff face: this is the most common way.

This is also "a way".

Out of our 16 STX lanes, 2 involved live fire marksmenship, and 2 involved live demolitions. Here, my squad's Fire Team Alpha demonstrates breaching a door with a detonating cord linear strip charge. My Fire Team Bravo followed with a detonating cord water impulse charge.

Finally- the last night of Annual Training. The gear is packed away for the return trip, all the errands are taken care of, and all the time left is free for tradition. In the case of Alpha Company, tradition means Worm Races. You take a junior enlisted soldier, put a helmet on his head, and zip him into an old cotton sleeping bag. He races another soldier down a track made of bunk beds pushed together. They may not stand, hop, roll or jump. They may not have any portion of their bodies leave the bag before the finish line. Violence is highly encouraged.

PS: For those of you who are wondering: The top company was ours, with the 1st, 2nd, 4th and 5th place squads (out of 16 squads).

Traffic Check

2008-09-12T11:50:00.002-06:00

Sarah Palin scandal gaffe
Sarah Heath Palin
Sarah Palin bikini
Palin McCain wife scandal

Welcome Google crawlers! If you must get back to searching for Gov. Palin's scandals, go for it, but feel free to take a look around the blog and get a sense for what al-Anbar province was like back before we could consider handing it over to the Iraqis.

7 Years

2008-09-11T12:14:00.000-06:00

May we never forget.

Our New Running Joke

2008-08-12T09:08:00.003-06:00

Q: Вы говорите по-русски?*

No? Better learn!

So advised the jokesters over the last few days of our annual training down at Ft. Hunter Ligget.

The conflict in Georgia is in its fifth day now. Russia seems to have stopped their advance, and have begun to make demands from a position of indisputable military power.

My family has a treasured Finnish history, and I see echoes of those old stories in the present conflict.

Finland had rich ores and an arctic port in the north, and in the south there was territory directly north of Leningrad that the Soviets saw as defensive terrain. The Soviets made their demands, and on Finland's refusal proceeded to shell a Russian village on the border, accuse the Finns of an unprovoked attack and restate their demands. When Finland categorically refused the Soviet demands, the Red Army invaded.

Stalin's purges had seriously weakened the Red Army, and that, combined with the most bitter winter in memory and a miracle or two for Finland, resulting in a crushing initial defeat. Hitler looked on at Stalin's blunder and saw a giant with feet of clay- a key factor in his later decision to invade in Operation Barbarossa. Stalin, meanwhile, had learned a hard lesson from the ignominious defeat, and a hardened Red Army, complete with a rebuilt officer corps, saw frozen farmland become the Wehrmacht's grave.

The current situation in Georgia is considerably different, of course- most notably in military performance, and the lack of any regional power to oppose Russia. The basics, however, are the same- a former Russian territory sited on key terrain and resources with a government growing less and less receptive to socialism suffers provocation after provocation as Russia builds a tissue-thin rationale for war. Georgia made the mistake of rising to the bait (and failing to hold the south end of the Roti Tunnel when they did, but that's another matter), and now both we and they will have to deal with the consequences.

The outcomes are fairly obvious and very bad at this point:

Russia will end in de facto control of South Ossetia and the western breakaway province of Abkhazia.

The current government of Georgia is done. Russia will call for "regime change", although they will not use that word. If they get a new government outright, Georgia will become the newest old Russian puppet state. If the current government survives Russian demands for replacement, they will not last long at home and the end state may well be the same.

Other western-friendly former bloc countries have to be sweating buckets right now. Looking at you, Ukraine.

Lastly- we didn't cause the current situation, but we sure as hell stoked the fire with troop training, the push for Georgia's inclusion in NATO, public and glowing support for Georgia's government, and a general "we got your back" attitude. Now that everything has exploded, we're issuing strongly worded statements, and France is heading up a diplomatic effort.

Other "Coalition of the Willing" members are probably re-examining their willingness to play on the GWOT stage, knowing what they now know about America and the world's willingness to back them up in case of trouble at home.

*Do you speak Russian?

About that demo...

2008-08-01T10:00:00.002-06:00

Just a quick note here-

We accidentally sent a shaped charge skipping the other day in similar fashion to what I had described. Seriously... we didn't mean to. We had set up two shots of three shaped charges each, and one of the six charges misfired. Normally, a shaped charge is set up on a metal tripod, pointing downwards to punch a hole into the ground that will be filled with another charge for cratering. The standoff from the ground is required in order for the shaped explosion to fully form. When the one shaped charge misfired, the tripod was blasted away by the concussion from the other five charges, and the misfired charge was left lying on the ground. When we cleared the charge, we simply detonated it where it lay on the ground, for safety. The blast sent a plasma ball skipping across a tinder-dry grassy meadow and up a ridgeline into a stand of trees and high brush, leaving a line of small but quickly growing fires in its wake. The base wildfire unit put out the fire on the ridge, and we just waited for the fires on the valley floor to die down before continuing to blast California sky-high.

Demo

2008-07-28T23:03:00.000-06:00

It’s Day #2 of Annual Training- that two week part of the “Just 1 weekend a month, 2 weeks a year!” that the US Army Reserve Component promises new recruits with dreams of playing soldier. Never minding, of course, those few odd years when there’s a war on.

Tomorrow is the first day of “real training”- today and yesterday have been administrative-heavy with settling in to living quarters and sorting out the rush of confusion that accompanies shipping hundreds of men and tons of equipment to a base hundreds of miles away from home.

Tomorrow is Demolition Day- the best day of the training cycle by far, and the main reason I became a Combat Engineer. I asked the recruiter what Army jobs dealt with explosives; she answered Combat Engineer and Explosives Ordnance Disposal. My nascent impression of the distinction was that Engineers blew stuff up, while EOD neutralized bombs that tried to blow them up. Since I didn’t want to go looking for trouble and get blown up in the process, I decided to join as an engineer. I’ll leave the irony to the reader.

Combat Engineers live for demo. There’s a sense of raw power when dealing with blocks of C4 and loops of detonating cord. There’s a downside, too- most of us can’t watch modern action movies without comment. Grenades don’t explode into fireballs, and a small satchel charge of plastic explosive won’t bring down a large building no matter how well placed.

On the other hand, we learn how much C4 it takes to cut through how much steel; how much Composition H it takes to blast impassable craters into roads, and how detonating cord explodes at 25,000 feet per second- fast enough to race in a straight line from Los Angeles to New York in minutes.

On a night like tonight, we talk about intangibles and wishlists, too. How cool would it be to blow up the old tank that’s sitting out on the range? Better yet, how about we take our blocks of C4 and spools of detonator caps and fuse and teach a class on “field-expedient” demo- the way simple cross-sections of steel with plastic explosive on the back can become simple shaped charges with many times the destructive power of the explosive alone?

I’ve heard older soldiers, experienced with more supplies and less oversight, talk about the way a military shaped charge, when tipped on its side, will send a superheated ball of metal plasma skipping across the desert. If that’s true, could we have shaped charge races? First plasma ball to the end of the valley wins?

Of course we won’t try it… there’s too many high ranking officers and NCOs around who would take an extraordinarily dim view of the proceedings. Still, there’s a lot of improvised demo that is ok, because the Army Field Manual on such makes it so. I know of at least 9 different ways to open a locked door with nothing more than detonating cord, tape, and hard rubber or spare intravenous solution bags. Some are so gentle they remove little more than a doorknob- others will tear a steel fire door off its hinges and send it into the back wall of the building. I can stand within a few meters of them all.

Really, when you think about it, it’s little wonder that former combat engineers are on the short list of people for the FBI to talk to when something explodes.

2008-06-28T15:41:00.004-06:00

And another one's gone... another one's gone... another one bites the dust

The recently milblog-famous LT G is now assured of a book deal, and the milblog-reading public is now deprived of an erudite inside look into the current prosecution of the ground war in Iraq. No long tails, no FOB life, no ice cream cones- Kaboom: A Soldier's War Journal was exactly that- a blog of US soldiers at war. I'll take my "proud father" moment here- I found his blog just a few days after the Gravediggers hit the Iraqi dirt; a few days after I had mourned the lack of quality milblogs currently "on the ground".

The Only Difference Between Martyrdom and Suicide is Press Coverage

That was the post (of prescient title) that did him in. A too-real look at the struggle of a combat lieutenant to stay out of the mind-draining quagmire. No, not the media's Iraq: that quagmire is contrived and belied by the situation on the ground. This quagmire was the grind of the Tactical Operations Center, of the FOB life. LT G did not want to be a company executive officer. For a combat troop, that would be as good as suicide. The post he wrote about it got his blogging canned. Martyrs get books. Ask Colby Buzzell (who got called out of the inactive reserve for another Iraq deployment, by the way. It'll be interesting to see how that goes.)

It's too bad. I'll miss reading Kaboom.

Memorial Day

2008-05-28T19:57:00.004-06:00

Seen from here, they have no names. They could be any men, from any war.

Those men I remembered on Monday...

The three Badgers you already know about, if you’ve been reading here long. Good men, taken much too soon. We all know far too well that the bomb that took them could have claimed any three of us.

A sniper killed Major Olmstead while he tried to talk insurgents into surrendering, rather than running away and forcing his men to shoot. Captain Casey was killed when he went to aid Major Olmstead. Major Olmstead became the first milblogger that I know of to be killed in action in Iraq- his last post was published by a friend and spoke at length of his life’s philosophy and final regret at having died.

Taps

LTC Jack Friedrichsen was my grandfather, an Army Air Corps veteran of World War II. He died while I was in training to deploy to Iraq, just days after my 22^nd birthday. In the birthday card he sent to me that year, he told me how proud he was that I had chosen to serve my country and wished me safety in Iraq. I was reading it on my bunk when they came to tell me he was dead.

Pvt. James Kern

Another man I remembered Monday was one I had only just come to know, a little. Private James Kern was a veteran of the 1st Kentucky Cavalry in the Civil War. He died in 1928 and was buried in the Civil War-era "Silent Camp" in Boise. His grave formed an empty space between the weathered rows of marble- at some point since his burial, his headstone disappeared. Perhaps he never had one in the first place. Monday was Boise's day to give him the honor he deserved.

Civil War reenacters fire a salute to Pvt. Kern

The Last Monday in May

2008-05-26T12:00:00.004-06:00

 THE WHITE HOUSE


                  Office of the Press Secretary
________________________________________________________________________
For Immediate Release                                       May 2, 2000



Memorandum on the White House Program for the National Moment
of Remembrance


Memorandum for the Heads of Executive Departments and Agencies

Subject:  White House Program for the National Moment of Remembrance

 As Memorial Day approaches, it is time to pause and consider the
true meaning of this holiday. Memorial Day represents one day of
national awareness and reverence, honoring those Americans who died
while defending our Nation and its values. While we should honor these
heroes every day for the profound contribution they have made to
securing our Nation's freedom, we should honor them especially on
Memorial Day.
 In this time of unprecedented success and prosperity throughout our
land, I ask that all Americans come together to recognize how fortunate
we are to live in freedom and to observe a universal ``National Moment
of Remembrance'' on each Memorial Day. This memorial observance
represents a simple and unifying way to commemorate our history and
honor the struggle to protect our freedoms.
 Accordingly, I hereby direct all executive departments and agencies,
in consultation with the White House Program for the National Moment of
Remembrance (Program), to promote a ``National Moment of Remembrance''
to occur at 3 p.m. (local time) on each Memorial Day.
 Recognizing that Memorial Day is a Federal holiday, all executive
departments and agencies, in coordination with the Program and to the
extent possible and permitted by law, shall promote and provide
resources to support a National Moment of Remembrance, including:

Encouraging individual department and agency personnel, and Americans everywhere, to pause for one minute at 3:00 p.m. (local time) on Memorial Day, to remember and reflect on the sacrifices made by so many to provide freedom for all.
Recognizing, in conjunction with Memorial Day, department and agency personnel whose family members have made the ultimate sacrifice for this Nation.
Providing such information and assistance as may be necessary for the Program to carry out its functions.

I have asked the Director of the White House Millennium Council to issue additional guidance, pursuant to this Memorandum, to the heads of
executive departments and agencies regarding specific activities and
events to commemorate the National Moment of Remembrance.

                                       William J. Clinton



Who do you remember today?

Dong.
3 o'clock.

Lieutenant Colonel Jack Friedrichsen, US Air Force

Dong.
Second bell.

Major Andrew Olmsted, US Army
Captain Thomas Casey, US Army

Dong.
3 strikes for the hour.

Sergeant Ross Clevenger, US Army
Sergeant Jim Holtom, US Army
Private First Class Ray Werner, US Army


Tomorrow I'll write about today, and post some pictures.
Today, I'll remember.

Musings and Memories

2008-04-23T17:48:00.002-06:00

(crossposted at Jules Crittenden)

Who's up for some war stories? Ok, maybe not *exactly* war stories, but I've been mumbling through old memories of Iraq recently. This post will be pretty much stream-of-consciousness, so continue reading only if you want a look inside.

Trash. Iraq is covered in it. Some areas are getting cleaned up now, but canals and roadsides are still the skunky lairs of plastic refuse and decaying filth.

I never understood the guys who complained about the mess, saying that "no one here cares enough to pick up the trash" (I would have a hard time caring, too, if the trash in my neighborhood covered IEDs), and then use the trash as an excuse to toss old water bottles-turned bathroom breaks out of the trucks.

An old favorite pit stop was Saddam's Mosque, the grandest structure in Ramadi, and oddly (I thought) named for the primarily secular former leader. Every night there was an IED on the corner next to the mosque- often, the wires ran inside the wall. Every night, the Explosives Ordnance Disposal techs blew up a little more of the mosque wall. No sense, after all, in moving the bomb too far from the site in the interest of preserving architecture. Every night, piss bottles sailed over the broken wall in a barrage directed at the IED triggerman.

Some parts of Iraq, most of the sprawling garbage is composed of old plastic bottles. Some places, the average IED has a few 1-liter bottles full of diesel fuel attached. The "accelerant", as the military calls it, doesn't usually make the bomb more deadly, but it sure becomes a hell of a lot more impressive. Less like fireworks, but less fun to encounter were the 1-liter bottles straddling artillery shells and filled with pesticide. We started wearing Nomex jumpsuits just in case, so the Army-issue brand new polyester-blend ACUs we went to Iraq in wouldn't melt to our skin if one of those impressive fireballs engulfed the truck.

Those tan Nomex jumpsuits were controversial, sure. We considered them important to our continued, unmaimed survival in our constant dealings "out there"- by a similar token, ice-cream licking desk jockeys considered those jumpsuits antithesis to good order and discipline "inside". I can see why: since we wore them to work in, those jumpsuits smell like work. It's best not to remind fobbits* too often of the vast difference in what you and they consider "work".

At Logistical Support Area Anaconda, the fobbit capital of Iraq (roughly equivalent to corporate headquarters in the Real World), no one knows how to address warfighters in jumpsuits. Little fobbit girls whisper in the back of the bus that those guys must be Special Forces! If they had been somewhere that actually sends men nightly into the breach, they might have known that SF and SEALs are more likely to be found wearing Carhartt and sporting a 4-day growth of beard.

I abused that look every time I found myself on a large base when I went back to Iraq as a photojournalist. The press ID that I picked up in Baghdad was virtually useless (and indeed virtually unused). Once I learned that displaying my press ID inevitably led to the same tired litany of questions and the same display of orders permitting my presence, I began strolling around in my Carhartts and goatee, flashing my military ID to the confused Specialist guarding the chow hall and the Ugandan mercenaries guarding the PX. I had more freedom in Iraq on my own presenting myself as a member of the military than I had experienced while deployed to Iraq on orders from the military.

My train of thought was interrupted here- by my girlfriend coming home from work to find me typing on her couch. That's a kind of distraction that I didn't have while blogging in Iraq. Frankly, I think I prefer the distractions of home to those of Iraq. ;-)

*Fobbit
Fob-bet
-Noun
1. A military member who works primarily on a Foward Operating Base
2. douchebag
a. A military bureaucrat concerned with style over substance
b. A soldier more worried about ice cream stocks than ammo stocks
See also: FOB Goblin, FOB Rat

Sons of Iraq

2008-04-15T01:02:00.002-06:00

There's been a lot of buzz lately over the Sons of Iraq (or "Sunni militias", depending on who you ask). I have a new article up over at The Long War Journal going into a bit of detail about the direction we are trying to go with the SoI.

With the security situation improving daily, especially in Sunni towns, within sight is the future that worried so many at the beginning of the grass-roots level movement: What will these fighters do when the Coalition tells them it is time to put their guns down and go home?

Go read and understand. Make sure to click the slideshow.

5 Years, 1 year

2008-03-17T16:18:00.007-06:00

We've been at war in Iraq for 5 long years now, with more long years to go (assuming, of course, that we don't pull out like naive teenagers). I wonder, though... who remembers (without looking!) when the war began in Afghanistan?

Jules Crittenden has your roundup of blogger opinion and editorial opinion on the anniversary.

It took5 years to research what a lot of those serving in Iraq already took prima facie, but Havard University social scientists believe there is a link between public criticism of the war and increases in violent insurgent attacks.

The Idaho Statesman began a 5-part series yesterday on the "5 Years of War". The series opened with a fairly well-balanced article on ordinary life in Baghdad and a leading question: "When you close your eyes and think of Iraq, what does your mind's eye see?".

When I close my eyes, I don't see Iraq. I hear it. Every night when I close my eyes and go to sleep, the quite night is broken by the ringing memory of bombs long blown apart. I heard Iraq once in the gunshots as a man died in a bad drug deal nearby, and I hear it still every afternoon when the grade school across the fence recesses.

I still hear the music, too. Music is a big part of a lot of soldier's lives in Iraq- it is both calming and girding, and embraced in virtually all its forms. Music often turns surreal, too- the way Highway to Hell would start up on the truck playlist as we turned down Route Mets and play on as we passed the crater in the road where once we lost three good men was eery. I sat through a virtual monsoon once while listening to Welcome to the Jungle and watching the raid whip trees sideways.

Some guys listen to death metal before missions, some listen to melodic pop during firefights- whatever it takes to get you through. I had a pretty eclectic mix that ranged from the hardcore yet not hate filled Project 86 to soft and dreamy Nickel Creek, with the drunken Irish bagpipes of Flogging Molly and Dropkick Murphys playing the punkish counterpart to the timelessness of Guns and Roses.

The other night, I heard the music again, and the surreal undertones punched me in the gut. I was driving home at night, and the rain was coming down hard. The radio was playing Nickelback- it was one of SGT Clevenger's favorite songs, one that played at his memorial.

