Gator

We said goodbye to Gator recently, after over four months of working together. Gator is the nickname Marines affectionately give their Amphibious Assault Vehicles- the 23-ton tracks that accompanied us on so many missions through Iraq. Our Gators were the men of Co. B, 2nd Amphibious Assault Battalion. Gator was the first Marine unit that most of us had ever worked with directly, and I doubt we'll soon see one better.

A Gator platoon sounds off before leaving Falluja

Over the course of the months we spent together, we jointly completed over 60 route clearance missions without a casualty. As our security team, they chased our phantoms, like the cows that looked like men. Gator helped us evac wounded children after a school near us was hit by a mortar. We towed them out the time they slid off one of the steep raised roads we patrol. On other days, we spun up patrols to go help Gator Marines that had been blown up. While we were traveling to and from Ramadi, we depended more than once on Gator patrols when we ran into trouble.

The day before they left, the 1st Sergeant of Gator presented each of us with a certificate of appreciation and membership in Gator's team as honorary Marines. He also bestowed upon us the unit motto chalked on their vehicles- "YAT-YAS", or "You Ain't Tracks, You Ain't Shit". Our unit was converted to route clearance from a mechanized (tracked) combat engineer unit, so we well understand the tough love of mech troops for their tracks.

The brotherhood we shared with Gator was personified by two individuals: Specialist Yaw and Lance Corporal Yaw. SPC Chris Yaw is a member of my Army Reserve squad; LCPL Matthew Yaw is his younger brother and belongs to one of the active duty Marine platoons in Gator. Neither expected to see the other while serving in Iraq, but they ended up running multiple patrols together.

Yaw and Yaw

Both Yaws were gunners. Both have paid final respects to friends at small shrines in front of dusty congregations. For Chris, it was three friends and platoon mates; for Matt, it was his garrison roommate. Both have survived multiple IED hits, while their platoons found many more bombs before they exploded. They shared the dust, the mud, the flies, the stench, and the heat. They were the physical brothers, but someone once said that the bonds of combat form thicker ties than blood. I don't know that that statement is strictly true, but I do know we all remember Gator warmly.


Godspeed, Gators.

Oh, and YAT-YAS!

Pajamas Media

I'm sure you'll all notice the changes on the site. There's a big, hard to miss button over on the right, and some of those big ads. In the short term, becoming a PJM blog will mean some increased traffic, some more publishing opportunities for me, and unfortunately, some ads. I'm going to see what I can do to make the layout better. I'm unsatisfied with how the banners look right now. Here's hoping everything works out for the best!

Karma, Karma, Always Karma

We took another trip up into Karma tonight. We patrolled up through the town and cut east, out through the area in which coalition forces recently took a bite out of al-Qaeda's anti-aircraft capability. One bomb crater nearly blocked the road in one spot- another was visible a short distance off the road. We spent four or five hours heading out to our turnaround spot, with dark clouds menacing their showers over the entire trip. Rainstorms are refreshing, once in a while, but they also mean more work spent drying and cleaning ammunition and weapons.

The clouds finally broke as we were driving back out of Karma. Rain drummed fitfully on the roof- just enough to obscure the road, but never quite enough to need the wipers full time. Lightning shot blue fire across the sky. Somewhere to the south, a bolt of lightning hit the power grid, and the horizon light up with the turquoise strobes of exploding transformers. Distant lights began to wink out and disappear- the oncoming tide of blackness washed ever closer as transformers continued to light up the sky. The blue light was joined by the steadily flashing golden pink glow of a downed power line. As we continued to roll towards Camp Falluja, we passed the power line still sparking and glowing on top of a concertina fence. The air smelled sharply of ozone- it also smelt cleaner than it has in weeks.

The rain also lead to the first pang of homesickness that I've felt in a while. After we got back, I walked out under the netting that covers the entryway to my buddy's tent. The netting is a fine, sand colored mesh that block the sun. It also breaks up the rain into a fine mist, with larger droplets that break and fall occasionally from the net. I stood underneath the netting with my eyes closed, smelling the suddenly fresh air, and thinking of the rain in the forests on the coast that was so similar to what I felt tonight thousands of miles away.

Just a few more months now.

Captured!

Acute Politics is back, after some long missions and another communication blackout.

The news is all abuzz with reports of killed and captured soldiers near Mahmudiyah. To be more precise, the attack occurred between Mahmudiyah and Amiriya. The area is mostly open desert, and the Sunni insurgency is strong there. Bill Roggio has written previously about the fight in the region, and my platoon recently conducted a long mission northwest of Amiriya.

The DOD press release on the attack reports 7 soldiers and an Iraqi Army interpreter were in a "static overwatch position" overnight, that they were "attacked by an IED" and an apparently unknown number of insurgents. Of the eight, five were killed at the scene, either in the engagement or shortly afterwards, while three were apparently captured and are listed as "duty status unknown".