If everyone cared and nobody cried
If everyone loved and nobody lied
If everyone shared and swallowed their pride
We'd see the day when nobody died

I pulled over the top of a hill, and in front of me was the church billboard, the one that always bright lights spelling out a Bible verse and some "Jesus loves you" message. As I came over the hill, the billboard flashed big and orange letters: "DIED".

Weird. Thanks, but I knew that well, and I don't need reminding. I reached out and punched the button to turn my stereo from radio to CD player, and as a mix CD starting playing Dropkick Murphys, the billboard lights reorganized themselves: "FOR YOU". Every time I think of Clev, I remember that if a series of last minute decisions had gone differently it could be my ghost courting the visitors of some marbled estate. The CD player piped out the Dropkick cover of Green Fields of France:

Did they beat the drums slowly
Did the play the fife lowly
Did they sound the death march as they lowered you down
Did the band play the last post and chorus
Did the pipes play the flowers of the forest

And I can't help but wonder, oh Willy Mcbride
Do all those who lie here know why they died
Did you really believe them when they told you the cause
Did you really believe that this war would end wars
Well the suffering, the sorrow, the glory, the shame
The killing and dying it was all done in vain
Oh Willy Mcbride, it all happened again
And again, and again, and again, and again

I was past the billboard before it flashed back to the beginning "Jesus", but I mumbled his name to myself as I flew by, the stereo completely off now. All I wanted was to get home, text my girlfriend to let her know I was home safe, pour a stiff shot of scotch, and forget the drive.

You can't make that shit up, but what can you do about it?

FRAGO - 26 July 2007

2008-03-06T16:33:00.001-07:00

On July 31 last year, Reuters ran a stub news item, noting the deaths of three more soldiers in the western al-Anbar province of Iraq. Several blogs picked up the story, questioning Reuters’ characterization of Anbar as an “insurgent stronghold”. In this case, the story revolved around one of the few remaining insurgent strongholds in Anbar, so Reuters got the story right.

As with so many news stories from this war, the stub condenses hours of tragedy, valor, and struggle into one brief five-sentence clip. Focused as it was on the human cost of the action, the short paragraph neglected the triumph of the men who lived and the fighting that ensured their survival.

This time, I was in the action, at least peripherally. I saw the day unfold- beginning with the fate of an American patrol, and becoming the moving of men and vehicles to provide rescue for stranded soldiers. The following is an account of the events of July 26^th, in as full detail as regulation and my memory can provide. What portions of that day I was not present for, I have pieced together from radio traffic, from men, and from my past experiences of similar events.

I’ve had this story written for over seven months. I know that a couple of details are confused- I will address those and other concerns in another post to illustrate the difficulty in reporting on combat. While I was in Iraq this last month, I spent a week with Red Platoon, Apache Troop, 5/7 Cav - the men in this story. During my time with Apache, I was continually introduced with the postscript “He was with us on the 26^th, you know.” I know some of those soldiers will read this blog, and I hope I did the story right by them.

Angels and Demons

2008-03-06T16:04:00.005-07:00

Late afternoon north of Saqlawiyah, Iraq, on 26JUL2007

Long have they pass'd, faces and trenches and fields,
Where through the carnage I moved with a callous composure, or away
from the fallen,
Onward I sped at the time--but now of their forms at night,
I dream, I dream, I dream.

From "Old War Dreams"
Walt Whitman

It was one of those days when hell opens up and spills forth into the desert, the sun baking the last trace of water from the parched dust and fueling the devils that whirl across the ground, throwing up columns of ocher talc. The sky was hazy with brown and tan- the breeze felt like a hair drier infused with gritty dust. I sat outside the tent, enjoying an afternoon smoke with one of my friends and trying to ignore the dust mingling with my quickly drying sweat. We were interrupted by my squad leader: running from another tent, he stopped long enough to tell me “Grab your shit and run to the truck. We just picked up a mission.” before he ran on to gather others.

We routinely tolerate mission changes in the hours leading up to our departures- usually simple additions or deletions of roads, or corrections on times. This time, the change was a rare one, full of foreboding. Our instructions were to “spin up” as fast as possible, link up with our security team, and find the vehicle and personnel recovery team that would accompany us. We started hearing words and phrases like “multiple IEDs”, “multiple KIA”, and “too hot for MEDIVAC”. Today’s mission change meant that someone, somewhere, was in deep trouble, and we were the ones going out to bring them home.

It was a kind of change that we have only had once before; the last time, the change led to the worst day of our lives.

The patrol departed from a dusty patrol base near Falluja called OP Vikings. Their destination was a small village to the northeast. To get there, they planned to take a 25km+ circuitous route along relatively quite roads through the open desert rather than the 10km straight shot along Route Angels, a narrow, dangerous canal road.

The American unit that owned the area was Apache Troop of the 5/7 Cav- men we had worked with extensively to both south and west of Falluja. We knew the area well, and had spent a fair bit of time on both Angels and the surrounding roads. IEDs were extremely common and unusually large on Angels, a fact which had prompted the decision to use a more secure northern route.

Every patrol that rolls outside the wire in Iraq takes a chance against the reaper. No matter how calm a road has been, no matter how quiet the area, there is always the chance that someone is waiting just out of sight- waiting to kill you. Every trip is a roll of the dice; every mission is another chance to die. On the 26th of July, those dice were rolled once more. This time, they came up snakes eyes. Game over.

The first bomb lay buried beneath the powdery soil- over one hundred pounds of high explosive. The bomb was hooked to a strand of thin, lacquered copper wire, the sort Americans would find wrapped around the spindle of any household electric motor. The Bradley crew never saw the wire running into the distance towards the insurgent hovered over the trigger. The first hint of trouble on this previously quiet road was a clap of thunder and a flash through the cloud of rapidly enveloping dust. The 30-ton Bradley lurched as though punched, and jerked to the side, suddenly still.

The patrol cheated fate around the next bend- dismounted soldiers walking alongside the road found command wire and disabled another bomb just before the vehicles passed over it. Following the road around and across a canal bridge, they came within sight of their objective: that dangerous straight-shot of a road, and the village that spread around the intersection.

The third bomb exploded with thunderous force. Over two hundred pounds of explosive power burst out of the dusty ground, directly beneath a Humvee. By comparison, the Haditha blast that tore a Humvee in half, killing a Marine and allegedly sparking a massacre was accomplished by a bomb containing only sixty pounds of explosive. The Humvee, and the soldiers inside, never stood a chance. Superheated, expanding gases and hundreds of pounds of rock and soil rushed just behind the tearing shock wave, straight through the flat, vulnerable bottom of the Humvee and out into a billowing cloud of dust and smoke.

The shock wave flattened out across the ground, kicking dust into the air. Out of the cloud came the stuff of nightmare for every man who goes to war: scraps of vehicle and worse- the crew. Soldiers consider such massive bombs to be mercifully quick- the general consensus is that your mind wouldn’t even have a chance to register the event before the world went black. That thought doesn’t make the aftermath any easier for the survivors. Troops from different units share stories about such events in clipped, clinical phrases that divorce the conversation from the harsh reality. We call them “catastrophic”- the nature of the destruction in a “CAT-kill” is such that it is a miracle for anyone to survive. Amazingly enough, sometimes people do survive. That day, though, there was no miracle. The Humvee was completely destroyed, and the crew died instantly. Their tragic deaths would spark one of the largest firefights of the summer in Falluja.

The insurgents had set the stage for a major battle- they had clearly meant for events to proceed roughly as they had on the northern road, and they knew that we would have no choice but to come to the aid of our fallen companions. The shorter, southern road was heavily mined as well- a fact that the first recovery effort would soon discover. Firefights began to kick up around the sites of the IED strikes- the enemy was obviously itching for a fight.

We sat and waited at the dusty patrol base that the ill-fated patrol had called home and waited for direction from the ground commander. The sun loomed lower in the dusty sky, and the radio continued to crackle with traffic- the harried reports of Marines under fire, and the cool replies of the helicopter pilots, mixing with IED reports and updates on the situation. An Explosives Ordnance Disposal bomb-hunting team was sweeping the short southern road towards the immobilized patrol. The EOD team lost one Humvee, then another: blown up and disabled by more IEDs. Miraculously, there were no casualties.

A second EOD team began a slow and methodical advance towards the first EOD team and the stricken patrol beyond- they too were hit by an IED, again without casualties.

Ground fire was a constant threat. Once, twice, and again and again the gunners marked houses with fire as targets for the machine guns and rockets of the circling helicopters. The entire area between the two roads was designated as a “Free Fire” zone, meaning that any military-aged male out and moving could be considered an enemy and fired upon.

Back out in the dusty fields to the north, the danger of a "Blackhawk Down" scenario grew. A black Opal pulled out into the field to the west: the occupants began shooting at the troops on the ground, and then fired an RPG at the responding helicopter. The grey warbirds riddled the car and its passengers with bullets. A crowd of civilians formed in the field, possibly hostile, possibly merely trying to help a moaning survivor of the helicopter attack. The helicopter gunners saw no weapons amongst the crowd, and so they held their fire despite their “Free Fire” order.

As EOD continued to struggle towards the ongoing fighting, the Apache Troop command back at Vikings sent out a vehicle recovery team to bring the damaged vehicles back in to base. The recovery team had traced the path of the ill-fated patrol to the location of the first attack, and had dragged the Bradley out of the road over next to a small mud hut.

The soldier in charge of the recovery effort had asked for a lowboy trailer to be sent out the Bradley, intending to load the damaged vehicle up on the trailer and send it back to base. Miles from the fighting, a staff officer decided that the lowboy was unnecessary and the vehicle onsite would suffice to tow the Bradley home. Normally, it would have been enough, but then again, a Bradley normally has tracks. The explosion had torn out the shock absorbers holding the heavy track and pushed the engine through the top of the vehicle: the Bradley could only be dragged or carried.

The sky had grown dusky around a sliver of moon before we turned onto the last road that would close the last few kilometers between us and the downed vehicles. We took the same circuitous route they had driven, trying to avoid the possibility of even more IEDs delaying the recovery further. We slowly wound along the dirt roads, and finally came upon the turn where the Bradley had been hit. We found it still sitting there beside the hut, drunkenly slewed to one side and beyond the ability of the recovery team to retrieve.

Pushed up against one wall of the ramshackle building were bound, blindfolded men; eleven or twelve in total. They had been picked up in sweeps through fields and houses after the attacks, and had been moved back to be guarded by the soldiers standing watch over the damaged Bradley. Only a few of the soldiers that guarded them were still battle-ready; more than half were sprawled on the ground in some stage of undress. Most were not wearing body armor, and they were all low on ammo. They were also out of water; which was the reason for their seemingly dangerous lapse in discipline. Some were dangerously dehydrated.

In the end, the heat caused more casualties that day that the enemy did- thirteen soldiers were treated as heat casualties. Several suffered from serious heat injuries such as heatstroke. Two soldiers nearly died from the heat. We did the best we could for the soldiers as we passed; we handed out one half-liter IV bag per man, and twenty or thirty warm water bottles from the back of a Marine Gator in the security element.

Just down the road, we spent a few moments longer eliminating the bomb that had been disabled much earlier that day. A few hundred meters further down the road, we reached the site of the deadly attack.

When the recovery team had found they were unable to recover the Bradley with the equipment on hand, they had proceeded down the road to the site of the second attack. We found them parked in the darkness next to a small pile of shredded Humvee parts, out of smokes and water, and almost out of ammo. The soldier in charge of the recovery team was at the verge of tears and asking for a cigarette. He had spent the evening gathering together the fragments of the Humvee and trying not to get shot for his trouble. He pointed out some of the head-high bullet pocks in the armor of his vehicle; we gave him cigarettes and sympathized with him over his grueling day. We parked near him in a field and waited for the vehicle and personnel recovery team attached to us to do their work.

Marines load the engine of the destroyed Humvee onto a flatbed

It was growing close to dawn before our recovery team was ready to move with the remains of the Humvee and crew. We pulled out of the field we had parked in and began the slow trip home. One of the last things I saw before we cleared the area was the recovery operator still working on the Bradley, trying to find some way to drag it home before the dawn brought the chance of renewed assault from the dusty fields.

Across the Ocean

2008-03-04T08:57:00.002-07:00

I put my head down/and I dreamt you were here
With me by the ol' tree/where no one could care

Far Away Boys, Far Away Boys/Away from ya now
I'm lyin' with my sweetheart/In her arms I'll be found

"Well, you don't smell *too* bad..." she said as I met here at the top of the airport stairs.

I should be fair. Somewhere in the haze of wandering around Baghdad or Kuwait, or in the long hours between, I had told her that I'd come home smelling like Iraq. It really is quite a process to get in and out of the country- made slightly easier for me because I flew Gryphon Airlines from Kuwait to Baghdad, thereby avoiding several days of sitting around at Ali al Saleem Air Force Base in Kuwait.

I took a helicopter out of my last temporary home at Patrol Base Stone in Hawr Rajab. I had to leave a day and a half before my flight, just to guard against delays. It was raining when I left. Rain in Iraq always turns the dust to muddy clay, the kind that makes you taller the longer you walk. In Baghdad, the water pooled around the ancient and decaying transient tents. The tents date back to almost the beginning of the war- the knee-high sandbag walls around them are disintegrating and falling into the lakes of water that seep under the edges. The original fabric of the tents is obscured by multiple layers of tarps cast over the top to seal leaks.

The Gryphon plane took off a few hours after dark. I settled myself into a window seat behind the wing, and turned my attention outwards. We flew over the dusky bends of the Euphrates reflecting the pale moon, and on south over Highway 8, still crowded with Shi'ite pilgrims walking southwards. I recognized the lights of one of the FOBs just south of Baghdad, and that made it easy to pick out Hawr Rajab. I waved goodbye to Angry Troop, 6/8 Cav, and looked ahead for Sayafiyah and 5/7 Cav. I saw the lights of Sayafiyah and al-Sur just as I saw a giant bonfire in the middle of a black patch below. PB Stone must be burning trash again. I saw a brief, bright flicker of light- so far away in a sealed airplane, I couldn't hear or feel the explosion.

We flew over empty darkness and over the pyres of oil fields at work, then on out over the tankers docked in the Gulf, and into the bright lights of Kuwait City. We had some delays and confusion in Kuwait in the process of facilitating Operation Puppy Love III, but I made the plane.
Now I'm home again, and in the process of writing out stories, labeling and organizing pictures, and eating good food.

I miss it still, and right now I miss it a little more than before, but I'm in no hurry to go back again. I've got my sweetheart, and I don't smell too bad.

Sons of Iraq: Recruiting and Employing

2008-02-24T10:52:00.002-07:00

Originally posted at The Long War Journal

Apache 5/7 Cav soldiers screen prospective SOI members in Sayafiyah, Iraq

As Coalition forces in Iraq have moved to a doctrine centered more on counterinsurgency and begun to engage the sheikhs, the military has relied more and more on security forces supplied by local sheikhs to point out bad guys, weapon caches, and IEDs. In Arab Jabour, those forces are called Sons of Iraq.

Sayifiyah, in southern Arab Jabour, had local villagers trying to start a Sons of Iraq program before US forces even reached their village.

Al Qaeda in Iraq has long been the only power in much of Arab Jabour, and the people of Sayafiyah were fed up. At the start of January, a group of sheikhs from the area traveled to meet Colonel Ferrel, the commander of the 2nd Brigade Combat Team, 3rd Infantry Division to ask for help in their village. They talked about the many things that they needed, and about their desire to use Sons of Iraq to secure their village. Colonel Ferrel asked for a volunteer from among the sheikhs to head the Sons of Iraq when he reached their village. The sheikhs looked at each other indecisively, until Sheikh Sayeed (a pseudonym, used for his protection), dressed like an al Qaeda in Iraq fighter, volunteered. Colonel Ferrel looked at him and said, “OK. You’d better be ready, because if my guys get there and get shot at, I’m coming after you!”

American troops from the 6th Squadron, 8th Cavalry Regiment pushed into southern Arab Jabour days later, establishing a foothold at what would become Patrol Base Meade. The 5th Squadron of the 7th Cavalry Regiment, 1st Brigade Combat Team, 3rd Infantry Division transferred over from Fallujah and took charge of the sector on Jan.14. After sporadic fighting in other villages, the 5/7 Cavalry reached Sayafiyah on Jan. 21. Just as Sheikh Sayeed had promised, they were greeted with open arms. Leaders sat down to lunch in the home of one of the village sheikhs and were identifying community needs nearly immediately. The process of rebuilding had begun. All civic projects require security first and foremost, so the first priority of the 5/7 was to establish local security with the help of brand-new Sons of Iraq.

Captain Anders, the soldier in charge of the Sons of Iraq screening process in Sayifiyah, described what he was doing as “building the Iraqi security forces from the ground up. It’s a good way to go, because they usually serve for a while without a gun, then we get them in here to badge and BAT them, and then later they’ll move into the ISF.”

BAT stands for Biometrics Automated Testset. It is a computerized system that checks the fingerprints and iris scans of a prospective Sons of Iraq member against a database of former detainees, known terrorists, and former badge holders of any stripe -- local interpreters, media, laborers, and so forth. If the individual passes the scan, he is photographed and issued a badge and an orange reflective vest. The local sheikh contracted to supply men for Sons of Iraq will supply a weapon and ammunition if the new man doesn’t have his own.

Some applicants don’t even make it to the BAT/badge station. Sheikh Sayeed was on hand to assist in the early days of the process and spotted men trying to get in line. He helped the Americans detain four al Qaeda in Iraq fighters the first day. Once in a while, a high-value target will pop up in the scans. Such was the case at a recruiting station in Hwar Rajab in northern Arab Jabour. A member of an al Qaeda anti-aircraft cell tried to join the Sons of Iraq, was identified during the testing, and was detained by the recruitment team.

During the badging process, former Iraqi Army officers and noncommissioned officers are identified and flagged as possible future leaders in either the Sons of Iraq or the Iraqi security forces structure that will incorporate some members of the Sons of Iraq. Boys and old men who lie outside of the 18-48-year age range of Sons of Iraq are thanked for coming and put on a list of prospectives for later civic projects. As the area where a Sons of Iraq group operates becomes more secure, active members will be drawn off for civic projects as well. Those who can read and write will be encouraged to apply to join one of the Iraqi security forces.

All that lies in the future for Sayifiyah, though. The area was cleared by US forces only a few weeks ago, and its Sons of Iraq is in the beginning stages. The initial contract of 1,100 men has just been filled, and the team that screened them is preparing to move to a training and enabling role. There will be no weapons training from the US advisers, but the Sons of Iraq will be trained in other areas in which they lack needed skills.

One of the newly minted Sons of Iraq told me through an interpreter: “You should turn the picture upside down. Rather than talk about what we are doing here, you should tell the people about the hell we live through.” He went on to talk about the lack of electricity, clean water, and basic services. His comments are valid and urgent complaints, and they will be answered to some degree in the next coming dispatch: Reconstruction.

Slideshow of Sons of Iraq recruiting in Sayafiyah. Click image to view.

Crazy Troop

2008-02-21T04:32:00.008-07:00

Today’s informant used to be an insurgent. Today, his name is Hassam. It’s been quite a while, though, since Hassam fought as an insurgent. The circumstances surrounding his conversion are a bit murky- his brother was killed by insurgents for reasons unknown, at which point all the males in his family began to support and work for Coalition Forces. Now, he is praised as one of the best informants around. The cynic might suppose that he is only working with the Americans to save his own skin because of his past. Those cynics could certainly be right- however; this informant is still on the job today despite a credible threat from one of the few remaining terrorist cells in the area to send a suicide bomber to kill him.

One of the reasons Hassam is so good is his ability to form relationships with other Iraqis who have abandoned the insurgency. His network of informants is broad, almost as broad as that of his American “handlers”. It is actually one of his sub sources, an 18-year old named Omar, that has volunteered to lead Crazy troop, 5/7 Cav, to a cache today. It’s a little misleading to say he “volunteered”- Hassam identified him as associated with al-Qaeda in Iraq and got his phone number; an American intelligence officer then called Omar and informed him that his choices were turning over caches he had helped to bury, or living in the Camp Bucca detention facility. Omar chose to come.

The cache site in a plum orchard

Yesterday, one of Hassam’s informants led Crazy troop directly to a 500gal water tank, buried in the middle of an orchard and filled partway with weapon parts and grenades. He said that tank was the only one he knew the exact location of, but that he knew there were several more in the immediate vicinity. Faced with the prospect of long hours ahead, Crazy posted a guard and retired for the night. Omar supposedly knew the locations of more buried tanks.

Buried water tank

Crazy was eager to find the rest of the cache for several reasons. One, of course, was unit pride. Bandit troop had just found a huge cache, and competition certainly exists between troops. Another, more important reason, was that in the days prior, Crazy had found several mounts for heavy machine guns. Yesterday, the buried water tank had included the bolt to another machine gun as well as ammunition. Those buried guns needed to be found before they were used on US forces.

These RKG-3 Russian anti-armor hand grenades were in the water tank

Today would not be Crazy’s lucky day. Omar lead the troop on a field run; through the orchard where the first tank had been, across a field, through a deep ditch and into another orchard on the other side. There, he pointed out a computer and an empty hole. The computer’s hard drive was gone, and the case was burned. The hole had probably contained something at some point, but if it had, the contents were long gone. Fighters in al-Qaeda are often trained in counter-interrogation techniques, and Omar was practicing a classic example. Lead your interrogator to something that doesn’t help him at all, and hope it’s enough to get him off your back.

SSG Vaughn helps a Crazy troop soldier out of a ditch while searching for caches

While Crazy stood around and started contemplating the possibility of having to dig up the entire orchard, Hassam had a chat with Omar. There was no violence- just a lot of raised voices and a swift kick to the buttocks when Hassam dismissed him. Omar would receive another call that night informing him of his last chance to avoid Camp Bucca. Meanwhile, Crazy began to dig.

Crazy troop soldiers check a discarded artillery shell canister

An explosives detection dog hit on a section of dirt in between trees in the orchard, but a quick dig failed to turn up anything. As more dirt came out of the growing hole, one soldier remarked “Every time this shovel comes up empty, I just want to punch that little jihadi in the face.” “I just want to hold him over that ditch he ran us through and shake him. He’s lost the war- why is he still fighting it?” said another.

Crazy troop dug like this for hours across the orchard

Maybe Omar is afraid. He had seemed ready to co-operate the night before- perhaps he had been threatened just as Hassam had. On the other hand, perhaps he was really a hardcore al-Qaeda fighter. The answer didn’t mean anything to Crazy troop, who would spend the rest of the day digging up the orchard with the prospect of more days in the orchard looming in the future.

Speaking of Pictures...

2008-02-19T14:23:00.005-07:00

This is easily my favorite shot from the trip so far:

These fathers are waiting in line to bring their children to see the doctor in Sayafiyah, Iraq. The entire area was under al-Qaeda control until just recently, and the only medicine available was on the black market and difficult to obtain.

Look for other shots in this series soon at The Long War Journal.

A Brief Spot of History

2008-02-19T01:34:00.004-07:00

As the last few posts have illustrated, units in recently cleared areas devote a significant amount of time to finding and clearing weapons caches left by dead or retreating fighters. Most of the time, cache sweeps come up empty or find standard AK47s or explosives. Every once in a while, cache sweeps turn up something remarkable. While I was deployed to Ramadi, Bravo company discovered a cache that included a M2 .50cal Machine Gun that the unit we replaced had lost when an IED blew apart the RG31 that carried it. Recently, troops from 5/7 Cav (Bandit troop, coincidently), had a rare find of a different sort.

CPT Owens, the commander of Bandit troop, holds the Mauser his men found

Bandit troop found this WWII German K98 Mauser in excellent condition in a cache in Falahat, at the south end of Arab Jabour.

Swastikas and serial number on the receiver

Every serial number on the weapon matches- even the stock is original and in good shape. The swastikas are still visible on the reciever. The manufacturer's stamp is worn, but still visible on top of the reciever.

Manufacturing date and stamp

Bandit White

2008-02-18T06:32:00.003-07:00

My morning with Bandit troop started with White platoon and a meeting with a sheik. Sheik Nahmed is the leader of Minari village in south-central Arab Jabour. He is a regular visitor to the front gate of PB Meade as he looks for work for his men. Today, he has come to sign a contract to pick up trash along one of the main roads through the area. When the project is in full swing, it will employ 100 men, and pay $7.50 a day- about the same as membership in one of the developing Sons of Iraq “neighborhood watch” programs.

Sheik Nahmed

With the contract signed, we were off for the main mission of the day: digging up, or “exploiting” a cache that Bandit troop discovered the day prior. 1LT Lenon and his men had reached the site the night before- they uncovered enough in fleeting daylight to confirm the presence of arms and ammunition, and posted a guard over the site for the night. The initial search had turned up a recoilless rifle- about 8 feet of steel all told, and Bandit troop anticipated more heavy digging, so we went first in search of a power shovel.

This is one of the newest MRAPs. These trucks are huge.

There were no engineer assets at PB Meade, so we headed west to a small OP manned by Iraqi Army soldiers and a few American troops. There were several bulldozers, a crane, and a large power shovel at the OP- the only problem was that the shovel operator had the day off, and had left with the keys. Several White platoon soldiers offered to hotwire the shovel and figure out how to operate it, bringing to mind a spectacle LT Lenon described as “A bull in a china shop… that shovel jerking around, and rounds flying everywhere”. We left the OP to head back the direction we had come to start digging up the cache by hand, while LT Lenon called up to the Bandit troop operations center to tell them about the setback. Bandit called back- we were to wait at the OP while they called around for a shovel operator.

1LT Lenon waits for direction

LT Lenon sighed and said “They’re just going to call up to Squadron, who will call over here, and the guys here will tell them what we already know- there’s no one around who can operate the thing, and we’ll just waste more time.” Sure enough, Bandit called back down a few minutes later to tell us that no one could operate the shovel and that if we moved out now, we would have no engineer support. LT Lenon replied “Roger… I understand that if I leave with no digging equipment, I will nothing to dig with at the cache site.” The driver of the MRAP turned around and said to me: “You getting this? Make sure to tell people how much sense the Army makes.”

At the cache site

We drove ten minutes down the road to the cache site; 5 small hills with old cement bunkers crumbling on top of them. Last night, White platoon had dug up the side of one of the hills, exposing a large caliber recoilless rifle and a large caliber round. Their intent was to spend the day running over the rest of the hills with metal detectors, and digging up anything else buried there.

SPC Self sweeping for caches

By mid-day, White platoon had satisfied themselves that the recoilless rifle and two rounds were all that remained of the cache. The rest had already been taken, or had never existed in the first place. White platoon packed up to return to base- on the way home, they dropped me off to spend the rest of the day with Red platoon.

SSG Garstka checking a metal detector "hit"

Bandit Red

2008-02-18T05:39:00.008-07:00

I caught up with Bandit troop’s Red platoon on a dusty road within sight of PB Meade. They were on mission to search through the fields and canals surrounding the site of a huge cache, and had been diverted to check out a report from an Unmanned Aerial Vehicle team of men digging in a field.

SGT Rose and Iron search for buried weapons

The report sounded promising enough- 4-5 men digging near the road until a bongo truck (the distinctive middle-eastern version of the pickup truck) pulled up, at which point the men started unloading items into the hole. It *sounds* like IED planting or cache digging, but my experience with UAV intel has been poor enough to leave me a cynic. I made a gentleman’s bet with the gunner that the search would turn up nothing. The dismount team found farmers working in the fields. Score one for cynicism.Red platoon soldiers set fire to a canal

Red platoon’s plan for the day was to light the reeds lining the canals in their search areas on fire, search the fields nearby while the canals burned, and return to check the canals after the flames turned the concealing reeds to ash. The danger in burning canals is that loose ammunition tends to explode like popcorn, and there is always the chance of an artillery shell “cooking off” in the fire. It is best to stay far away as long as the fire burns.

A Red platoon soldier runs from an explosion

The area where Red platoon was searching had come to Bandit troop’s attention a few days prior; White platoon had been patrolling nearby when they saw an explosion out in a field. They investigated, and found a trench cut in the earth with two men inside. They chased the men across the fields, catching one, at which point he confessed to being an al-Qaeda fighter conducting a sort of IED attack training. He proceeded to turn over his companion and lead White platoonto a series of large caches scattered across a few hundred m eters of farmland. Rockets, artillery shells, ammunition, RPGs, over 200 anti-personal land mines and more all came out of the earth.1LT Walker stands over the IED training trench

Searching for caches is as much art as science- “needle in a haystack” is an oft-used phrase. Human intelligence- the informants that soldiers call “bird dogs” is an important tool to use in the search. Shepherd boys and farmers are often just as important as AQI fighters and facilitators that can be convinced to give up information, because it is often their fields that have been turned into caches and fighting positions.

SSG Cruse comes up out of the reeds with a 155mm artillery shell

In Arab Jabour, though, many of the locals fled or were forced out by AQI, and are only now returning to their homes. As security improves and refugees trickle home, they often return to homes once used by AQI. They call in the war supplies left in their houses- as for what is buried in the fields; the search often turns into a treasure hunt like the one Red platoon was sent on today.

SSG Cruse feels out a homemade RPG launcher.
This one had a round explode in it when the fires passed over.

Just a few days before I went out with Bandit troop, a local farmer had approached them with the names of two men whom he claimed had been involved in Al Qaeda in Iraq. Bandit troop went out to question the men- cousins, as it turned out. Both men lead led Bandit to cache sites; both were detained after admitting they had helped dig the caches. 1LT Walker and his interpreter talk to a local shepherd

After being detained, one of the men told Bandit troop: “You don’t want me; my brother is the really bad one”. His mother came out waving a white flag to say goodbye to him, and substantiated what he had said about his brother. The next day, she returned- with her second son. She sat him down in front of the Americans and told him to talk or he would get worse than what his brother had gotten. The second brother, the “bad one”, would go on to help Bandit troop find yet another giant cache. This is just a simple story, but it substantiates a point about Iraqi culture that bears repeating: the men hold all the visible power, but winning over the women is extremely important to succeeding at counterinsurgency.

SSG Cruse calls EOD to report the day's finds

First Article Up:

2008-02-16T11:22:00.002-07:00

The first of several planned articles has been posted over at The Long War Journal. Here's a teaser:

Colonel Ferrel asked for a volunteer from among the sheikhs to head the Sons of Iraq when he reached their village. The sheikhs looked at each other indecisively, until Sheikh Sayeed (a pseudonym, used for his protection), dressed like an al Qaeda in Iraq fighter, volunteered. Colonel Ferrel looked at him and said, “OK. You’d better be ready, because if my guys get there and get shot at, I’m coming after you!”

Some new pictures up in a slideshow over at LWJ as well. Check it out.
I'm leaving PB Meade shortly and moving back to FOB Kalsu for a day or two, so I should have some decent internet soon. Look forward to more pictures and some patrol stories here on the blog, as well as a treat for the gun nuts out there.

Settling In

2008-02-11T13:16:00.000-07:00

The wait in the Green Zone wasn’t short, but it was just short enough to forestall a meeting with the author of LT Nixon Rants. Too bad- I’ll have to try again on the trip back. I caught a Blackhawk helicopter ride from the Green Zone south to FOB Kalsu- home to the 2nd and 4th Brigades of the 3rd Infantry division. The 2nd Brigade, my hosts for this stage of the trip, is famous for leading the “Thunder Run” to Baghdad in the initial invasion.

On the flight down to Kalsu, I made friends with a civilian electronics tech. He had a day or so in between places he had to go for his job, so he was flying down to Kalsu to play high-stakes poker with his cousin stationed there. Was it a waste of government resources? I suppose you could look at it that way, but he had nowhere else to be, and the helicopter was flying with or without him. I don’t understand the surprise some people claim at the idea that soldiers might be gambling (or participating in most any other vice, for that that matter). Soldiers are soldiers, and war doesn’t often change their amusements.

From FOB Kalsu, I jumped on a convoy headed east into Arab Jabour, finally arriving at Patrol Base Meade, an isolated outpost that headquarters the 5/7 Cavalry. We had worked with 5/7 Cav under the 1st Brigade of the 3rd Infantry before we left Falluja- after we left they were attached to 2nd Brigade and moved to Arab Jabour. The soldiers I’ve met at all stages of my trip here seem to kick their estimation of me up a couple of notches upon learning that I served in Iraq- 5/7 soldiers kick it up even more when they find out about my time in Pathfinder. One soldier recognized me from some time we spent living in Iraqi houses south of Falluja- I walked out of the tent last night to hear him telling other soldiers about it. I still feel good about what we accomplished there, and I’m glad to know the guys we worked for back in al-Anbar held us in such high regard.

PB Meade is a recently constructed base in the center of Arab Jabour. Actually, it is still in the process of construction- just days before I got here, there was no heat or electricity. Those are spotty at best, and when the heat goes out at night a bone-chilling cold descends. It’s not the coldest I’ve ever been- not by a long shot, but it’s still damned uncomfortable. Food comes in on trucks, and moves from PB Meade to a scattering of even smaller patrol bases about the area. These bases are a fundamental piece of the counter-insurgency doctrine that the military is now pursuing in Iraq- sometimes separated from neighborhoods by little more than a hasty earthen wall, they allow the troops stationed at each near instant access to the community.

Over the next few days, I’ll be doing a little bit less “blog” style posting, and more photos and story about the fight in Southern Arab Jabour- keep checking back, and I’ll get posts up once I’m back on reliable internet.

One Year

2008-02-06T23:52:00.002-07:00

We turn 101 years old today. As I write this, it is one year almost to the minute from the event that would age us all more than any other. It was a hard week for our battalion- we had just remembered CPL Steve Shannon, who had been killed the night of January 31st. Then this morning, a year ago, we lost 3 good men to the biggest bomb anyone in our Task Force would have the misfortune to encounter.

To Mel, Dave, Brandi, families of Ross, Jim and Ray- we remember. We could never forget.

To those that read this from 3rd PLT- I wish I could be with you today. I made the pilgrammage you will make in this coming morning on Memorial Day. I feel like it was better for me to make it alone, in the same way I found out about our loss. Still... I wish I was there.

I don't want this post today to be about me, what I write or what I feel. Take a moment to remember these men and their families, and all the others that have given up their lives in service to our country.

And once again:

For those who have made the ultimate sacrifice
And for those now on their final tour
Gentlemen: lift up your glasses for absent companions.

Rest in peace
SGT Holtom
SGT Clevenger
PFC Werner

Welcome Back

2008-02-06T23:52:00.000-07:00

“Welcome to Baghdad, ladies and gentlemen”, the pilot said. The attendant opened the hatch, and the scent of burning garbage reached through and tickled my nose. I was back in Iraq. I flew up on a Gryphon Airways plane, direct from the Kuwait City airport. That meant a few hours of waiting at the airport after leaving my hotel, rather than a day or two waiting at the main air force base for a military flight. I also got to fly on a normal passenger plane, instead of stuffed into the back of a hot, cramped C-130. I’ll take that trade any day.

I spent the next 4 hours waiting again- this time for the RINO, which is a big armored black bus. It looks like a prison wagon, and I can’t imagine it would fare much better in case of an IED. The route into the International Zone was along the infamous Route Irish- at one time listed as the most dangerous road in the world. Now, route clearance checks the road before the RINOs move along it. As we left the gate, I saw an RG pulling in, and I was suddenly homesick for the road, and for my old truck “Roadrunner”. Our RG took more abuse than ever intended- we blew the engine out of her twice, and blew the entire front end nearly off once. We replaced every single window in her at least twice. The guys before us blew off the back axle. That was a truck whose creaks and rattles I trusted utterly, unlike the RINO I took bumping down the road last night.

While I was waiting for the RINO to come, I spent a fair bit of time talking to a British Aegis Corp. contractor. Aegis is like the British version of Blackwater, without the allegations of shooting civilians. He was former British military; I mentioned that I had deployed to Iraq before, doing the ‘ol route clearance. He said “Oh, so you were the crazy nutters in those big trucks!”. Indeed we were. I was crazy enough to come back again. The Specialist with the press center that came to pick me up asked if I’d ever been to Iraq before; I explained a little of my history, and he asked if I’d brought my pipe along with me, because he wanted a hit. So there you go- not everyone feels that pull to come back. I bet he misses it a little after a few months home, though.

On the Road Again

2008-02-04T17:19:00.000-07:00

I learned some things the last time I was in Iraq- I learned of courage, and brotherhood. I learned that there is no glory in war- there are few heroes, and many decent, ordinary men too stubborn to realize that their actions are irrational, dangerous, and, well… heroic. I learned of emotional agony and of empathy; I also learned how to be callous. I learned how to tell someone with your eyes that you would kill him if he didn’t cave. I lost some timidity, and gained self-respect. The war did not make me a man- rather; I learned through the war some essential elements of manhood.