A nearby coalition unit reported hearing an explosion at 0444, and attempted to make comms with the overwatching unit. They were unable to do so, and a Unmanned Aerial Vehicle was dispatched to investigate. A Quick Reaction Force was sent to the scene when the UAV found two vehicles burning. QRF arrived at 0540 to find five dead and the other three missing.

No insurgent group has publicly claimed responsibility, and coalition forces are already scouring the area for the missing soldiers. The tribes of SAI (Sahawah al-Iraq, or "Iraqi Awakening"- formerly Anbar Awakening) have agreed to help in the search. If we find our missing boys, it will be a testament to the growing success in al-Anbar. The tribes have a native intel ability within their population that we simply cannot match. I hope it will help us bring them home.

In the meantime, my sympathies and prayers go out to the families- seven American, and one Iraqi. I'm sorry for your loss.

There and Back Again (A Soldier's Tale)

This is the third and last segment on our 40-hour mission. It's a little more disjoint than the others, because I don't remember the second day as well as the first and I didn't take the luxury of a lot of time editing this one. Hope you enjoy!



First call was at 0500. I rolled over in the blackness and felt for my breakfast MRE and my last cigarette carefully nestled between my ammo pouches. I emptied out the backpack that I normally bring on missions before the previous mission, because the lead truck has no room to spare for it. I miss that bag more than anything this morning. It had all the essentials that I need today: a spare pack of smokes, clean socks in a ziplock baggie that keeps them dry, and a small jar of sleep-replacing vitamin B12, as well as some other comforts. This will be the last time I take crap about my bag.

The mission is only one-third complete, but we will be turning around and heading out the way we came. There are too many IEDs, too many caches, and too little time to finish out the route. The smaller trucks are refueled from the disabled vehicle to ensure we don't run short of gas if the day drags on again. We know we'll find bombs replaced in the road behind us, so we prepare for a long day and set out at dawn.

The day progresses, and we find more IEDs. EOD is once again called off to the sides to deal with bombs the infantry has found. Periodic explosions announce the reduction of another IED and the impending return of the EOD team. The bombs that EOD judges too damaging to blow near their surrounding buildings get stashed in the back of the truck. I didn't wear a seat belt the entire second day- it seems a little ridiculous to worry about your neck when the secondary blast from the back-seat cargo will turn you to mush before you can feel the IED hitting the truck.

One bomb was burrowed in nearly four feet from the roadside, underneath the asphalt. It was a Russian 152mm artillery shell- 90lbs of explosive and steel waiting the chance to turn into deadly shrapnel. Along with it we found eleven liter bottles of diesel fuel; over the radio someone joked "Well, at least we solved our fuel problem". When we dug it up, someone had already tried to set it off. The blasting cap on the bomb was blown, but the IED had not gone off. Someone got very lucky.

Beauty and humor are the two things that most easily make me forget Iraq. The last push back into Amiriya had both. We were rolling down a narrow, rutted road through the middle of a wheat field starting to turn tan and gold from the sun. Lines of Marines and Iraqi Police stretched away on either side scouring the ground for hints of war, despite having their finish line in sight. Bradleys clanked behind the infantry, pushing stalks of wheat into the soft earth. I looked out over the line of troops- Marines in digitalized desert MARCAM and IPs in old woodland BDUs. In the middle was one Army soldier in ACUs, sticking out like a redneck at a fashion show.

We spent the next few hours uneventfully, back in familiar territory clearing the last roads between us and home. One last detail remained before we rolled back into Camp Falluja- we had to destroy all the explosives I was carting around in the back of the truck. We stopped in the semi-secure "pink" zone on the gate road, and set up the blast. Artillery shells, rockets, signal flares, bulk explosive, and a healthy helping of C-4 all went into a pile that totaled something close to 450 pounds, 200 of that explosive. I pulled the initiator on the time fuse, and we stepped back over the berm, drove down the road to our desert amphitheatre and watched the fireworks. The blast was perfect- all the ordnance detonated and left behind a six foot crater with a small hill in the center.

We rolled inside the berms and barb wire of Camp Falluja at a little after 1730- we were out for almost 39 hours, and we got back just in time for dinner. We were credited with six IED finds over the course of the mission- EOD reduced four more that the infantry found on side roads. Between IEDs and caches, we and EOD destroyed over 1200 pounds of ordnance.

It was a good day.

Hadji Houses

We pulled into the open space between the two houses we were to occupy for the night at about 2000. The house set aside for us and our Marine security detail was single-story cinderbrick of perhaps 1500 square feet, with a walled flat roof. The Marine company that had been moving dismounted alongside our patrol made their sleeping arrangements in the second house- a split-level two story building, also with a walled roof. Most Iraqi houses have the same flat roof and low wall, which makes them very expedient to convert into nighttime firm points with reasonably good fighting positions. Both houses had obviously been vacated hurriedly- food was halfway prepared inside the outdoor kitchen, and laundry still fluttered from the line. Someone said the owners had tested positive for explosives residue and been arrested. That could be true, or the Marines could have simply sent the families off to another house for the night with a few extra dollars in their pockets.

We gathered our gear inside our assigned room, and broke out cartons of MREs and water. We ate quickly in the darkness- the better to secure a chunk of rug on which to spend the night.
I pulled the first roving guard shift, and spent the next two and a half hours pacing an Iraqi farmyard and listening to the distant rattle of gunfire somewhere north along the river- punctuated by the deeper whoomp of Bradleys firing.

The operations officer for the cavalry's parent unit came by and mentioned that troops pushing south towards us had hit multiple IEDs, and lost men, but "there wasn't much to be done, because they don't have route clearance". I wished for the hundredth time that there were more of us. He also mentioned that sporadic fighting continued all up and down along the river, as well as out into the desert on the main road south.

The houses were set off the road about 150 meters, and were surrounded on three sides by farmland, with a palm grove stretching away to the south. We were very close to the river, so the ground was moist with springtime, and the air smelled of plants both growing and dying. To the west, pens of goats and cows added their noises to the air. Beyond the animal pens, a field of tomatoes and then of grass unfolded. Far off in the western sky, illumination flares rose in a constant stream of orange harmony to the distant sound of incoming American artillery.

The air was thick with musky scent- the product of an already long mission. The sharper smell of crushed vegetation mixed with the dank odor of animal manure and that of tired men. It was a bouquet that will define Iraq for me someday- the smell of living and sweating and dying.
Inside, the house was a tangle of sleeping men. Chemlights spread their ghostly light from the corners in a vain attempt to help the changing guards avoid their sleeping buddies. The room in which I spent the next five hours in fitful sleep was large enough to accommodate all thirty members of our patrol, and yet the only decoration was a poster on the inside wall that simply said "Allah" in fancy calligraphic script.

The house itself smelled of animals of some sort, perhaps dogs, and a pungent tarry smell. The smell of the house bothered some, while others seemed not to even notice. I inhaled and remembered sleeping on my grandparents floor as a child and smelling my grandfather's beloved cats. That grandfather is my only surviving grandparent, and the only other member of my family to have walked the sands of the Middle East. I fell asleep thinking of him, and of home.


(The third and last post on the trip will be up tomorrow)

Awkward First Dates

Friday was a day of firsts for me. First time driving a Cougar, first time riding with EOD, first overnight stay in an Iraqi house, and first time I didn't have my camera on mission. The last was the one I would regret. I was unsure about driving the Cougar- it's a lot bigger than the RG-31 I've driven before, and the visibility is considerably more limited. There was no one else to do it, though, and so I agreed to my "trial by fire". When we left, I had no idea of how accurate that phrase would become.

The mission started easily enough- we were headed down to Amiriya to clear a route back north along the river in support of Marine infantry and Army cavalry searching for caches and bad guys. We mounted up and headed out the gate very early in the morning. Dawn was still hours over the horizon, and we spent most of the intervening time making our way to the mission start point. A pale pink glow was spreading across the sky as we passed through Amiriya and started up the river road. Just meters past the turn was the first IED, which we quickly cleared under skies already starting to turn grey with an approaching storm. As we continued driving, the EOD tech turned to me and said "This doesn't look like Iraq at all... It's more like something back in Ohio." Indeed, the scene along the river made me forget for a moment that I was in the desert. Tall trees grew along the road, and dense green undergrowth lined the elevated roadbed. The rain had started and was growing heavier- the wind was beginning to whip the drops sideways. The monsoon hit just as the lead truck found the second IED. They called up a tripwire stretched across the road, and I turned to ask the EOD tech which war, exactly, we were fighting?

IED #3 blew up underneath one of the trucks, marking the beginning of the first time that day all hell would break loose. The driver was ok, but we now had a truck that needed recovered, on a road barely wide enough to accommodate one vehicle. We moved most of the convoy off onto a side road, and brought up the wrecker. Two Bradleys moved up to the rear of our patrol, and veered off into the fields to bypass both us and the blast hole. They came back to the main road just a few hundred meters north of us, and the trail Bradley promptly scored a near miss from another IED. EOD started getting calls from the dismount Marine infantry moving up on our rear, and the techs began moving from site to site responding to requests. They reduced another IED in a controlled detonation, and then moved off to examine IED-making material that another group found. Just to our rear, a Marine stepped on a booby trap set to target dismount patrols. EOD moved off once again to clear the site, and the Marine unit began setting up a MEDIVAC site for the wounded in the field adjacent to us. (Side note: We checked today, and all those guys are ok) After three hours, four IEDs, and one vehicle recovery, we were on our way again.