There must be a name for this sickness, for this consuming malady that compels some few of us back into the conflict, back into the desert. It feels like a mild form of addiction- there’s the drive to get more of it, and the rush, and the memories. It comes without the wasting, without the needle marks (that’s a lie, actually- I have a wicked bruise in my elbow right now from blood tests), but it brings its own scars, flashbacks, and dementia. There’s something very existential about it- I am forever the sum of my experiences, after all, and time spent in austere environs, separated from my comfortable life and often in the heat of combat certainly qualifies as life experience.

I’m happy to be on my way back again. I thought travel into and out of Iraq was bad when I went with the Army… I think it might actually be worse as a civilian. I guess we’ll see if they completely lose me on the trip back, like they lost my entire company in Kuwait. See, the funny thing about that is that the units in Kuwait control travel for the theater, and I never quite understood how they could not know we were leaving. But I digress.

It didn’t take me long to pack for this trip; the hardest part was selecting some civilian clothes that would work well in Iraq. I dug my tactical gear from my deployment out of the boxes I had it stowed in- everything was just as I had remembered. My tan Nomex gloves were still crusted with my sweat and Iraqi dirt. My little Timex watch was still running still set to Iraq time. That watch has to embody the best $12 I ever spent. I packed all the tactical gear into my carryon backpack for the flight; forgetting to remove my Gerber from its holster when I threw that into my backpack. At the airport, it took TSA 3 times through the scanner to decide there was something in my bag that didn’t belong. The screener acted as though my bag was radioactive. She gingerly removed books and power cords, and struggled to comprehend the fastening straps on the butt pack that held the offending multitool. I offered to help, but I was sternly refused. When at last she uncovered the grey canvas cover, she stared at it as though it might explode- which it might, of course. Standing next to her, I wondered how many suicide bombers tried to trick their victims into detonating their bombs, and only martyred themselves because they stuck around to watch the fun. In her mind, the number must be in the dozens. I can’t wait to get back to Iraq, where I trust the competence of the people around me.

The trouble I had at the security checkpoint turned out to be for naught. My flight was delayed to the point that I would positively miss the connector to my flight across the Atlantic, so I rescheduled for the next flight out and called my girlfriend: “Hey babe… Want to say goodbye to me again?” I’m sure it’s a little cruel to shift someone so quickly between tears and laughter, but I needed a ride home. My bag went on without me to my final point of departure from the United States- hopefully it will make it to the Middle East along with me, or I might get to soak up more Kuwaiti sand than I really want to.

Once I get to Kuwait, I will likely be unable to update for some time. I’m told that the damaged cables the Mediterranean and Persian Gulf have brought internet access in the region to a virtual (heh heh) standstill. In the meantime, spread the word that Teflon Don is back in the suck and blogging again.

Please Donate

2008-02-04T17:03:00.000-07:00

I've received several emails recently, asking what can be done to help me and others like me. Coincidently, Public Multimedia, Inc, the nonprofit that is making my trip possible, just kicked off their 1st Quarter fund raising drive. If you have a bit of spare change and value the reports of independent citizen journalists, drop by and shake a little coin into the tray. They deserve it, just like you deserve quality reporting.

New News

2008-01-08T08:11:00.001-07:00

For those of you who didn't hear it on the radio:

I am going back.

I am not going back with the Army, this time, though that may still occur at some point in the future. I am going back of my own free will- I am becoming a participant in this great experiment of independent, citizen journalism. I am going back to Iraq as a photojournalist, accredited by the recently developed Public Multimedia, Inc.

If you would like to donate towards the purchase of equipment for my trip and receive some return on your investment (besides quality journalism, of course!), there is a new photo album up. Viewing is free- the photos are also available for purchase as high-quality prints. All proceeds will go directly to benefit citizen journalism.

It's too soon yet to talk about where I'm headed and when- I'll fill in those details once we're done working out paperwork and red tape and I actually head for the sandbox again.

al-Dhari Is At It Again:

2008-01-08T04:49:00.000-07:00

Sheik Harith al-Dhari. You remember him. He's the bunny of love who said these words in Falluja on March 19th, 2004:

"I hope that your resistance will escalate through words, actions, prayers, demonstrations, protests, and other forms. I also hope that all our brothers in the homeland will wake up and rise up to join their brothers in resisting the occupying to expedite its departure, God willing."

11 days later, a Blackwater convoy was ambushed in Falluja. 4 employees were killed, mutilated, burned, and hung from the "New Bridge" across the Euphrates. That incident was the spark that lead to the first and second battles of Falluja.

Since that time, al-Dhari has increasingly thrown his lot in with al-Qaeda and affiliated organizations. He fled to Syria to escape Iraqi authorities and the Sunni tribesmen that had turned against reckless violence. From Syria, he continued to decry the Government of Iraq, the "occupiers", and the Awakening Councils even as his organization was dismantled inside of Iraq.

Now, he is claiming that the Awakening Councils are no better than al-Qaeda:

"Dari, during the interview published over two episodes, said it is true that al-Qaeda has been involved in unacceptable activities with the residents of the region where it existed, but the Sahwa [Awakening] Councils are doing just the same: blackmailing and intimidation."

Now, my reasoning could be a bit off here, but I want to stop and consider the subject. One of the first Sunni tribes to ally with Coalition Forces against al-Qaeda was and still is infamous for smuggling and general lawlessness along the Syrian border. Some of the others are little better. Still- do al-Qaeda radicals limit themselves to "blackmailing and intimidation"? I. Think. Not.

The Sandbox

2008-01-07T18:39:00.000-07:00

I will be appearing on NPR's KUOW Seattle tomorrow morning, alongside David Stanford of The Sandbox, and several other bloggers featured there: Army Girl, CPT Benjamin Tupper, and CPT Traversa. We will each read a short portion of our writing, and talk a bit about our experiences.

If you are in the area, you can listen in at 9am on 94.9FM. If not, you can download the entire program as a podcast. Follow the link from Weekday at 9. Those of you who catch the show may get to hear a bit of exciting news a few hours earlier than everyone else.

And Once Again

2008-01-04T18:12:00.000-07:00

The snare is beating slow and the pipes are wailing somewhere far away. A man I never met, but always read and respected, was killed in the Diyala province of Iraq yesterday. Major Andrew Olmsted was a member of a Military Training Team- the guys that eat and sleep in small teams among Iraqi troops as they groom them into professional soldiers. He and another member of his team, Captain Thomas Casey, were killed by small arms fire.

While in Iraq, he blogged at his own site, until the DOD found him in violation of policy. He moved to posting on the Rocky Mountain News website, which is where I found him many months ago. I looked up to him and respected him; I felt then, as I still feel, that the small training teams of which he was a part were essential to the conflict we were fighting. His last post was written months ago against his possible death, and has been posted at his old blog site and at Obsidian Wings, where he occasionally guest blogged.

I'll let his words finish out this post. From his last message to all of us and the world at large:

On a similar note, while you're free to think whatever you like about my life and death, if you think I wasted my life, I'll tell you you're wrong. We're all going to die of something. I died doing a job I loved. When your time comes, I hope you are as fortunate as I was.

But on a larger scale, for those who knew me well enough to be saddened by my death, especially for those who haven't known anyone else lost to this war, perhaps my death can serve as a small reminder of the costs of war. Regardless of the merits of this war, or of any war, I think that many of us in America have forgotten that war means death and suffering in wholesale lots. A decision that for most of us in America was academic, whether or not to go to war in Iraq, had very real consequences for hundreds of thousands of people. Yet I was as guilty as anyone of minimizing those very real consequences in lieu of a cold discussion of theoretical merits of war and peace. Now I'm facing some very real consequences of that decision; who says life doesn't have a sense of humor?

My feelings remind me very much of the words he wrote a couple of months ago about the memorial of another soldier in his squadron:

I had never met the soldier, but I found it very difficult to keep my eyes clear as I saluted a good man who had so much more to offer the world.
We are in a dangerous business. Soldiers die in war; there's no way around it. But that knowledge does not make those losses any less bitter.

Rest in peace, Major.
/salute

MAJ Andrew Olmsted
CPT Thomas Casey

Blogging Happiness:

2008-01-03T17:09:00.000-07:00

I've noticed a serious lack of quality blog material coming out of Iraq/Afghanistan lately, so today I went looking for new authors. I found one who just got to country, and I think he's gonna be good. One of the first posts is on how to write a Dear John letter/myspace message/email/etc:

Dear (insert rank and name here):

Hi. I know it’s been a while since I’ve written. I’ve gotten all your letters … it’s just hard, you know? With you in (insert foreign nation here) fighting in (insert war from American history here), it’s not like things back home have been easy. Or simple. I don’t really know how to say this, so I’m just going to tell you like it is: I’ve met someone else. His name is Jody. I swear to God, I wasn’t looking for anything like this to happen – it just did and now we’re in love.

I know you have to hate me. I promised that this would never happen to us, but it did. Life’s funny like that, isn’t it? While you’re half a world away, getting shot at for a living by (insert enemy here), protecting freedom, justice, and the American way of life, I’m discovering my inner concubine, getting penetrated by Jody’s inferior geothermal thunderstick on a nightly basis. But he’s a far better cuddler than you ever were, he flatters me every morning, and he communicates with me! Imagine that, you insensitive prick.

What else needs to be said? You’re probably going to go crazy now, so you should recommend to your C.O. to take away your weapon for a couple of days. Suck it up, tough guy – remember, like you always told your friends, you can’t make a ho a housewife.

From your former dream forsaking you to a lifetime of what ifs,

(Insert every horribly negative term for a female here)

P.S. I’m keeping the dog.

I will confess to some confusion on the actual (as opposed to metaphorical) meaning of "geothermal thunderstick".

Monkeys in the House:

2008-01-03T00:56:00.000-07:00

I just discovered this on the internet. Late, yes, but funny/harsh nontheless:

I would say, though: The New Republic only has room on the payroll for two fact checkers (err.. excuse me- "reporter-researchers"). Those monkeys will have competition. I suggest getting a leg up on the other monkeys by marrying off to a source who can provide sensationalized stories of questionable accuracy.

/snark

Merry Christmas!

2007-12-26T14:46:00.000-07:00

Don't worry about us today. Relax in your fire-warmed homes. Cut the bows and tear open the packages. Call the grandparents. Shovel the driveway and then build a snowman. Dig into the potatoes and have an extra slice of ham. Share a kiss under the mistletoe. Drink up the eggnog, and don't forget to raise a toast for your soldier far away.

Make sure everything is well at home- we'll take care of things here.

I wrote a post a year ago from the heart of the insurgency in Iraq's al-Anbar province. At the time, Ramadi was still one of the most violent cities in Iraq- the province as a whole was considered by many to be a lost fight. How things have changed in a year!

Now, I can do all the things I told you to do in that letter a year ago. My brothers and I shoveled the driveway. I opened presents with my family and my girlfriend, and talked to my sole remaining grandparent- the last man in the family before myself to have walked the deserts of the Middle East. Last night, I raised a toast for my friends who have now taken over my fight. They, and we, are succeeding, despite the opinions of some to the contrary. I don't begrudge others their viewpoints, and I certainly appreciate that proceeds from "Christmas in Falluja" will benefit wounded troops, but I feel that lyrics such as "It's Christmas in Fallujah/And we ain't never coming home/We came to bring these people Freedom/We came to fight the Infidel/There is no justice in the desert/Because there is no God in Hell" reflect poorly on the reality of what we are finally accomplishing.

I'm rambling again... this post started out as a cheery "Merry Christmas", and turned bragging/political. I'll let it stand though. Thank you all for the support you have shown us, and have some happy holidays!

Frustration

2007-12-10T15:57:00.000-07:00

I've been home now for 2 1/2 months. I've spent a lot of that time traveling and visiting friends and family. I think I'm doing pretty well readjusting to living here- it doesn't bother me anymore when I drive at night, and I don't swerve away from objects on or near the road (though I do tend to follow them with my eyes). Crowds and people never bothered me after my return, and sudden noises only did so occasionally.

Iraq did change my driving habits, though- I've always been a bit more of an aggressive driver than most, and I'm worse now and more vocal about it. I think living in Idaho makes it particularly bad- drivers here are some of the worst I've seen, and I don't react to them particularly well.

For a week or so now, I've been noting all the stupid things I see while driving. The truck that made a right turn from the left turn lane during a red light was notable, as was the truck that tried to turn left during a red light, got caught in the intersection and still tried to creep through the stream of oncoming traffic. I noticed the van that turned from a cross street into the turning lane, because the driver got impatient with the car in front of him that was actually trying to turn and pulled into oncoming traffic to pass.

The worst incident for me occurred while I was traveling towards Oregon, heading for my parents house. I was the second car in a stack of five or six when I noticed a small white car parked by the side of the freeway. Suddenly, he pulled out into the right lane, and nearly caused a pileup.

The last time something like that happened, I was gunning on a trip from Falluja to Ramadi. We were passing by a "named area of interest"- a hot spot known for multiple sniper, grenade, IED and VBIED attacks. When the little white car suddenly edged into my truck, he was too close to bring the machine gun to bear.

I was tightening my finger on the trigger of my M4 and wondering idly to myself if I was too close to fire a 40mm high explosive grenade into him with being hit by the fragmentation when the driver looked up. I saw in his eyes the terrorized realization of the dumbass move he had just pulled, and how close it had brought him to death.

I remember that Iraqi driver every time I see stupid maneuvers occurring on the roads at home, and I wonder if the American driver sporting the yellow "Support Our Troops" ribbon understands that his driving would literally risk his life at my hands in another country.

I know he doesn't understand, and so I am angry once again about the blissful ignorance of my countrymen.

Iraq Gov. Moves Against AMS

2007-11-14T10:30:00.001-07:00

Representatives of the Government of Iraq entered a mosque in Baghdad today to close the offices and shut down the radio station of the Association of Muslim Scholars- a Sunni religious network often seen as supporting or affiliated with some of the more radical elements of the Sunni insurgency, including elements of al-Qaeda.

Aswat al-Iraq (Voices of Iraq) has the story-

Baghdad, Nov 14, (VOI) - The Sunni Association of Muslim Scholars (AMS) said on Wednesday that the government's Sunni Awqaf (endowments) department closed the association's head-office at Um al-Qura mosque in western Baghdad and ceased its radio broadcast.

"A force sent by the head of the Sunni Awqaf department Ahmed Abdel Ghafour al-Samarrae forced employees of the Muslim Scholars Association to leave its headquarters at Um al-Qura mosque and to cease its radio broadcast under orders from al-Samarrae," the association said in a press release published on its official Web site.

The history of AMS and its leadership is somewhat long and complex-

The Association of Muslim Scholars was formed just after the invasion of Iraq as a religious group concerned with representing Sunnis in Iraq. As such, the ASM oversaw thousands of Sunni mosques, and hundreds of thousands of worshippers.

The AMS started out non-violently opposed to the war and the occupation of Iraq, but quickly became an encouraging mouthpiece for many elements of the Sunni insurgency. Official AMS releases indirectly encouraged the insurgency, while Sunni Imans within the association sent many young men to fight without directly telling them to wage jihad. AMS condemned the siege of Falluja in late 2004, and used their network of Sunni mosques to gather and funnel water and food into the city before the battle in November 2004.

AMS continued to occasionally speak out against the worst crimes perpetuated against the people of Iraq, including admonitions to al-Zarqawi to limit his killing of Shi'a after the bombing of Samarra's Golden Mosque. In doing so, AMS continued to walk the fine line between encouraging the insurgency and alienating fellow Iraqis.

Late in 2006, the leader of AMS, Harish al-Dhari, fled to Jordan in advance of a warrant issued for his arrest by the Government of Iraq. He continued to speak out against the GoI and the newly-formed Anbar Awakening Council of sheiks co-operating with coalition forces and the Iraqi government.

He recently responded to questions about splits within the AMS in an interview with the Iraq News Network:

About your question of AMSI split, I answer that there is no such split as some thinks. There are two figures of our consultation council who have joined the new Council of Iraqi Scholars that recently installed. ...
AMSI is more tied [tight?] than ever from the point view of all aspects.

The Council of Iraqi Scholars was formed earlier this year in response to a call from the Sunni waqf to stop sectarian violence and promote national reconciliation. Some of the scholars call for "legal ways and means to end the occupation"- a long step from insurgency, while Sheikh Ahmad Abdul Ghafour Al Samarrae says that all Iraqis must work to promote moderation and counter the takfiri. Takfiri is the radical, messianic branch of Islam that calls for war against all non-Muslims while at the same time laying the groundwork for fundamental Islamic rule- in short, al-Qaeda and similar groups. Sheikh Ahmad Abdul Ghafour Al Samarrae is also the head of the Sunni waqf and the man who ordered the closure of the AMS offices and radio station today.

Massive Link Spam

2007-11-13T09:11:00.000-07:00

(AKA Blogworld Pt. 2)

The night of my last post was the opening party for the blogworld expo. There was a light dinner to be had with conversations yelled over the thumping music. There were awards handed out to the winners of the 2007 Weblog Awards (congratulations to Michael Yon for the Milblog win, and Michael Totten for the Best Middle Eastern blog). Best online comic went to a site near and dear to my (nerdy) heart- XKCD has math and computer jokes, romance, and obscure references. Mouse over the comics for shockingly funny notes hidden within the frame. Best of all, the opening party had an open bar. I managed to match Uncle Jimbo and AWTM drink for drink till we all stumbled home.

The next day was a blur of people and motion made all the more fantastic by my lack of sleep and food and compounded by too much caffeine and a slight touch of hangover. Hey, it's Vegas, right? The only thing I didn't understand is why the restrooms stock a half-standard width toilet paper. Seriously. People come to Vegas to see strippers, not to feel like one!

That night was spent at a so-called tequila bar that for some reason happened to also be the first place I found Guinness and decent whisky in Vegas. We gathered all the milbloggers and associates around (and since the inestimable Steve Green seemed recovered from his last bout with milblogger parties, we invited him along). We weren't long into the night before someone (Uncle Jimbo, if my memory serves) clumsily opened a wallet and "accidently" dropped a challenge coin ringing to the table. T Boggs and I dropped ours, and Major Z followed immediately with his own, and the words "Anyone beat me having one made just for me?". BLACKFIVE's response glittered blue and white on the tabletop- the Seal of the President of the United States.