The blast holes from the Bradley and our vehicle effectively blocked the road to our forward, so we had no choice but to follow the field route the Bradleys had taken initially. I was the closest to the side road in the Cougar, so I lead out towards the bypass. Iraqi farms typically use flood irrigation, so the fields are lined with ditches. The first such ditch was no problem- I got around it with some maneuvering. The second was a deep double ditch, which I took at a slight cut at EOD's direction. The truck bottomed out as it hit the second ditch, and slid back into the hole. Stuck. Behind me, the RG was in the process of winching out of the first ditch. Great. Another hour, a lot of digging, and some help from a Bradley later, we were moving again.

Once back on the road, we got another call from the infantry. The had found more IEDs on the section of road we were unable to clear. The BUFFALO and EOD went back to reduce them. With the IEDs taken care of, we moved to confront our next problems- we had been on mission for a solid twelve hours, and our Humvee security detail was running low on fuel. To add to the matter, intel reports were coming in warning us to expect strong insurgent resistance to our north. It took nearly another hour to refuel the Humvees from the Bradleys, and we pressed forward yet again. The infantry had moved slightly ahead of us, and as we caught up, we watched them digging caches of weapons and munitions out of the riverbank. A Marine sapper tossed a demolition charge into a small hole, and the patrol quickly moved off. We followed, and a few minutes later there was a boom and puff of smoke behind us. I though nothing of it until the next boom threw up a waterspout out in the river, and Marines starting scrambling up the embankment to the other side of the road. Incoming mortar fire sucks, especially when the bad guys are on the far bank 500 meters away. More rounds began to explode on the bank and in the grass; the trucks in front of us caught the exhaust from the mortar tube and began to pour machine-gun fire across the river. Somewhere behind us, Bradleys opened up with the whoomp-whoomp-whoomp of 25mm chain gun fire. Bullets flew both ways across the water, glinting and sparkling when shots dipped too low and caught the ripples, and abruptly ceased coming from the far side. The Marine landowner on the far side called up and asked us to mark the site with tracer fire for their troops moving in. We did so, and moved out, past the groups of flex-cuffed captives moving south into the gathering night.

By the time dusk fell, we had covered less than one third of the route- the Marines wanted to do the rest, but didn't want to move dismounts without us on the roads for clearance and heavy gun support. Neither we nor the Marines could go much longer without some rest, and the Marines were loath to sweep the riverbank at night. After some discussion among the respective leadership, the Marines settled on a spot in which to set up a firm point and spend the night. It was 1930- we had been on the move for 17 hours.


(Check back tomorrow for Part II)

Breaking News- Developing

Iraqi tribesmen are reporting the death of al-Qaeda in Iraq leader Abu Ayyub al-Masri, according to Ali al-Dabbagh, spokesman for Prime Minister Malaki. Al-Masri is the Egyptian who took over AQI after al-Zarqawi was killed last June by a coalition airstrike. The report of Masri's death have not been confirmed by either the Iraqi government or by coalition forces. A search for the body is ongoing, in the hope that DNA testing will confirm al-Masri's demise.

Sunni tribal sources are claiming that al-Masri was killed in the village of al-Nibayi, near Taji in the Salahadin province. This is not the first time that al-Masri has been reported dead- in October of last year the Iraqi government reported that he had been killed, and in February, he was reported wounded near Balad. If this latest report is true, it will be very interesting to see who claims the credit.

The fighters at this point are loosely identified as "Sunni tribesmen". That could mean many things- there have been previous reports that a movement akin to the Anbar Salvation Council beginning in Salahadin province, and this could be one of that movement's first victories. More likely is that ASC fighters went hunting in nearby Salahadin province, and turned up gold. Two major tribes being courted by the ASC have debts to pay AQI, and killing their leader would square the bill nicely. As you've read here before, the al-bu Issa tribe has suffered multiple chlorine and ground attacks around Amiriya at the hands of al-Qaeda. The son of the sheik of the al-Zuba'a tribe was killed by al-Qaeda fighters. I would not be surprised to see fingerprints from one of those two tribes on this one.


PS: I can't access Bill Roggio's site right now for some reason, but I'm sure he beat me to this one.

PPS: Just talked to Bill: he also has a post up. Go hit The Fourth Rail for more analysis.

Longest. Route. Ever.

My platoon now holds the Alpha Company (and probably the Task Force) record for the longest mission. We spent almost 40 hours outside yesterday and the day before. I'm not sure how much ground we covered, but I would estimate something close to 200 kilometers. We found lots of IEDs, blew up caches, got in a firefight, got blown up, stuck, tired, muddy and gross. More on that soon (with pictures!).

For now, I have a couple jokes:

Q: Why did the Iraqi cross the road?
A: His IED was on the other side.