Jack and Jill Army sat together looking cute and happy to be together again. Speaking of cute, Townhall columnists Mary Katherine Hamm and Katy Favazza stopped in for a few hours. The SpouseBUZZ ladies sat together, trading obscure references and setting someone up teh bomb.
Bill Roggio and Paul Hanusz traded stories with Butterfly Wife. Michael Totten's friend Ali stopped by as well.

I ended up back at the hotel around 5am, following far too many scotches (and a brief history of same from BLACKFIVE) and a few long talks with new friends. I flew out at 8am.

You can sleep when you're dead.

BLOGWORLDEXPO

2007-11-08T17:46:00.000-07:00

Which is a better way to attract wanderers to a blog booth: free beer or beautiful women in short skirts? That's a question that may well be answered at the first Blogworld and New Media Expo in Las Vegas. Me, I'm currently more attracted to the beer- something that the women in my life will probably be happy(er) to hear. Yeah mom, you're on that list.

It's been an eventful day. I got up earlier than I ever thought I would while in the City of Sin, and the whirlwind hasn't stopped since. I was interviewed today by a French radio/news service (I'll post a link once it airs), and was tapped as a last-minute panelist addition to the conference session "From the Front" which as the name implies covers blogging from combat zones. I also started to explore some other venues for publication.

Speaking of venues, the quote of the day belongs to Bill Roggio with a gem that I'll paraphrase from memory as "Things have gotten to the point where I need to have a new blog on my blog". Blogs on blogs is like Starbucks across the street from Starbucks. What is the world coming to?

I'll post some pictures and maybe talk a little more later- for now it's time to think about heading towards the door for the opening night party at the Hard Rock Cafe. I'll be knocking back some of those beers and talking with newly-met old friends.

Intrusions

2007-11-02T02:11:00.000-06:00

There was peace in the twilight / And for a moment or more
There was a world without danger / A world without war
And I would take all your suffering / If it would do any good
Cause we are one flesh / One breath, one life / One blood

I was with her a couple of nights ago, driving back from a weekend with the family. The sun was setting- the globe of it was crimson and hung low in the clouds. I found it odd that the clouds did not catch and tease the light like they normally do, taking on its color and spreading fleeting glory across the darkening sky. The sunset fascinated me me; I found it beautiful and captivating and terrible all at the same time.

I mentioned that it was similar to some I had seen in Iraq- I did not mention which sunset still haunts fading in my memory, the sunset that the other night was most like. I pulled off the freeway a few exits early and sat at the top of the ramp for a few minutes, quiet in my thoughts, and watching the sun slowly sink.

She looked at me and said "You miss it, don't you?". She struck closer than she knew: at that moment I was remembering it, but not missing it.

I do miss it, and I don't.

I miss the rush- I miss the excitement of missions, of the hide&seek "treasure" hunt, the excitement of everything going right. It's an awesome feeling to go to sleep at night with all of your guys ok, a few more bombs out of the ground and a few more terrorists in it.

I don't miss the boredom- the waiting for something to happen, the third time through The Simpsons because no one can sleep and our next mission is still a couple hours off.

I don't miss the way the "real world" intruded into Iraq.

I wish I could miss the way Iraq intrudes into the real world.

I stood by the river / That ran red with shame
I stood in the killing fields / Where death had no name
I stood with my brothers / And awaited flood
And we were one flesh / One breath, one life / One blood

Then I fell to the ground / Tasted ashes on my tongue
Thinking that only the dead / Are forever young

Lyrics from Terence Jay - One Blood

2007 WebLog Awards

2007-11-01T15:00:00.001-06:00

Voting is open for the 2007 WebLog Awards. The winners will be announced at the Blogging and New Media expo in Las Vegas Nov 8&9th. Acute Politics is not in the running this time, so you won't have to worry about excessive, self serving promotion coming from this page. That'll teach me not to update! Seriously, though... the list has some great blogs that really deserve to win some recognition.

On the MilBlog front, the contenders are:

Blackfive
Michael Yon
The Long War Journal
OPFOR
American Soldier
Jeff Emanuel
Badgers Forward
The Sandbox
Army of Dude
SpouseBuzz

Shadows

2007-10-23T12:08:00.000-06:00

There were six American flags set out in front of the crowd that gathered at Gowen Field to welcome us home. Six flags, guarded by veterans of other wars- one for each soldier our Task Force lost over a year in combat. If we came home today, there would be seven flags standing silent before the formation

Sergeant First Class Tony "Ski" Wasielewski died earlier this month at home in Wisconsin. He had volunteered for Iraq as a veteran route clearance soldier, having already served a tour in Afghanistan. He was badly injured in an IED attack on May 15th, 2007, along with two other soldiers. He was well enough to attend welcome-home events for some of his soldiers, only to be felled by a blood clot in his heart.

I know that at least one of the guys from Boise that knew and worked with him managed to make it to Wisconsin for the funeral; I neither really knew nor worked with him, but I know he will be sorely missed.

A toast, my friends:

For those who have made the ultimate sacrifice,
And for those now on their final tour-

Raise up your glasses for absent companions.

Left of Boom

2007-10-09T02:10:00.000-06:00

I'm a few days late to this party, but I'll post it anyway:

The Washington Post has an excellent piece of journalism entitled Left of Boom: The Struggle to Defeat Roadside Bombs

The article is a series of four parts, chronicling the appearance of IEDs and how the often frantic efforts to counter them have finally moved "left of boom"- neutralizing IEDs and IED networks before the bombs send more young men home.

I found a very interesting graphic on the article site: the snapshot "Iraq Hotspots" shows the IED activity in some of Iraq's hottest cities in May 2007.

Baghdad: 418 IEDs found, 538 attacks
Basra: 6 IEDs found, 13 attacks
Diwaniyah: 46 IEDs found, 82 attacks
Mosul: 78 IEDs found, 109 attacks
Tikrit: 383 IEDs found, 512 attacks

Falluja: 195 IEDs found, 34 attacks

According to the numbers used to construct the graph, the only "hot city" where the find rate for IEDs was over 50% was Falluja. In Falluja in May 2007, the find rate was 85.2%. I have always bragged about the good work that we did in Iraq- this is a material indication of the kind of impact we made. Lest anyone think we had it easy out there- most IEDs in the Falluja region from March-April on were large (100lb+), deeply buried IEDs. Deep buried IEDs are the difficult to detect specialty of the Sunni insurgency, and they kill more American troops than all other types of IED save EFPs. No wonder the commandant of the Marine Corps wishes he had more route clearance!

The article is quite thorough in discussing the various high-tech approaches the military has taken to minimize the IED threat. In Parts 2&3, there is an extensive discussion on electromagnetic countermeasures (ECMs, or simply "jammers"), in which the author notes the complexity of maintaining the multiple distinct systems used in Iraq. Adding to the complexity that the author mentions is the fact that certain types of jammers wreaked havoc on certain other types. The problem was a nuisance at best- at worst, a passing patrol could burn out the incompatible jammers on another patrol and leave the second team vulnerable to radio-controlled IEDs. Such situations were not common, but they did exist- perhaps such troubles are a natural by-product of the rush to field new equipment. In war, the battlefield becomes the testing ground as disparate systems are thrown together in an attempt to make something work.

The author covers nearly every portion of the IED fight of which I am aware, with one glaring exception- route clearance. He relates that the human eye and the soldier behind it is "more adept at finding bombs than any machine", but does not follow the thought through to the logical conclusion- make teams of soldiers to hunt IEDs, arm them with specialized equipment, and turn them loose. This lapse is not one that I blame him for- the military is notoriously close-mouthed about route clearance assets. In the past two years, I know of three articles written about route clearance: two were in the military newspaper Stars and Stripes, and another was in some other soldier's publication. None were informative. I understand the need for secrecy, for preventing the enemy from knowing our strategy and tactics, but this is ridiculous. While we were in theater, our enemy was circulating videotapes detailing what they thought we did and how they thought best to kill us. Every Iraqi can stand by the corner and watch us pull an IED from the ground. Route clearance units are no secret to them. Here, back home, almost no one knows that anyone does or can do what we spent a year doing. I still get emails with words to the effect of "It's so great what you are doing! I never knew we could even find IEDs; I thought you just drove and hoped not to get blown up." That represents a criminal lapse. The Washington Post article makes the point that IEDs have more strategic impact than tactical. Commanders and troops see an IED just like a sniper- a battlefield threat to be minimized and then accepted. Mothers and politicians, however, see a rampant killer. Terrorists see an impotent occupier.

In that kind of strategic environment, it is a crime to allow the enemy to think that there is nothing we can do to stop them.

Drinkin' Beers

2007-10-08T14:58:00.000-06:00

A Gooseberry Wheat beer, to be exact, brewed by Scottish monks. Strange, but tasty. I've also stopped smoking (actually, I stopped the day I stepped onto the plane in Kuwait), and haven't craved a smoke yet. I've gotten used to wearing my seatbelt and using my turn signals again, and I've almost stopped reacting to debris/cracks/etc in the road. I still miss Iraq, though, and if it weren't for my knowledge of how life goes on without you during deployment, I'd volunteer to go again. Once in a while, I'll find myself back there while I teeter on the brink of sleep- I'm getting ready for a mission, or taking fire from that two-story building that the command wire runs to and wishing I could see which window its coming from. Those moments don't happen all that often, though, and I'm starting to immerse myself in normal life again.

I will be attending the BlogWorld Expo, held on November 8-9 down in Las Vegas. One of the featured events will be the awarding of the 2007 Weblog Awards, for which nominations are now open. According to the link tracker, this blog has already been submitted under the "Best Military Blog" and "Best of the Top 3501-5000 Blogs". Take a look over there, and submit a blog or two. You can also "plus up" a nomination, thus seconding the nomination and making it more likely to become a finalist. There's many excellent blogs over there to choose from.

Speaking of excellent blogs and bloggers, the upcoming book from The Sandbox is due out soon. Keep an eye out for it- I've had a bit of a glimpse inside, and it is well worth the wait.

In the Meantime...

2007-10-01T03:42:00.001-06:00

So a fair bit happened while I was gone:

Bill Roggio reported from Iraq on the spread of tribal movements similar to the Anbar Awakening. He touches on the story from Baghdad province- similar things are happening in Salad al Din and Diyala provinces, to the northwest and northeast. In Diyala, the tribal council includes 80% of the major tribes, and involves Sunni, Shia and Kurds.

I wrote shortly before I left Kuwait about the murder of Sheik Sattar, the leader and primary founder of the tribal movement in al-Anbar province. His brother has stepped up into the role, while US Special Forces captured his murderer.

Violence was widely expected to rise during the holy month of Ramadan, both because of past trends towards violence and because of al-Qaeda / AQI affiliate warnings of a "Ramadan Offensive". In fact, Reuters reports that violence over the first three weeks of Ramadan is around 40% lower then it was last year. As a cautionary note, the last week is considered especially holy for martyrs, and we may therefore see a spike in violence over the next few days.

... Life Continues

2007-10-01T02:35:00.000-06:00

The personal/blog front has had some goings on as well:

Another recent post- Dead Eyes- received a weekly writing award from The Watchers Council.
Other old favorites, including Walker: [Iraqi] Ranger?, Walking on History and War Cocaine
will soon be available alongside many other excellent bits of writing in the upcoming book The Sandbox.

Invisible Keepsakes has been updated with three new posts, and more will be forthcoming.

I've been home for five days now, and I'm mainly occupying myself with beer drinking and lazing around. It's strange to have to contend with the realities of an "ordinary" life- making sure the bills are paid, looking for a new car, buckling up to ride in the car, getting my own mail, etc etc. I looked through some of my pictures and video with a couple friends tonight and felt what I can only describe as homesickness. I'll get over it, I'm sure.

I'm tired already of hearing the same questions from people: "So what's it like?"- you might as well ask an astronaut about the moon. The other standbys of "So are we winning?", "Did you kill anyone?" and "So how bad is it, really?" aren't any better. I realize that such questions reveal what is in many cases an honest desire to understand, but I still find it irritating to answer them over and over. Selfish and irrational, I know. I'm back, and ignorance and curiosity are in full swing.

Please, never ask a soldier if they killed anyone. It's a pointless question, because the ones that have won't want to tell you, and the ones that haven't will be only too happy to spin you a tale that means less than nothing.

Back Online

2007-09-27T13:23:00.001-06:00

The 321st Engineer Battalion (Combat)(Mech) is finally back home. We landed in Boise, Idaho under a warm sun, greeted by a few hundred friends and family, a National Guard band, members of the VFW and various dignitaries. Between us and the crowd flew six American flags- visual reminders of the ones we lost. In an ironic twist of fate, the 321 task force lost 6 soldiers in Iraq- 3 from Alpha company, 2 from Bravo company, and 1 from Charlie 397 Engineers.

We've traveled a long road to get back home again- along the way the 321st became the most decorated Reserve unit since World War II. We did our job well, and we were an example for the rest of the theater. All that is behind us, though... we're all back home.

By the Numbers

2007-09-14T12:15:00.000-06:00

In the early hours of the morning, the last soldiers of our task force caught their flights out of Camp Taqqadum and left our work in Iraq to others. Badger 6 has a post up over at Badgers Forward summarizing the year for our company. I'll do a post of my own sometime in the next few weeks with more detail.

From B6:

Missions Performed - 647
Improvised Explosive Devices Reduced - 458
Kilometers Traveled - 51135

To put those numbers in perspective:

Our missions lasted anywhere from 2 to 60 hours, but were commonly around 8 (not including 2 hours prep time for each mission). The longest mission any platoon conducted without stopping for rest was somewhere around 24 hours. Those kilometers rolled by at a glacial pace that rarely exceeded 30 kilometers per hour and was often much slower. Most importantly, we believe that each bomb we found potentially saved between 1 and 5 American or Iraqi lives. That means that our company alone could easily have saved over 2000 lives.

We brought 102 men to war, if my memory serves. Among those, 97 experienced at least one attack by the enemy and earned the Combat Action Badge. All three of our medics earned the Combat Medical Badge, for giving medical aid in combat. Those same medics helped save the lives of several of our soldiers- 35 of 102 received a Purple Heart for wounds received during an engagement with the enemy. Sadly, three of our best were killed in action.

We are going home.

A True Martyr

2007-09-13T18:01:00.000-06:00

Sheik Abdul Sattar Abu al-Rishawi, the founder and leader Anbar Awakening, was killed yesterday afternoon by a bomb planted near his home. Two of his bodyguards were also killed, and others, including a nephew, were wounded. Initial reports indicate that al-Qaeda terrorists took advantage of Sheik Sattar's gesture of charity at the start of holy month of Ramadan, infiltrating a gathering of local poor at the home of the Sheik in order to plant the bomb that killed him.

Under his stewardship, the Sahawat Al Anbar, or Anbar Awakening Council, grew from a loose organization of 20-odd tribes to a council of 42 Sunni tribes today. He endured attempts on his life, including a full-blown suicide assault on his home. He lost four brothers and more relatives, but he never backed down. In a way, he couldn't- he would either have the pleasure of seeing al-Qaeda finally and completely banished from Iraq, or he would give his life in the attempt. The forces he fought are too brutal and violent to allow any half measure. In the end, it has come to exactly that.

His death is a grievous loss to all who long to see a free Iraq. He provided vision, determination, and stubborn perseverance in his leadership of the sons of Anbar. His brother Ahmed has been selected to replace him as head of the council- there is no turning back in the face of terror. As one deputy chief said: "if only one small boy remains alive in Anbar, we will not hand the province over to al-Qaida."

Muslims believe that a man who is martyred during the holy month of Ramadan will be especially blessed for his sacrifice. My hope is that Sheik Sattar's blessing will be the continuation of his efforts and an even stronger determination among his kin to see terror driven completely from Iraq.

Rest in Peace.

Yahoo news
MNF-W release

Dust Storms in the Rearview

2007-09-10T13:25:00.000-06:00

Well, it took me a while, but I made it down to Kuwait. We spent 8 hours sitting on the flight line on Ramadi waiting on the helicopter that would take us to Camp Taqqadum and one step closer to home. Somewhere around 3am, we were told that flights into Ramadi were canceled for the night due to weather, and that we would take a ground convoy instead. The convoy was supposed to be Cougars and Humvees- instead, it turned out to be Humvees and HETs. The HET is basically a Mack tractor trailer with armor plating on the sides; we stuffed the back of the cab with soldiers because there wasn't enough room in the Humvees to carry all of us. The guys taking us to TQ were from the Transportation section of our replacing unit- they had been up for 24 hours already by the time they picked us up, with two missions already under their belts for the day. It was a bad situation, and looking worse- we had to take the long, narrow road that runs south of Ramadi between two of central Iraq's large lakes, rather than the straight shot east from Ramadi. The southern route is normally pretty quiet, but lately has had some bombs; the northern route has been quiet for months and is 90 minutes quicker.
It could have been a bad night, but it turned out pretty well. One of the few tense moments for me was when our driver suddenly took the Humvee through a long chain of potholes. The conversation went like this:

"Hey, stay out of those!"
"Why, what's the big deal, man?"
"Those aren't potholes, those are blast holes!"
"They are?"
"Yeah, and the thing about this screwed up country is that they like to put new bombs where the old bombs were. If I get blown up one more time, I'm gonna have to kill someone, and the bombers are awfully hard to find."

We made it, though, and after a day and a night sitting in TQ, we caught a flight south to Kuwait. The comedy of errors continued there- the officials at Ali al Saleem airf force base had no idea that were were coming, nowhere to put us, and no way to get us to where we needed to go. We sat for four hours in a parking lot full of buses, complete with drivers, while the powers that be tried to find us the mandatory escort personell. We finally made it to our next stop around 1am.

Since I've been in Kuwait, I've been relaxing. I slept half the day today, and took a long shower (all notices to take water saving "combat showers" be damned!) (a digression: the Army has an annoying tendency to use "combat" as a ridiculous prefix, e.g. "combat fueler", "combat shower", "combat camera". Leave the combat prefix to people, jobs and events that actually involve the thrill and terro of combat, k?)

I've been watching the testimony of Gen. Petraeus and Amb. Crocker to Congress in the USO building here. No big surprises there. They reported the simple truths and pleas for more time- the ladies and gentlemen of the hearing seemed to barely listen. It seemed to me that Mr. Lantos tried a little too hard to force the appearance of a division between Gen Petraeus and other military commanders. Ms. Ros-Lehtinen needs to learn how to form a question. The full report tomorrow might be a trifle more interesting, but I doubt it.

The Anti-Iraq

2007-09-05T16:55:00.000-06:00

The coffee franchise Green Beans has carved out a foothold in the Middle East over the last few years. Several months ago, a Green Beans opened up in Ramadi; the deck outside has become a nightly oasis of sorts for like-minded individuals across the post.