A Marine is working on a Police Training and Transition (PTT) team. Two of his Iraqi Police trainees grab an insurgent, who calls out "By Hussein, let me go!". The IPs drop the insurgent, who runs away. The Marine, astonished, asks why they released the man, and the IPs explain: "He asked for mercy by Hussein, the son of the Prophet, and custom demands that we set him free." A week or two later, the Marine is captured by insurgents. He remembers the IPs, and decides to give it a whirl, so he calls out "By Hussein, let me go!" The leader of the insurgents stares at him for a moment, and then says to the others: "Not only is he an American dog, he's a Shiite too! Kill him!"

VBIEDs at the Gate

We rolled back to Ramadi early Sunday afternoon, after a long rotation out to Falluja. I took my personal gear and my 240B machine gun into the barracks, and stopped in to say hello to my medic buddy. I was headed back out to the 5-ton dump truck that we use to transport gear for another load of rucksacks and bags when the air split with a loud craaack-BOOM, and the ground shook underfoot. Everyone flinched towards the ground, and someone dryly cracked "That didn't sound like outgoing". A large black smoke plume shot into the air somewhere over towards the gate, turning grey as it mixed with the dusty sky. Black smoke, for a VBIED. I don't know why the VBIEDs always shoot black smoke into the sky, but they invariably do.

The next few minutes were filled with the confused rush that follows a big blast- phones ringing, squad leaders checking to make sure all their men are ok, and a general babble of voices asking what happened? Who's dead?

The big voice sounded- "Clear all roads from the south gate to Charlie Med. Clear all roads from the south gate to Charlie Med." Minutes pass, and sirens begin to sound in the distance. The big voice drowns out the noise- "All interpreters and medics report to Charlie Med. All interpreters and medics to Charlie Med."

Time passed, and more details began to filter in. The blast was just outside the police station on the south side of the camp. The station is technically on Camp Ramadi- inside the outer perimeter, but outside the main gate. Two pickup trucks had approached the station- the lead truck exploded, and the second sped away. Twenty minutes later, another VBIED (possibly the other truck) exploded in another district of Ramadi. The blast at the police station collapsed a nearby house killing 3 civilians inside, and wounded 35 more, including 5 policemen. The wounded began streaming into Ramadi, where two of my medic friends helped to treat them.

Welcome back to Camp Ramadi, ladies and gentlemen.

Venting Steam

The new Transformers movie is coming out on July 4th. I saw a teaser for it a few days ago, and got a big surprise. One of the Transformers, Bonecrusher, masquerades as a BUFFALO. Yes, the big IED-hunting truck that we drive. My first thought was "Hey, he's a BUFFALO! That's awesome!". After that initial reaction, I got to thinking.

Technically, I am not supposed to post pictures of the BUFFALO. Depending on who you ask, I am not even supposed to mention it by name, yet I find promotion material for a major feature film proudly displaying that sacred grail of American combat vehicles- the BUFFALO. It's not as if the truck merely appears without explanation, either: a little searching on my part turned up a newspaper article about the BUFFALO cameo. The article gave the name of the truck, its designed purpose, the name of the manufacturer, and also quoted some boasting about the BUFFALO's performance in Iraq. Do I think that's a problem? No, I don't. I feel that Americans need to be as informed as possible about what we are doing to combat the IED threat, within reasonable guidelines to maintain security. I routinely receive emails that say something to the effect of "Wow, what you guys do is great! I never knew we had ways to find IEDs. I thought our soldiers just tried to dodge them when they blew up.". The problem that I see is that the American public got more information about the the lives saved by route clearance units because of a fictional movie than they have from the military. We're winning the war on the ground, slowly, but surely, but we're waging a terribly inept battle in our presentation of it. If this war is lost, it will be for wont of good PR, not for wont of heart and success on the part of the fighters.

I need to give the military PAOs some credit. They have really been trying to step up and tell the military side of the tale recently. Adding a YouTube channel was a very good development, as I wrote about before. There are reporters in Al Anbar now who are doing very good work on reporting all the news, both good and bad. Still, there's a long ways to go.

As I continued musing, I had another thought: Transformers was being filmed at the end of 2006- the time when my unit was mobilizing, training, and deploying. We trained for route clearance with a plywood mock up of a BUFFALO wedged into the back of a 5-ton dump truck. I wouldn't call it the most realistic training I ever experienced. Our training at the National Training Center earlier last year in California's Mojave was better, but we didn't have a BUFFALO there, either. The first time most members of my unit touched a BUFFALO was when our boots hit the dust in Ramadi, Iraq. Why, you ask? The reason was good enough- all BUFFALOs were being sent to Iraq. The BUFFALO is a new vehicle for the Army; it was purchased solely because of the emerging IED threat. It takes time to build up assembly lines to provide big, complex vehicles like BUFFALOs. Under those circumstances, you do the best you can to learn, knowing that the actual vehicles are going somewhere they are needed more. Or were they? I can think of one BUFFALO that was neither conducting missions in Iraq, nor training troops in the states. Perhaps the BUFFALO that you will see in a few months in Transformers is a display model, or somehow non-operational. I hope that's the case. I would hate to feel cheated.