Some of Bravo company is there almost every night; I'm there every night that I'm in Ramadi. Other people drop in occasionally- some from other companies in the task force, some from other units. There are a few shadowy figures that come and chat now and then- they are happy to talk, and we are happy for the company. Neither party talks much about Iraq, which is fine with both sides. The deck is normally an Iraq-free zone; mission talk is loosely banned (although exceptions are made for particularly exciting or hairy stories)

Every night, the Green Beans becomes a refuge of sorts- a place about what Iraq isn't. That worn and dirty deck is a place to sit around and talk about home, play some chess, draw in sketchbooks, or write poetry. In between cups of tea and chai and Indonesian clove cigarettes, there's good natured flirting with the baristas- lovely young ladies from Kyrgyzstan. They've taught most of us a few words in Russian and memorized our regular orders; we keep them supplied in smiles and tips.

Last night was a little different, though. We broke the only "rule", and talked about Iraq. Everyone gathered on the porch was out of work- we had all run our last missions out on the road. We sat and talked for hours about the year; about the friends we'd made, the battles we'd won, the lives we'd saved. We talked about the successes and the failures; we talked about the prospects of the new guys. We talked about how exhausted we were when we got in from our last missions- how a year's worth of tension unraveled all at once, and we felt like sleeping for days.

Mainly, we talked about going home.

Yeah...

2007-09-04T18:24:00.000-06:00

I hope you'll all be able to bear with me over the next few weeks. Life has been pretty crazy lately- I've been alternately working like mad and sweating on a cot far, far from internet. I made the hike across post to get online tonight, but I forgot to bring my thumbstick with a new post on it. I'll try to get it up soon, but I likely won't be posting very much more for a week or two.

In other news:

I'll let Desert Flier tell you about the random encounter he and I had the other night here in Ramadi.

Likewise, Badger 6 has the story about our appearance in the Idaho Journal. For those of you that commented on it, fear not: the molesta-stache is gone.

If you happen to be one of the few interested in Invisible Keepsakes, go check out the new updates.

Also, while you follow links, you might check out Pin Ups for Vets- the website of an enterprising young lady raising money and moral for wounded troops in a way my grandfather would recognize and appreciate.

I finally updated my Blogroll with a few long-overdue links from some of the many sites linking back to here. I still have a number to track down in the logs, but you'll find several new sites to browse, including

American Soldier
Asymmetric Military
Dick Doper
Lead Soldiers
Libertarian Leanings
Vorkt

Dead Eyes

2007-08-29T04:30:00.000-06:00

It wasn't a good night to have a new LT on patrol. Our LT was was out with us, of course- the new guy would be leading the platoon coming to replace us. We were on a mission that could easily turn bad- as it happened, everyones night but ours was bad. We waited around at a Combat Outpost for hours for our Marine attachments to resolve some equiqment issues, cleared our route, and went home. One of our sister platoons ended up MEDIVACing two men on a helicopter after an IED strike, while another route clearance team out of Falluja was hit multiple times, and an EOD team hit a bomb that flipped a Cougar and sent two techs to the hospital.

The new LT asked "Is it always like this?". His eyes had the dawning realization that he was now at war- that he was about to begin a year of one of the most dangerous jobs in Iraq. The "Oh shit" look, we call it. It's the moment when you realize that these heavy armored trucks are not the panacea that Senators and Army trainers make them appear, not when faced with a determined and ingenious enemy. It's what you get when you see something go wrong for the first time, and the guys around you accept it with a quiet prayer and stoic determination, rather than any outward signs of shock or fear. It's the moment that makes you stop and wonder "Oh shit... what did I get myself into?"

I remember when that moment first came for me- it was right after we got to Ramadi. The Transfer of Authority ceremony had just finished, officially putting my battalion in charge of route clearance operations across a broad swath of western Iraq. I saw an old friend from ROTC back in college, and went over to talk to him. He'd been a platoon leader for the last year, and he looked a hundred years old. The last time I saw him was two years prior, just before he left for his final training as an officer before going to his first command. Then, he'd been lively and vibrant and (dare I say it?) he was a little bit of a dork. Always clowning around, that sort of thing. Now, he looked dead, and I knew that the last year had taken something out of him that the years ahead would be hard pressed to put back in.

The circle has turned, now, as it always does. Now, we are the veterans- the calloused, dead-eyed men who just want to turn over the mission and go home. There's so many things that wear men down- the slow, slippery slope of progress, the questioning and lack of support in news from home, the steady churn replacing wounded (and God forbid, dead) men. The lack of sleep, the hectic stress of changing missions, the broken men, broken families, broken children.

I hope these new guys make it through all right, but for now, we just want to go home.

Walking in Dreams

2007-08-29T04:22:00.000-06:00

I was looking through some of Idaho Journal writer Bill Schaefer's dispatches last night, trying to find the one he wrote about Badger 6 and me. Alongside the title list for his writing is a constantly changing slideshow. When I loaded the page, the image that came up was a picture of a hand holding a framed photograph- a picture of Clev and his fiancé. I've been thinking about him a lot lately, and unexpectedly seeing his picture was a bit of a shock.

Of the three guys we lost, I was closest to him. We'd talked during mobilization back in the states about opening up a coffee mini-bar when we got to Iraq; it was a series of conversations that revealed later how little we understood about the environment we would find ourselves in. We never got the room with an espresso machine that we'd talked about, nor did we really have much spare time to make coffee for people other than ourselves. He did it anyway, though- producing some decent brew on a tiny little machine in his room.

Hold fast to dreams/For if dreams die/Life is a broken-winged bird/That cannot fly

I've always had vivid dreams, and Clev has made his appearances in them as long as I've known him. Back before deployment, he showed up in dreams of crazy stunts and wild times back in Boise. Then, he turned up in dreams of a memorial service in the dusty future. I never told him about those- superstition aside, there's no point in worrying about something that's never going to happen. After it did happen, he kept showing up from time to time. Once, he told me the same thing he told me the last time I spoke to him- "Don't feel guilty, man... we all have a job to do". I'd told him not to stay safe, because I was supposed to be out on patrol until I drew guard duty instead, and I'd feel guilty if something happened out there.

Hold fast to dreams/For when dreams go/Life is a barren field/Frozen with snow

The latest dream was earlier today, just before I got onto the internet to be surprised by his picture. The platoon was back home; a bunch of us were at the mall for some reason. Everyone has little quirks about them- in the dream, those quirks were exaggerated until each person was nothing more than a caricature of themselves. Anderson was off shopping for guns, while Kildow and Sgt Kelsch were having a no-holds-barred grappling match in the middle of the food court. Yaw was doing pull-ups on an overhanging railing, and LT was standing on a little stage telling stories. I was sitting and writing behind a pile of coffee cups. When I went back to the stand to get fresh coffee, Clev was standing behind the counter making coffee.

At least I know he's happy, somewhere.

*Poem is "Dreams", by Langston Hughes

Little Saddam

2007-08-26T12:29:00.000-06:00

Some of you may already know that I was one of several bloggers given the chance to guest blog at the incomparable Jules Crittenden's site this week. My first substantial entry is cross posted below.

Little Saddam

From a Michael Totten report:

"When you came and liberated this country,” he continued, “Iraq had 25 million Saddams. America is turning us back into human beings.

The quote makes me think, in rabbit-trail fashion, of an evening I enjoyed with a few Iraqi Army soldiers a few months ago. All three were officers- drawn from two different divisions to train new Iraqi soldiers to fight. I went up to Ali while he was smoking and said hello. He introduced himself, and invited me to join him and his friends for a movie. Partway through Apocalypto, he looked up from the scene of mass murder and brutality and exclaimed "See! It is like Saddam!"

Ali and one of the others laughed. The third soldier scowled, then laughed when Ali punched him in the arm. That was when I got introduced to the rest of the group. The other laughing soldier was Sayeed, the scowler, Saddam. Saddam was from Tikrit, and quite likely a relative of the "Big Saddam", although I didn't ask. His name is prominent among Sunnis- Saddam was a hero for a lot of years, after all. We talked for a while after the movie; Sayeed had been in the Iraqi Army for quite some time, Ali for a while as well. Saddam had joined more recently- he wanted to help Iraq become what it had been once. He told me that he wanted to try to help change Iraqis minds about Americans and the Iraqi Government, and give them something to do other than fight with each other.

When tribes stop fighting Americans and each other, when the citizens of two of the most strife-ridden cities in Iraq start to contemplate tomorrow, when a man from Tikrit named Saddam steps up to help Iraq...

That's when I start to feel just a little bit of hope for this place.

Links

2007-08-23T15:14:00.000-06:00

I was planning on some lengthy posting after mission tonight, but I'm sitting here with a wicked headache. The trash fire in Karma started it, and the sewage ponds just south made it worse. The final cap was grade-2 diesel mist in the face while refueling. I'm not looking for sympathy (really!). I just won't miss a lot of aspects of this place much.

So I'm not doing a long post tonight. However, I've run across a few noteworthy tidbits lately that deserve your attention:

First: donate something to Bill Roggio's startup independent media company, Public Media International. He's thrown himself into a venture to bring all of us the kind of reporting we deserve. There are 6 PMI embeds either in Iraq or on the way, and PMI is looking to raise $20,000 to support them and their sucessors.

Second: for the Brits out there. Go to this site, and sign the petition for reduced/free parcel post to British troops in Iraq and Afghanistan. Royal Mail is granting for the holidays, this troop supporter would like to see it extended.

Third: Engineers rock (but there should be more of us). From a blogger roundtable with COL Simcock, the commander of Marine Regimental Combat Team-6 (our high-ups here in Falluja):

Question from Dave Dilegge (Small Wars Journal):

"Yeah, if I could just follow up on one quick thing here. If you
were, say, commandant for the day or CINC for the day, what one or two
capabilities that you may not have or need more of would top your
list?"

Answer from COL. Simcock:

"That's an easy question. And the commandant was just out here a couple weeks ago and I told him exactly what I wish I had more of. Engineers and route clearance. Those are the two capabilities. It's a lowdensity, high-demand type capability that we just -- we need more of out here. ... They do a great job for us, but I'm just -- I just don't have enough of them. "

I hear it's pretty much the same story everywhere. What's more (as you'll soon hear when I have the final details and time to write), my guys are some of the very best.

The End Times

2007-08-20T13:26:00.000-06:00

We're living in them. No, not those end times... I don't know anything about those.
Our time here will soon be up, as I've mentioned. It doesn't seem that way; no matter how much gear I pack up and turn in, this desert still feels normal, still feels like home. A year doesn't seem that long- twelve months, less than five percent of my life to date- but I barely recall what "normal" life is like. It feels so distant to me now that it might as well be a second lifetime, an earlier incarnation of myself. Leave wasn't that long ago, of course, but that was only two weeks, lived under the specter of impending return.

Before I left for Iraq, before I even boarded the plane that would take me to my pre-deployment training, I worried that my friends would leave me behind. I thought it might be a little like excusing one's self from a party, coming back minutes later to find the party a year gone and the merrymakers scattered. That mind picture skirted the truth, but as usual, analogy is suspect. When I left, most of my friends were in college. Now, most have indeed graduated and scattered- they range in domicile from Austria to China and many places in between. The difference is the time- rather than a year for them and seeming minutes for me, a year has passed for my friends. A lifetime has passed for me.

It seems like it's been forever since I lived that "normal" life- the normalcy that I know I'll never quite grasp again. Paradoxically, the last year blends and runs together into one long, blurred day. It doesn't feel like a year- it feels longer and shorter all at the same time. I want to leave, to go home, to take things for granted again. I also can't stand the thought of leaving now, of turning my back on so many things left undone.

Poetry

2007-08-20T12:47:00.000-06:00

I've been a bit sick lately- the doc tells me it's probably a mild case of the flu. I've been manning the night shift at the little joke of a "tactical operations center" we have in Falluja. Our "Jump TOC" is little more than four plywood walls and a couple phones- we derisively call it "The Clubhouse".

There's good to come out of all the suck, though-
I've used some of my time in purgatory to finally put together the separate poetry page that I hinted at so long ago. There isn't that much there, yet, but some of you still might find it interesting.

Invisible Keepsakes

Choice of gold star or cookie for the first one to identify the origin of the title (without cheating!)

Beauty in the Dirt

2007-08-15T17:13:00.000-06:00

Last night was beautiful.

Iraqi cities look something like others that I've seen, and the fertile stretches along the river are less impressive than green farmland back home. The desert, though- the desert is different. The sky was clear of dust and haze- we were far past the lights of the city, and the stars shone soft and brilliant. The Milky Way stretched out overhead like a band of cotton. I heard bats launch from their hiding places in the abandoned buildings, and shrill aloft on their hunt for food. Somewhere overhead and out of sight, an owl hooted and stooped for his own dinner.

There's a stark, harsh beauty in the desert. In the daytime, it seems more harsh than at night. The sun beats the dust bone dry, and the wind drives it with a force that occasionally threatens to rip the body into atoms. The night is more subtle- the sand cools, while both the sky and ground come alive with predators. The bats and owl I heard last night are not the only ones- once I saw what seemed to be a herd of scorpions moving blackly across the road, pinchers waving. Camel spiders emerge from holes, skittering impossibly fast in search of those same armored denzians. Scattered across the desert are the moving dirt bumps, the ones that turn into hedgehogs as you approach.

The parched soil rises and falls in abstract patterns laid down over years- the product of men with earthmovers equally as much as of the wind and winter rain. Here and there the lines of hills fall sharp where the dirt has collapsed away to form jagged cliffs; dust pools below the precipice, below the fox holes and lizard lairs.

Somehow, in the midst of the broad, bleak expanse, life continues. The harsh conditions strip away some of the layers of complexity common to other environments. It's a hot or cold, night or day, life or death duality of existence- the yin-yang of the world.

I find myself enthralled by it.

Damn Internets

2007-08-13T05:38:00.000-06:00

Time is growing short for us, and we're starting to pack and turn in gear in preparation for our return. (Don't worry- the blogging will continue long after our redeployment stateside. There are a lot of stories left to tell.)

As a result of some of the shuffling we've done, I've lost dependable internet acess while in Falluja. It's a frustrating situation for me, because I can write all I want and have time for, but getting the written stories onto the internet is difficult indeed.

For now- don't worry. I'm still around, and there will be more blogging to come. I just have to put up with terrible Iraqi internets.

Imperial History of the Middle East

2007-07-28T16:27:00.000-06:00

Many of you should find this Flash map interesting (thanks to http://www.mapsofwar.com/). The map progresses through the last 5000 years of history, overlaying sucessive empires that controlled portions or the whole of the Middle East. Enjoy.

Side note: the Persian Sassinid empire (circa 600AD) was the origin of the word "Anbar", meaning storehouse.

Sleeping in Hell

2007-07-28T16:12:00.000-06:00

After five days in a row of having the power go out every afternoon around 1 pm, we finally seem to have consistent electricity again. Hopefully the juice stays on- it's hard to stay up on sleep for nighttime missions when the power continually goes out during the hottest part of the day (and during the time we have for sleeping). I talked with the lead KBR electrician who was sent to fix the problems as they arose each day- it seems there are a number of reasons for the difficulties. First, the electrical system is a hash of several different standards: US, British, and one or two Middle Eastern. ME triangular cable does not fit well into round receptacle American circuit breakers. Secondly, the generator is a different model than the in service in most areas. When the generator goes down, there are often no spare parts to fix it immediately. Lastly, the KBR electricians are short on correct tools. Apparently, KBR has enough money to pay their workers the exhorbent sums required to retain them in spite of the danger and poor conditions, but not enough to equip them properly. Normally, blatant, soulless capitalism doesn't concern me much- the open market usually produces a contractor who is capable of providing decent service. In a closed-bid world such as the one enjoyed by KBR in Iraq, where almost all non-combat support roles are contracted- from food service to laundry to electricity to latrine supply and maintenance, it is unlikely that KBR will lose a contract simply because it will not spend the money to keep a few soldiers in power for 5-6 hours every afternoon.

Not that I am bitter.

Viva la monopoly!

Q&A

2007-07-24T05:54:00.000-06:00

I've been getting an ever-increasing number of emails with questions about a multitude of topics. I've also been getting more and more repeat questions. I plan on doing an occasional Q&A post, so send your questions to acutepolitics(at)gmail(dot)com. I'll try to publish the first segment in 4-5 days.

Militias

2007-07-21T13:37:00.000-06:00

I have written previously about some of the major distinctions in the structure of the Iraqi Security Forces. Over the course of the last year, I have had the opportunity many times to see various Iraqi units in action. The Iraqi Army and Iraqi Police have greatly increased in number- there were few of either evident in Ramadi last October, and they are everywhere now. I like to see IAs and IPs; I like to see that Iraqis fighting for their own country. However, the guys I really like to see are the PSF and Neighborhood Watch fighters.

I have witnessed the appearance of local fighters in an area several times- an advent that is normally followed quickly by relative peace.

Tribal fighters man a checkpoint near the Euphrates

The first area in which I saw local fighters appear was along the Euphrates river near Falluja. The newly-formed Neighborhood Watch was controlled by the sheik I mentioned in "ISF Primer"- the one that was wounded fighting American troops in the 2004 battle for Falluja. It is mainly because of him that so many units began calling the neighborhood watch the "Good Bad Guys". There are many Iraqis like this sheik and his men, former insurgents who have grown to see Americans as allies and al-Qaeda and foreign fighters as the real threat to their future. The region controlled by the sheik is marked by fighters manning checkpoints- originally hasty affairs built from rusted engine parts and cinder brick, and upgraded to sand-filled plastic Jersey barriers as the local forces transitioned to PSF.

Children make their way to school

Now, the sheik commands a company of PSF fighters, as well as unincorporated Neighborhood Watch along his eastern border. He receives funds fom the Iraqi government to provide a stipend for his men and to help pay for equipment. As far as I am aware, there has been only one attack in his territory since the local citizens stood up- a double IED strike one night that was followed by the PSF going house to house looking for the bomber. The problems and friction that many feared have not developed, even during the transition from the Marine unit that initially held the area to their successors.