Falluja Road

Two weeks ago, along with another route clearance unit, my platoon spearheaded a large operation south of Falluja,. We cleared two routes into the farmland for over six hundred Marines and soldiers who were to operate in the area over the next few days.

The Route Clearance team at the staging area.
L>R: 2 Humvees, HEMMT Wrecker, HUSKY, Cougar.

The patrol commanders:

Hateful 16 (security) and Badger 36 (route clearance)

We traveled to the operation staging area early, and took our places among the tanks, trucks, and other vehicles. The gravel lot of the staging area was bigger than a football field, and the entire surface was filled with lines of vehicles. Marines clustered around groups of trucks making final checks and preparations.

AAV crewmen - "Gators"

A Marine guards weapons by his AAV

The Marines would be leaving some time after we started so as not to be held up on the road by our delays in disarming bombs. Most took the chance to eat another hot meal- the last they would see in days. Others took the opportunity to stock up on other needed commodities.

A Marine focused on the important things

The mission began just before sunset. We drove to the gate, and past the guards. We passed the concrete barriers printed in large red letters “COMPLACENCY KILLS”. We bumped through the ruts of hundreds of tanks and trucks, and out past the perimeter wire. We drove out into the gathering night and started looking for bombs. It was well past dark, and the moon was peeking from behind the clouds when we found the first IED of the night.

IED #1 exploding through thermal sights (credit PFC Strough)

A few hundred meters and not so many minutes later, we found a second bomb. The night was proving busier than we had expected.

The BUFFALO moves in on IED #2

We had completed clearing about two-thirds of the first route when we got the order to turn around and proceed to second route of the evening. Finishing the first route was lower priority than clearing the second and allowing the Marines who would follow us to insert before daylight.

The HUSKY finds a turnaround spot

After a short trip along Route Mobile, the major freeway connecting Ramadi, Falluja, and Baghdad, we pressed down into the darkness along the second route. This route is only a few kilometers from the first, separated by a deep canal. The Marines following us will set up checkpoints and occupy positions in order to catch fleeing insurgents as the first group of Marines sweeps them out.

These roads are familiar territory for us- we patrol them often, and we regularly disable IEDs here. This time, however, there was nothing. As we neared the end, there was a large explosion across the canal. The radio crackled- the Marines had found and detonated a parked car rigged as a VBIED on the first route, further down than we had cleared. They would go on to find several more IEDs. For us, though, the night is almost over.

We reach the limit of our advance and turn around again, threading through the Marines that have already begun to stretch out and dig in behind us. We barely beat the dawn into Falluja, and settle in for the day, exhausted by the constant strain of searching for bombs.

Dawn breaks over the convoy

*Originally posted at Pajamas Media

Easter Eggs

Last Sunday was Easter, and so we went on an easter egg hunt. Eggs come in many shapes and sizes here, and almost all of them are deadly. We find them, sometimes we paint them, and rarely- we collect them.

One type of bomb that we commonly find is the "speed bump". The name is inspired by the appearance of the bomb, and makes for some humorous moments in the truck when someone fails to specify that we are approaching a *non-explosive* speed bump. The insurgents make speed bumps from a wide variety of material- the common factor among all is a slim profile that blends in well on dirt roads or in potholes.

Sometimes, the insurgents sandwich plastic explosive between baking trays. On other occasions, the casing is welded steel packed with explosive. A few have been found that consisted of two 2x4s with explosive in the middle. They don't pose much of a threat to us- most bombs don't. A speed bump throws less shrapnel than a shell, and the blast is deflected by the v-shaped hulls of our vehicles. They can damage a humvee, though, and damage it badly if the bomb detonates under the soft belly.

On Easter, we were out all night, but all we found were a few bunnies (and a hedgehog).


**All the information about IEDs in this post is already open source. Go sic your OPSEC doggies somewhere else.**

Changes

The times are changing at Camp Falluja. It's not just the situation outside the camp, though we've seen many changes there. The summer is coming, bringing hot air and dust storms.New Marines are arriving in Falluja, and before long, others will go home again. The chow hall and the telephone center are jam-packed 24/7. There are more people asking for directions.

A few days ago, the loud siren sounded, and the "big voice" speakers bellowed "INCOMING! INCOMING!". A group of new Marines scattered like ducklings under the shadow of a hawk. Several ran around the corner of a concrete barrier and into a group of us chatting on as though nothing had happened. We watched as they collected themselves and tried to pretend as though nothing had happened, and then returned to conversation.

It wasn't so long ago that I was doing the same thing, along with the rest of the platoon. It took us some time to realize that the siren will inevitably go off after the incoming round hits. There are times when an explosion does not precede the siren- we raucously jeer "Watch out! Big bird crapping on the radar again!", and listen for the big voice to call out "All clear" moments later. I'm told that there are bases in Iraq where the siren is accurate, and you should duck when it sounds. Falluja is not one of those places- neither is Ramadi.

I remember when I was new to Iraq, when I flinched at the sound of any explosion. I had to learn the difference between incoming and outgoing rounds. It took several weeks before I stopped flinching when the outgoing boomed overhead. Outgoing fire booms- if it's mortar fire, sometimes you can hear the whizzz of the shell. Incoming rounds cruump- if you hear whizzing, you were way too close to it. Sometimes, it's hard to tell the difference, and now, we've seen what indirect fire can do to someone. I've started flinching again.

News (Or: How to spread TD thinly)

I'm guest blogging this week over at Patterico's site. I'm joined by Badger 6 and a whole crew of other illuminated pontiffs. Stop by and check it out!

I also have the story, in pictures, of a recent route clearance mission featured on Pajamas Media. Acute Politics will soon become a PJM affiliated blog. That will mean an advertisement or two on the page here, as well as a spot on the PJM blogroll and (hopefully!) some increased traffic.

Lastly, Acute Politics will be featured in the PBS documentary America at a Crossroads. The documentary series begins at 9pm on April 15. Acute Politics will appear on April 16 at 10pm in the segment Operation Homecoming: Writing the Wartime.

In Lieu of Actual Posts-

I found some interesting links while trolling the internet today:

Desert Flier is the blog of Navy LT Carl Goforth, a Trauma/Flight nurse in Ar Ramadi. His entries range from the mundane to very frank descriptions of what he deals with on the job.

I also found an article from the start of last month talking about the Ramadi reconstruction conference held by US commanders and Iraqi leaders. Quotable:

"The time for dictatorship is gone, and we are welcoming the new dawn of democracy and freedom here"

from Sheik Abdul Sattar Abu Risha, the leader of the Anbar Salvation Council.

I Think, Therefore... ?

Well, I've been tagged 3 times now as a "Thinking Blogger". The Thinking Blogger award was invented by a blogger who was tired of the typical inane representatives of the internet meme genre, so he began his own, dedicated to the bloggers that made him think. Apparently I made at least three people think. I'm beginning to feel I won't stop getting tagged unless I pass it on, so... *grin*

1) The Fourth Rail
Bill Roggio consistantly produces some of the highest-quality reporting about Iraq. He is well informed and grounded in many of the basic facts of the country, especially the al-Anbar province.

2) Jules Crittenden
Consistant reporting on a wide variety of issues and an inside look at the media process make this Boston Herald editor's blog another daily read.

3) Patterico's Pontifications

Patterico brings engaging and informed discussion on legal cases and much more. Great stuff.

4) Iraq the Model

Omar and Mohammed report from their homes in Baghdad with unique insight into Iraq.

5) Neptunus Lex

Lex is a Navy officer, old flyboy and Top Gun instructor who blogs about military and political news, and a whole lot else besides.

Rules:
1. If, and only if, you get tagged, write a post with links to 5 blogs that make you think.
2. Link to this post so that people can easily find the exact origin of the meme.
3. Optional: Proudly display the 'Thinking Blogger Award' with a link to the post that you wrote (here is an alternative silver version if gold doesn't fit your blog).


If you're interested, here are the people that tagged me, and what they had to say:

ALa says:Keeping us informed about what is really going on with Al Qaeda in Iraq.

SGT Dub says:TD is serving with his unit in Iraq and besides giving us the news of what's happening in the war, he's a poet and thinker, quite a plate full for such a young man.

Sarge Charlie says:This young man never ceases to amaze me with his skill as a writer, while clearing the roads in Iraq of Land Mines and IED. He puts his life at risk each day and when time permits he will produce photos, poems, and narration equal to Ernie Pyle during WWII.

Leave a comment with some of your daily reads, too.

Welcome to COIN

I'll try to keep writing about the winds here in Al-Anbar. I'll go out on a little bit of a limb and say that the insurgency is quickly approaching a tipping point. If things continue as they are right now, our military won't need a surge to chase the terrorists out of Anbar- the citizens will do it for us, which is as it should be. It's beginning to show already: more local tips, more police recruits (far more than anticipated), and sadly- in bigger and more desperate Al-Qaeda attacks.

At this point, a reconciled insurgent is better than a captured one, and a captured one is better than a dead one.

That is a hard fact for the military to accept. We are quickly approaching the point at which more and more soldiers and Marines will be asked to support men who fought with and sometimes killed their brothers-in-arms. That is not an easy thing to do, even in the aftermath of a conventional war, and it is far more difficult when fighting an insurgency. However, it is absolutely necessary. We will be asked to fight the strategy of our enemy rather than his fleeting fighters. We will have to defeat Al-Qaeda's attempts to disrupt and derail the efforts of the population to end the violence. We will have to spend more time away from our big, safe bases, and more time getting to know the local leaders- the leaders that can tell their men to join the Iraqi forces and forsake the insurgency. We will spend more time with their people- the people that have known the insurgents since they were children. The people that form an intelligence net far more effective than ours will ever be, if they trust us enough to share it.