The second time I saw a local militia form, it happened almost overnight. The region was an agricultural area northeast of Ramadi- it was a bad area, one that we frequently patrolled and often found IEDs in. Blast holes lined the roads, and at some places nearly blocked the narrow, elevated lanes. Two companies of Marines had spent months trying to gain control of the area- mainly on foot, because the roads were continually seeded with IEDs. One day, the ever-elusive enemy launched mortars at us while we paused at a Combat Outpost. None of the rounds hit our patrol or the COP- however, at least one hit a school. We took four children and three adults to Camp Taqaddum, near Habbaniyah, for medical care. One more little girl died later at TQ, and more had been killed down in the village. In all, twelve children died.

The COP minutes before the transformational attack

The next time we patrolled the route, later that week, there were militia fighters standing alongside Marines all along the road. We never found another IED in the area. I recently spoke with a Chief Warrant Officer who had been serving at the COP during the transformation. He did not know it had been our platoon in the area that day, but he directly credited our aid and the PSYOPS followup as the events that sparked the transformation. The Marines had spent months laying the groundwork- interfacing with the villagers, offering aid, and sweeping for bad guys. The Iraqis weren't buying into it. In one day, that changed. I was told that the Army PSYOPS unit attached to the Marines put on "the show of a lifetime". They went out onto the roads proselytizing via loudspeaker: "The insurgents say they are here to help you, but they only kill your children. The Americans are the only ones you can trust to help." They opened the mike up to the villagers, and the response was overwhelming. People came from their houses to tell the insurgents "You killed my daughter. I will not sleep, I will not eat until I see you die!". Iraqis came up to tell about the strange men that had appeared, threatening to kill families if they were not provided with shelter. They led Marines to caches and IEDs. Perhaps most importantly, they began to work with the Marines to secure their villages. Now, the Marines are gone, save for a small contingent left on the main road to the south.

A soldier gives 1st aid to an adult wounded in the mortar attack

Standing up to the insurgents is not without risk. There have been several times that our patrol has passed dusty little cemeteries nestled among the trees, clustered with mourners burying fallen brothers. The non-uniformed forces in Iraq such as PSF or NW are in danger from multiple sides- from insurgents who wish to kill them, and from trigger-happy Americans who may shoot them thinking they are the enemy. Both have happened on occasion, but the tribesmen continue to serve.

Mourners gather at the funeral for 7 fighters killed by insurgents

Insurgents still hold out in Zaidon , sandwiched between Falluja and the Euphrates. The bombs there have gotten bigger and more numerous, as well as appearing in previously calm areas and including VBIEDs. Recently, a stretch of several bad days saw multiple trucks from each route clearance patrol in the area strike IEDs. There is a possible light in the tunnel, though- several new classes of PSF have just graduated, and some of those men are serving now in Zaidon. IED activity has already been markedly reduced. If the past is any indication, the Iraqi effort will spread wider and encompass the entire area, helping American troops to bring calm to one of the last major centers of violence in al-Anbar province.

ISF Primer

2007-07-16T04:20:00.000-06:00

In America, neighborhood watch means a sign with an all seeing eye bolted to a pole, and perhaps a slightly higher chance that the residents of the area will call the police over suspicious activity. In Iraq, neighborhood watch means men with AK-47s and medium machine guns manning hasty checkpoints built from cinder blocks and rubbish.

There are three general divisions of Iraqi Security Forces:

The highest level in the Iraqi Army- the soldiers of an IA brigade are drawn from a broad region, and they generally have the best training of Iraqi troops. Some IA divisions are considered to be quite competent- for example, I have heard good things about the 1st and 5th IA, both from American observers, and from Iraqi troops who have served in those units.

Below the level of the IA is the Iraqi Police- policemen are generally drawn from a city and the surrounding rural area. The quality of IPs varies widely by location: in al-Anbar province, most IPs are good men, trustworthy, and decently trained. In other areas, IPs have sometimes proven to be corrupt- or worse, more loyal to their tribal connections than to the government. IPs also have to deal with the dangers inherent in serving the Iraqi government near their hometowns- if they are recognized, their families could be in danger. One can watch the security situation in an area improve in the faces of the IPs-in Ramadi last year, most IPs (when they were present) wore face masks out of fear for their families. Now, they are usually uncovered.

The lowest level of ISF is the Provincial Security Forces. They come from an even smaller slice of countryside than do the IPs, and they attend a short academy that teaches basic skills before putting them into the field. PSF often serve directly alongside IPs, manning vehicle checkpoints and patrolling villages. They lend a direct knowledge of small communities that the IPs for the broader area may lack. Many PSF will prove themselves on the beat with the IPs, and will go on to the IP academies to become policemen themselves.

Below the scope of government security operations is the "Neighborhood Watch". These are volunteers from the local population, often managed by the local sheik and unpaid by the Iraqi government. The appearance of NW is often the portent of change in a historically violent area, because the formation of a local security force (as compared to outside intervention by Coalition Forces or ISF) represents a shift in the attitude of the local population. NW members are normally encouraged to join one branch or another of the ISF- after vetting, many of them eventually do become soldiers or policemen. American troops call them the "Good Bad Guys" or GBG- a title which reflects the checkered past of many fighters. One sheik, one of the first to stand up a militia in the Falluja area, now commands a company of PSF troops. His men began as a militia, became recognized as NW by the local Marine command, and many eventually went to the academy to become PSF. The sheik himself was wounded fighting Americans in the battle for Falluja- he has been working with us now for close to a year. His community near the river is beautiful, acts of violence are extremely rare, and we have never had problems with him or any of his men.

This sort of turnaround is the future of al-Anbar province- convincing former insurgents that America is here to give them help, not to take their land, their oil, their culture, or their religion. Many have come to realize that we will leave once our job is done, and have turned their attention to helping root out the stubborn and the terrorists- the ones who will never stop fighting.

/Rant Part 2

2007-07-16T03:56:00.000-06:00

Look Down Fair Moon

Look down fair moon and bathe this scene,
Pour softly down night's nimbus floods on faces ghastly,
swollen, purple,
On the dead on their backs with arms toss'd wide,
Pour down your untainted nimbus sacred moon.

-Walt Whitman

Michael Yon provides pictures, video, grid coordinates and interviews to verify a mass grave, and the most definite news byte that the Associated Press will print is that mass graves "reportably" exist in Baqouba? That isn't even up to the level of the common complaint that the media fails to report good news. That's failing to report the bad news correctly. In response to an email wondering why the AP did not pick up Yon's excellently sourced story, the AP replied that no military press release had been issued, so they would not print the story. Excuse me? Your job is to seek out and find news- not wait for it to be handed to you by the military PAOs you claim to distrust. If the APs only source of news items is another news service, what reason is there for it to exist? It took days of intense and growing criticism by sources all over the internet for the AP to finally publish any of Michael Yon's journalism.

How about how talking heads still debate whether it was really al-Qaeda we fought in Baqouba, despite the public proclamation of al-Qaeda in Iraq that Baqouba would be their capital? Yon hits another nail on the head, by the way- AQI militants don't issue ID cards. We call an enemy fighter al-Qaeda not because we wish him to be so, but because he belongs to a group that has identified itself with al-Qaeda and that embraces al-Qaeda's cruel and barbaric tactics.

Whomever we fought before- feyahadeen, Sunni nationalists, Shia zealots- this war in Iraq is now against al-Qaeda and similar terrorists. Al-Qaeda capitalized on the opportunity to grow radical cancer within a disorganized and lawless state, and they have become our most dangerous enemy in skill, tactics and threat, if not actual numbers. Bill Roggio does an excellent roundup of the claims, myths, and facts about the strength and presence of al-Qaeda in Iraq. I suggest you check it out.

Blog the war, folks. It's the only way you'll learn anything.

Happy Birthday!

2007-07-14T11:13:00.000-06:00

A year ago today, I was mobilized on active duty orders in support of Operation Iraqi Freedom.

/Rant

2007-07-14T10:54:00.000-06:00

I got up this morning and went to breakfast. I sat and ate eggs and half of a grapefruit, while the tv news helped Sen. Reid tell me I'm a failure. The surge is not working, the newest current strategy is not working, and the war is lost. I gathered via the internet today that he later stepped back from some of his harsher statements- I don't know for sure whether that is true or not. If so, it only adds to my disgust. I also learned that Congress approved a resolution forcing a troop withdrawal to begin within 120 days, down to a "minimal number" by April 2008. The resolution does not specify what Congress considers a "minimal number", which appears to leave the interpretation up to the President. Good job, Washington! Way to send a message! Is there perhaps a reason that your approval rating is lower than our beleaguered president? Those who are both opposed to the Iraq war and in a position to do something about it, our elected leaders, are too scared to act on their beliefs. That is an insult that cannot even be applied to our enemies- in fact, it applies to them least of all, for they are involved in a mortal struggle over their beliefs.

It is an individual decision to support or oppose the war- and once made, that decision is worthless unless backed up with action. It is impossible to make a worthwhile decision without becoming properly informed, and that is the source of another rant in and of itself:

Some news outlets report the facts- sometimes grudgingly, and sometimes with a negative opinion following, but they still manage to report facts. Some "news" sources neglect facts altogether, and attempt to sway opinion through some sort of delusional haunted-house fairy tale, filtering current events through the ugly memories of past failures.

Take the following as an example:

On June 17th, the Village Voice published a warning of the deteriorating situation in Falluja, decrying the mistreatment of aid workers by US forces, as well as the punishing curfew imposed on the city, and implying that we were bombing hospitals in Falluja. The article also predicted a repeat of the Nov. 2004 assault on the city.

Almost one month later, the assault has still failed to materialize. This seeming lapse in the warmaking decision process cannot be due to the lack of resistance in Falluja. After all, violence is up, hospitals are being bombed, and legitimate residents of the city are fleeing the city in fear. IEDs are being found in record numbers, and the torture houses are open for business again.
The preceding paragraph is of course sarcasm, albeit sarcasm that the Village Voice would likely prefer to believe. When I was a child, my father used to sarcastically tell me that "If the facts aren't on your side, speak louder and pound the table".

The Village Voice fails to mention the reason for the vehicle curfew in the city of Falluja- it was a decision made by the mayor of Falluja. Iraqi Security Forces maintain responsibility for the city of Falluja, and they have done a good enough job that the main threat in the city became strikes by VBIEDs brought in from outside the city. VBIEDs strike soft targets like tribal gatherings, traffic checkpoints packed with civilians- anywhere thorough vehicle checks are hard to perform. From Febuary through late May, when the vehicle ban began, Falluja was rocked multiple times by VBIEDs that killed civilians and police, and shredded the downtown area that Iraqis have worked hard to rebuild. The logical response was to ban intra-city vehicle traffic until a solution could be found.

Vehicle traffic inside the city persists at a much lower level- most civilian vehicles do not cross the city boundary, buses roam the city to serve the population, and heavy goods are moved by bongo truck (the unmistakable middle eastern version of the pick-up truck) or young boys selling handcart services. The city officials have taken the opportunity afforded by decreased traffic, and formed work crews to clean the streets- a job that badly needed done.

I do not sense the nasty undercurrent to the city that the Village Voice alleges is there. Lest anyone say that the people would restrain their opinion in the presence of men with guns, I would encourage you to ask an OIF or OEF veteran whether he or she could tell when the people didn't want you there. The people will glare, shoo their children inside, and move away as you pass. They won't wave, they won't answer to a simple "as salaam alaikum". What I see in Falluja is quite different. Today, for instance, I saw a thing I had never seen before in Iraq- a woman on a cell phone. The terrorists have taken to blowing up cell towers, because they fear the people having an instant connection to security forces more than they value the utility of a cell-phone detonated IED. Women hold their babies up to see us wave to them. Children play soccer in the streets and wave as we drive by. The markets have people, and relative to others I have seen, they are well stocked. I can't speak with authority on the subject of electricity because I have never spent a complete 24 hours in the city and watched the blackouts roll, but I'm sure that the new power plant under construction will help.

I could keep ranting, and I may, at a later time. I'll stop now, with a final message that all of you should already know: don't believe everything you hear.

Mission Pictures:

2007-07-11T02:42:00.000-06:00

The three-day mission I mentioned in the last post was to clear a route into the area of interest, nestled within a loop of the Euphrates river near Amiriyah. Following us was a combined force of Army, Marine, and Iraqi Army troops, who would then seal off the area and fan out gathering intel, "making face" with the villagers, and searching for caches.

We staged out of a small Combat Outpost (COP) near Amiriyah. This COP was one of several constructed just a few months ago in a largely successful effort to secure the main route from Falluja to Amiriyah. Amiriyah had been the scene of much fighting between the local al-Qaeda and Iraqi Police; American patrols happened rarely, as the nearest major patrol bases were separated from the community by long stretches of dangerous roads. Now, the situation in Amiriyah and the nearby neighborhood of Feris is largely under control in the hands of the Iraqi security forces, and Coalition efforts have begun to focus on the surrounding villages.

Our mission for the first day was mainly spent clearing alternate routes out in the desert that the unit were were working for had used in the past and would use again in the future.

Investigating an IED

We finished our mission for the first day by midafternoon, and pulled into the COP for the night. The weather was hottest I had felt yet- when we got back to Camp Falluja, someone told me that the thermometer had hit 131 degrees in the shade.
Even collapsing on the roof provided little relief.

Evening shade on the roof of a COP

We had some small visitors drop by, wishing to share our shade and perhaps a few nuggets from the MRE crackers that some of the soldiers were snacking on.

Little friends

After a restless night spent in the heat, we were up at 0400 to prep and lead out on the next mission- the actual operation on the river. Soldiers racked weapons into their places atop the trucks; others stocked water and MREs in anticipation of a long day. No one really knew what kind of environment we were moving into: the villages and farmland could be quiet and peaceful, or they could be alive with fighters and minefields of IEDs. Both scenarios have played themselves out in other nearby villages, and no one had spent enough time in this particular area to predict the outcome. Our only resource was to be prepared for the worst case.

A gunner preps his battle bag

The first half of the second day was largely uneventful. The troops following us in had little to report- some men who tried to dodge to cordon, an extra AK-47 in a house. We found nothing in the roads.

A infantryman of 3/6 Marines patrols alongside a "Gator"

Later on, one of our vehicles ran over a sharp piece of metal, flattening a tire. Towards the end of the tire change, two more vehicles starting taking single rifle rounds from a building off in a grove of palms in the distance. Some of our Marine security contingent tried to chase the shooter down in their Gator, but they were ultimately unsuccessful.

A "Gator" chases down a sniper

We moved on out of the area, after notifying the force commander of the small arms fire, and proceeded down the route. Just down the road, an alert Gator crewmember noticed some things that seemed out of place at a small shop by the roadside- possibly connecting the men there to the recent gunfire. We stopped to talk to the owner to ask him a few questions and look through his car. He seemed happy to allow the search, and tried to tell us, in a mixture of broken English and Arabic, where we should look for the shooter. We thanked him for his time and help, passed the information up, and moved on.

Sniper hunting

With Day 2 over, we went back to the COP for another long night in the stifling air. I went to sleep listening to feral dogs growling around the camp's burning trash pit and watching their moving shadows dance with the flames. Day 3 began early, again, and beautifully. We were treated to a postcard-perfect sunrise as we moved through Amiriyah towards our area of operation.The sun rises over a peaceful Euphrates, near Amiriyah

One last bit of excitement remained- one that underlines the difficulties we face in Iraq. The picture below is of a bridge construction site, spanning the Euphrates between the Zaidon region and Amiriyah/Feris. Look carefully at the photo.

A bridge in progress from Zaidon to the Amiriyah region

The three trucks closest to the river are VBIEDs that are under construction. Southern Zaidon receives little attention from American patrols- as with Amiriyah just a few months ago, the roads leading in are long and dangerous. A local villager on the Amiriyah side of the river pointed these trucks out to a Marine patrol. If it weren't for the relations we have built on this side of the river in recent months, the first sign we would have likely had of these VBIEDs would have been their detonation, probably in the midst of a crowd of innocent civilians.

It will be Zaidon's turn soon enough, though- and for now, Amiriyah is looking good.

Surprise!

2007-07-05T14:25:00.000-06:00

I got back to Ramadi on the 28th of June, and spent two days doing a whole lot of nothing while waiting for my platoon to come back from Falluja. I planned to spend day three turning in extra unused gear at noon, and then doing more nothing. I woke up to the phone ringing. The other soldier in the building, left behind on guard duty, answered the call:

Alpha Company, 3rd platoon, this is SPC W.
Yeah, he's here.
Ok, I'll tell him.

I dimly reckoned that I was late for my appointment with supply, and started to roll out of bed, stopping to look at my watch on the way. It read 0936. Uh-oh. My buddy came in: "You need to go down now and turn in your gear." I said "I thought I was doing that at noon?" "Oh yeah, and you're going to Falluja today. They destroyed a truck".

My tasks for the day now included going over to another company's Tactical Operation Center (TOC), drawing the RG-31 that they were lending us while ours was in the shop for repairs, and then driving it to Falluja with the team sent to transport the damaged truck back to Ramadi. I got the paperwork for the new truck from the TOC and headed down to the motor pool to sign for the vehicle. The maintenance teams for the different companies normally reserve vehicles just for such occasions as this- in the states, we'd call them lemons. Here, we have a less kind name for them, one that reflects our heightened chance of injury while operating them. My hope that the truck I was signing for would not prove to be one of those proved false. Before I could sign for the truck, I had to help get it running. The batteries were completely dead and needed replaced, and the navigational system was also toast. The air conditioning functioned poorly, and the radio mount was built out of wood- a solution liable to become a hail of screws, splinters, and flying radios in the event of an explosion.

I swapped out the batteries, signed for it, and drove it away. Later on, in Falluja, we swapped out bad electronic parts with working ones from the blown-up truck. We had a few problems with the loaner before we handed it back in, but nothing so major it couldn't be fixed by someone punching a window and screaming a little. I turned it back in with new batteries, some fresh oil, two new bullet holes, shrapnel damage to three windows and the left side, and all other issues unchanged. Fair trade in my book.

I spent the next hour and a half running around trying to track down a working gun mount. The RG-31 is of foreign construction, and the ring mount on the turret requires a different style of pintle than the US standard. As trucks get blown up and mounts are destroyed, we're left with few options besides finding adapters to use with other mounts, or performing redneck hack&slash welding that maintenance really doesn't appreciate. I never did find a mount- fortunately, the convoy to Falluja already had enough gun trucks that we weren't required to mount a gun for the trip. Once we got to Falluja, we found a working mount in the platoon gear stockpile. All the time I had that morning was taken up by the lemon.

We left the gate at 1400, and returned at 1410. The backup tractor for the tractor-trailer recovery team broke down before we made it completely out of the gate. We had to stand by the trucks for another two hours while the tractor was recovered into the FOB and replaced. At 1730 we finally pulled into Camp Falluja, where I learned that the lineup time for our next mission was at 0130. It would be a three-day operation.

Great. So now I have 6 hours to eat my first meal of the day, finish fixing a truck, supplement my previous night's 4 hours of sleep, and pack for three days. This is why they call Iraq "The Suck".

Next up: mission pictures (as soon as the Blogger.com web photo transfer starts working)

Leave Pics

2007-07-04T13:36:00.000-06:00

The Iraqi internets finally worked well enough to upload some pictures from leave. Those few that made the hazardous journey across the treacherous wasteland between Iraq and wherever the Blogger.com server is are presented here for your viewing pleasure (along with typically rambling commentary).

An Air Force EOD tech vainly tries to sleep beneath the morning sun

As I've mentioned previously, the process of going on leave is long, torturous, and seems mainly designed so intentionally, in order to increase the appreciation of troops for good ol' America. The picture above was taken just after leaving Shannon, Ireland. The sunrise was streaming straight into the windows- somehow, it seems a bit brighter at 35000 feet, with no clouds to scatter the rays.

My family picked me up from the airport, and we drove to my parent's house in Oregon. Once there, I indulged myself in the favorite pastimes of many a soldier: first food, then beer, then sleep.

First things first: I gotta cook!

This is a recipe that I found in my new baby: The Wine Lover's Guide to Cooking with Wine. It's a Greek dish- sauteed tomatoes, onions, fresh herbs, garlic, and Greek wine, layered with shrimp and topped with feta. It tasted almost as awesome as the layout of cheese samples, toast, basil pesto and roasted red pepper macadamia nut pesto that my mom and I laid out to complete the meal. I'll let this topic go now... I'm hungry again, and the Ramadi chow hall isn't going to do anything to help me on that score.

The whole family together

My nomadic sisters managed to make it back home while I was in town- one from Florida, and the other from most places between there and Oregon. This family picture is take #371. The only thing keeping me smiling is the dinner of grilled halibut and more of that red pepper/macadamia pesto that we just finished. There I go again...

Foothills above Anchorage, AK

After a few days back home with the family (and a dinner I made for Mel, my sister, and my friend Ariel- a meeting that I cannot get a picture of onto Blogger), I headed up to Alaska for the wedding of one of my college roommates and another friend.

A college roommate bites the dust

The wedding was probably the best one I've ever been to, and it was done in true Alaskan style. We drove south towards Seward for two hours, turned off, hiked for four miles, had a twenty-minute ceremony, and headed out. I think the reception that we had that night took longer than the entire shindig, including the hike. Another interesting thing about the wedding was the sheer number of guns present. There were some sixty people in attendance, ranging from toddlers to grandparents- a solid third to a half of those there had guns. One of my friends remarked that he wasn't quite used to seeing that many guns around. However, I am.

The bachelor party + the best man's HK SOCOM

Speaking of guns, the bachelor party was quite a bit of fun.

No, I'm not an alcoholic. We just forgot the glasses.

That's a CAO in my left hand, and Jonny Walker Black Label in my right. Those of you who know about such things may rest assured that I was well taken care of while I was on leave.

The last day before I left Boise was the annual Boise Beer Festival. I couldn't pass that opportunity up, so I dragged my dad and two friends kicking and screaming downtown. We made it through around half of the 20+ stands before nine months of Iraq started to catch up to me, and after a break in the Boise Basque district for roast lamb, we went back to finish the job.

Karaoke in the Dallas/Fort Worth airport

Some specialist from the 2nd Infantry scored a guitar off of the crowd gathered at the airport to see us off. We had a bit of karaoke and music-making while we waited.

Lindsay, Ben, Me, Kati

Badger 6 will no doubt use this photo as supporting evidence to back up his thesis regarding my motivations for blogging. In my defense, I mentioned nothing about a blog to either of these lovely USO ladies (a fact for which I find myself in a bit of hot water now). Lindsay and Kati introduced Ben and me to an excellent BBQ stand in D/FW- if you happen to be there, stop by Cousin's BBQ and tell them a soldier told you to go there.

Welcome back to the desert

It was bound to happen eventually, I suppose- landing in the Middle East, that is. This is Kuwait City International as we taxied to the download area. It's dusty, around 115-120 degrees, and generally not as nice as Idaho, Oregon, and Alaska. Now, of course, I'm back in Iraq, where we have all of that and bullets, too. I have the pictures to tell of that story uploaded to photobucket- now I just need to find some time tomorrow, and you can read and see my excuses for not blogging too much recently.

Tokens of Home

2007-06-24T13:08:00.000-06:00

There's a small charm that hangs around my neck. Many soldiers carry some small token or good luck charm- Saint Christopher medallions, coins, crosses, sometimes even hand blown glass hearts. Mine is a stylized fishhook carved and polished out of bone. The Maori call it Hei-Matau; they believe it will bring strength, peace and good health. My sister bought mine for me while in New Zealand this winter, and I've worn it ever since. The Maori say that with time, part of the essence of the bone and of the wearer will swap places, and the necklace will become a small part of one's self. Mine has certainly changed in the six months I've worn it- one side has become even more highly polished from the constant rubbing of my cotton shirt, and the other shows dark streaks along the pores of the bone and hints of color from months of sweat and dust.

I've changed, too. One of my friends told me I wouldn't begin to realize how different I had become until I saw other soldiers going on leave who had spent their tours in Kuwait or other less violence-prone areas, and that I would not realize it fully until I got home.

A part of the difference is a profoundly deeper appreciation for peace. One of the first days I was home, I lay on a strip of grass while I waited outside the store my sister was shopping in. I breathed in the clean air and closed my eyes to better hear the wind whispering through the trees. I opened my eyes again and watched the people strolling by, caught up in their own concerns and ignoring the quiet beauty that surrounded them. I jerked upright when a garbage truck dropped a dumpster- the harsh thump of metal sounded enough like a VBIED to jerk me back to Iraq.

The polished sheen of my necklace is there- one friend told me that he'd never seen me act more confident. I felt it before he mentioned it- I own the ground I walk on, and you'll have to go through me if you want to take it. I've made it through nine months in what was once called the "triangle of death"; that area of Iraq that last year saw nearly thirty percent of those serving within it earn the Purple Heart. I've learned, as I think most combat soldiers do, to truly "not sweat the small stuff". If a situation doesn't threaten death or injury, I can't trouble myself to care too much about it. The only things that bother me are the moments in which my reflexes work faster than my brain, and for a moment I'm "back there". It didn't happen to me often over my two weeks at home, but when it did, it reminded me of what I think of as my "dirty side". I don't say dirty as in bad, but as in colored by Iraq.

By the time I left home again, I'd stopped jerking the wheel when I saw pieces of junk on or near the road, but I was still cautiously approaching manhole covers and overpasses. The dumpster falling bothered me. The car backfiring startled me for a moment. The neighborhood kid dropping a string of firecrackers out in the alley definitely startled me (Boy, am I glad I'm not home for the 4th of July!). All those incidents were quickly over, though.

The only one that truly bothered me was while I was on a trip up to Alaska. One of my roommates from college was getting married, and I happened to make it home over the wedding. The bachelor party was standard Alaska fare: shooting guns (Don't worry- the drinking waited until afterwards!). We took a long drive out around the coast from Anchorage. The improved road ended at a small dirt airstrip. My friend took his little Toyota Camry up to about 40mph and pulled the e-brake, spinning us in a complete circle. Things started going downhill from there. We drove along a rutted, potholed road through trees and undergrowth that looked like places I'd been along the river, and turned to cross a small culvert onto another road. Some enterprising Alaskan had blown up a car on the narrow crossing- the rusted hulk of it and another vehicle lay bullet-riddled on the other side of the blackened hole in the dirt. A little further on, the road disappeared into a giant hole. Another bullet-scarred car sat in the water-filled bottom. We backed up and took another side road and parked. I got out and smelled rotting meat- the smell of death. One of my friends gagged, and I remarked to him that all we needed was the smell of burning trash to re-create Iraq. That was the cue for someone nearby to start firing single high-caliber rounds. Of all the things on the trip so far, that was the one I was actually expecting- it startled me less than it did them. Another friend said he hoped we didn't get hit- I said not to worry, because the rounds weren't coming our way. He said that sounded like the voice of experience. I just nodded. It made me feel better to pick up a gun.

People will think I'm crazy for saying this, but I'm glad to be back in the desert. Things aren't quite black and white, but there are fewer shades of grey. The danger is real again, not imagined like some monster in the night or a djinn conjured out of the air.

Life is real.

Home Again

2007-06-13T09:19:00.000-06:00

The first stop we made after leaving the middle east was Shannon, Ireland. We landed early in the morning- the sky was dimly lit with the coming dawn, but morning was still an hour or more off. Before we left the plane, the Lieutenant Colonel who commanded the flight back made sure we understood that we were all still on duty status and therefore were not to "buy, consume, procure, or obtain" any alcohol. Apparently, he's been in the Army long enough to know he needs to cover his bases thoroughly. Might I say, though, that to be in Ireland while unable to purchase any of Ireland's finest exports is a torture only the military would inflict? As I mentioned previously, the process of going on leave is nothing more than a series of indignations designed to help you appreciate getting home more.

Ireland has strict smoking laws, as well as stiff penalties for disobeying them. Smoking outside of the designated areas will earn you a 2000 euro (about $2800) fine. I assume that this is a recent law- the restrooms had ashtrays built into the stalls and the sink area. Now, you follow the signs down a long hallway leading away from the main terminal. You turn the corner and walk down a flight of stairs, followed by another short hallway and another flight of stairs. All the while, you pass signs on the wall warning not to light up until you reach the designated area somewhere deeper into the cave in front. At the end of yet another hallway, the doors open into what might be best described as a outdoor pen. The green fence surrounding the area is around twelve feet high, and the top slants in. The picnic table completely covered with empty beer bottles and glasses gives some hint as to a possible reason for the fence. As it turns out, this isolated zoo cage is the only place you can go to get outside while staying in the airport, so the patio fills with soldiers breathing the cold, misty air.

After another long stretch in the plane, we landed in Dallas. The people in Dallas are great- my first glimpse of America included a fire truck spraying an arc of water over the plane to welcome us home. Inside, the terminal was almost bare, but there was a still a small crowd that went to the airport at 6am to greet us. A quick run through immigrations and customs put us back in the world- a place where we are much less soldiers, and much more kids trying to make our cell phones work.

The rest of the trip home was uneventful. My group flew standby, trying to get home just a few hours quicker. Everywhere we went, we had a few people come up and thank us. In my experience, most of those that did had a relative or friend in the military. Most people payed no more attention to us than to anyone anyone else. No one was rude.

I'll talk soon about being home, about driving, about talking, and about feeling naked.

I'm Leeeaving, On a C-17...

2007-06-06T13:10:00.000-06:00

I'm in Kuwait now, headed home on leave. Travel is a complicated process in Iraq, marked at each stage by some complicated torture designed to remind soldiers that, while they may be going home, they still have no right to expect to be happy or revel in the appearance of comfort.

It starts with a helicopter flight. In order to board the helicopter, you must first endure as few as four hours and as much as two nights sitting on the flight line, breathing dirt and hoping the next flight will be yours. It isn't yours, of course, so you go on shaking the dirt from your hair and ears after each flight leaves, and trying to nap in the thirty minutes of calm before the next flight arrives. Thanks to one of the readers of this blog, I had a fine cigar while I waited- a CAO Maduro that, besides being an excellent cigar, allowed me to ignore one round of dirt showers. My group was lucky- we got out the first night, after only five hours of waiting.

The next stop on the trip home is one of the large logistical bases scattered around Iraq. After no less than a day, and hopefully no more than four, you fly south to Kuwait. In the meantime, you will deal with obscenely early briefings in which the military equivalent of a kindergarten teacher repeats simple instructions over and over until all the sleep-deprived knuckleheads in the group remember their last names and flight times. While waiting for the next briefing to start, you are free to wander the post. I chose to do so, forfeiting sleep in the process. I proceed to get lost and get on the wrong bus (a post with buses is new to me). It worked out in the end, though- the new bus route took me by the shore of one of the large lakes in central Iraq, as well as the stripped down and graffitied remnants of Saddam's air force. I got back to the transient tent at 1400- my next 'hit time" on the trip home was 0600 in the morning, and I intended to spend the interim sleeping. I laid down on my mattress, still in the plastic wrapper and devoid of any bedspread, just in time for the lights to flicker and die and the AC to whine to a stop. Great. With the power out and the heat climbing, I had little choice but to tack a few more hours onto my day. I'd been awake for almost thirty hours at that point- not the longest I've ever been awake in Iraq, but the first time I'd been awake that long by my own choice. I won't lie- it was kind of nice to abuse my body because I wanted to. Fatigue makes the world a little sharper somehow. Your reactions slow, but the sky seems more blue, and the sounds more clear. Unfortunately, the wind also feels hotter.

0600 meant more standing around, and more retarded people who, after years in the military filling out every form imaginable with their social security number, are still unable to remember the last four digits of the same. From 0700 to 1030, I nap, and finish off the first book I've read in weeks: Robert Heinlein's classic Stranger In A Strange Land. The title seems appropriate for my situation- first as an American in the Middle East, and now as a combat soldier trapped in a world of paperwork and briefings. At 1045, we got the first pleasant surprise of the trip. Our ride to Kuwait is an Air Force C-17- much larger and nicer than the noisy, cramped sweat box of a C-130 of the sort in which we entered Iraq.

So now I'm in Kuwait. I've survived three briefings so far, as well as a minor foul-up getting into a tent (apparently, the computer classified some of us as "other" under gender, and was thus unable to decide which tent we should go to. The billeting agent informs me first that no, I can't pick my gender now, and second, that question is hardly original and thus not funny). I think it's pretty funny that computers get gender-confused. I have another briefing, a customs search (not just for weapons/ammo/explosives- I hear they have a problem with people smuggling porn out of country. Remember those knuckle-dragging idiots I talked about?), and I should be headed out back to the states for a couple of weeks.

Back in [Blueish-Greenish-Grey]

2007-06-03T17:11:00.000-06:00

Well, I'm back to Blogger (.com) once again. When I last wrote here, we were on the eve of a projected five-day mission. We began with a false start, spent the night at a small outpost on the west side of Falluja, and returned to base to try again the next night.

We ended up spending only three days out of Camp Falluja, and we managed to spend one night in the large logistical base at TQ (Camp Taqqaddum), which lies between Ramadi and Falluja on the shore of a large lake. All in all, the mission wasn't too bad. Even the Iraqi house we stayed in was better than last time. We did have to deal with two broken-down humvees in our Marine security element (part of the reason we went to TQ), and on the trip back into Camp Falluja we blew a tire on the BUFFALO. That day marked the second time we have had to recover the BUFFALO back to home- neither have been due to enemy fire. The last time we recovered the beast was just after we started working in Falluja- EOD had set up a controlled detonation of an IED, and assured the BUFFALO crew that they were far enough away to be clear of the blast. Long story short, they weren't, and we had to tow it back and replace three tires before heading back out to restart the mission. Ironically, the one time the BUFFALO was seriously damaged by an IED, we managed to clank all the way home before the shrapnel rattling in the cylinders destroyed the engine.

This time, though, it was just a blown seal on the tire (albeit in downtown Falluja). We hooked up and dragged her home, where we thoroughly cussed the BUFFALO crewmember who had directly preceded the event by noting that "everything seemed to be going too smoothly".
The week since we got back has been a whirlwind of missions, mission changes, and all the other wonderful things that go with being the "go-to" guys for anyone who wants to roll down a road in Iraq.

3 In 2?!

2007-05-24T07:18:00.000-06:00

Two days, three blog posts.

Too bad I can't keep this up.

I'll be off doing Army stuff for a while, and you won't be seeing any postings here for several days, at least. Hopefully, I'll come back soon with stories and pictures, so keep checking.

In other news:

I recently celebrated my 23rd birthday on a hot and lazy afternoon back in Ramadi. Thanks to all of you who somehow managed to figure out when it was to send me something. The cards and well-wishes were great.

Acute Politics will have three posts appearing in Doonesbury's print edition of The Sandbox. The book will release in September, and will feature blogs from Afghanistan, Iraq, and the Home Front, just like the website does. There will also be a picture on the back cover that should look very familiar to readers of this blog. Badgers Forward readers will be pleased to hear that Badger 6 will have entries in the book as well.

The ads *cue evil music* have sparked more than a few comments, and several emails for and against in my inbox. Perhaps it would help soothe some injured idealism if I reveal that I receive no monetary compensation for the presence of the ads- they exist solely to support PJM's relationship with this blog. If at some point in the future I do receive payment, it will go to a military charity. All that isn't to say that I think there's something wrong with profiting off of creative works in one of the few ways the internet allows- it's just that that is not the case this time.

Promotion Party!

2007-05-23T16:47:00.000-06:00

The night was hot yesterday. The sun had set an hour or two previously, and yet the thermometer on the back porch still read 105 degrees. Two helicopters flew low overhead, tilting at the sliver of moon rising above our barracks. The rotor wash from the choppers turned the porch into a hellish wind tunnel. On the other side of the dirt-filled wall of HESCO barriers, the Marines were lining up for another mission out into Ramadi. Blue chemlights described glowing arcs through the night as Marines taped the markers to radio antennas and released them skyward, and the night thumped to the tune of Guns 'N Roses on some Marine’s stereo.

Mama put my guns in the ground
I can't shoot them any more
That cold black cloud is comin' down
Feels like I'm knockin' on heavens door

On our side of the HESCOs, the party was in full swing. We were on our second day back in Ramadi. Our platoon leader had just earned his promotion to 1st Lieutenant, and we were celebrating as hard as you can in Iraq. The humidors full of cigars were out, and melting ice leaked across the deck from open cases of non-alcoholic beer. Wood scraps sent twisting flames aloft from our fire pit set into the patio built of metal airlift pallets. Many members of the platoon made use of our most obscene amenity- an 8x6’ pool built by our predecessors out of a water tank that was hit by shrapnel during a rocket attack. We spent the afternoon cleaning the accumulation of dust and sand out of the bottom, and sent someone running after the water truck in anticipation of the evening.

Now the porch and patio dance with flames that cut through the swirling cigar smoke- the smoke that moves and throbs in time with the bass from the portable speakers. Members of other platoons in the company drift in to congratulate the LT, while our soldiers split off into groups and talk. In the back there's the shatter of glass and a brief curse- no worries, there's plenty more near-beer on ice. Ramadi's partying, and it's jumping for us.