It's a big job, but I think we may have finally learned enough forgotten lessons from places like East Timor, Vietnam, Ireland, Malaysia, and others that it just might work this time.

Color me hopeful.

Updates-

I have two updates to the story I told recently about the children injured in a mortar attack.

First: At the time of the incident, another soldier in my platoon grabbed a man who was acting suspiciously directly after the attack, and handed him over to the Marines. As we were leaving the OP, the villagers brought a another man with his hands bound and eyes blindfolded, accusing him of being involved. It saddens me that children had to die to shock the villagers out of their fear of the insurgents, but at least they did something about it.

Second: We went back out on the same resupply run yesterday. There has been an amazing transformation in the area just in the week since we were there last. The road we take up to the OP that I said was such a bad route? It is now lined with checkpoints manned by militia fighters standing alongside Marines. The massive blast holes and craters in the road have been filled in, and both children and adults walked out where I have never seen people before. The children at the beginning of the road are still there, and still cheering for "Free stuff, Mister!", but now they have friends all along the rest of the road.

The Winds of Al-Anbar

The intra-Sunni fighting in Al-Anbar province is continuing, and the violence is rising. Bill Roggio has done a good job gathering the information here, here, here and here.


I'll also try my hand at laying out some of the recent events below, and explain a little bit of how the various elements you may hear about in the news are related. I've distilled a fair bit of material from Bill, other news sources, and personal knowledge. I don't have a lot of time, so this will probably be sloppy and fairly unedited (sounds familiar, right?).

Since the start of the year, Al-Qaeda In Iraq has attempted 11 chlorine VBIEDs, 9 in Al-Anbar, 1 in Tadji, and one in Baghdad. Of those, 9 have detonated with varying degrees of success, and 2 were found and disabled in Ramadi. The most recent attacks were early this morning in downtown Falluja, outside the government center. Iraqi troops engaged two trucks just after 0630, causing both to explode just short of the base.

Taken together, the string of chlorine bombings have killed 32 Iraqis and wounded over 600, most of them civilians. One US soldier was wounded in an attack on an Iraqi Police checkpoint, as well as possibly more today in Falluja. These attacks have overwhelmingly been targeted towards Iraqi forces, and the leaders and people of the tribes who have begun to oppose Al-Qaeda In Iraq.

There are thirty-one major tribes int the Al-Anbar province. Of those thirty-one, twenty-five support the Anbar Awakening effort of the Anbar Salvation Council- the social and political gathering of sheiks and former insurgents who oppose terroism in Al-Anbar. Of the six remaining tribes, the Iraqi government, Coalition Forces and the Anbar Salvation Council are attempting to split two off from the Al-Qaeda umbrella organization Islamic State of Iraq. Those two tribes are the Al-bu Issa and the Al-Zuba'a. Both have started to fight against Al-Qaeda, and are beginning to pay for it dearly. One chlorine bomb detonated in the Al-bu Issa region of Falluja, as I wrote before, injuring 250 civilians.

Thahir al-Dari is the sheik of the Al-Zuba'a tribe. His son, Harith Dhaher al-Dari was a military leader in the 1920 Revolutionary Brigades. The 1920 Revolutionary Brigades is a nationalist Sunni insurgent group that was formerly affiliated with Al-Qaeda. Earlier this year, the group began to split- one splinter wanted to remain with Al-Qaeda, and the other wanted a break because of disagreements over methods and goals (including issues such as Al-Qaeda's frequent targeting of civilians). Since the rift began, members of the 1920's Brigades have been working with the Anbar Salvation Council (including fighting Al-Qaeda in defense of one of the council leaders), and reportably engaging in talks with the government and coalition forces. Harith al-Dari was killed by Al-Qaeda fighters near Abu Ghraib yesterday, along with a bodyguard. His father, the sheik, narrowly escaped. Salam al-Zuba'a is one of the deputy prime ministers of Iraq, from the Al-Zuba'a tribe. He narrowly escaped being assassinated in a car bomb attack on his mosque on March 23rd. The chief suspect in the bombing is one of his bodyguards- accused to be a member of an insurgent group friendly to Al-Qaeda and opposed to the Anbar Salvation Council.


Two years ago, Sheikh Osama al-Jadaan tried to gather other tribes together to stand against Al-Qaeda. He was swiftly killed, and the leadership of the other tribes was dismantled. Al-Qaeda then filled the vacuum, and the insurgency became stronger. Al-Qaeda has tried at least four times to kill senior leaders of the Anbar Salvation Council with bombs or all-out assault, and has killed several leaders of insurgent groups that show signs of willingness to work with the Anbar Salvation Council or the Iraqi government. This time around, though, the situation is far more favorable to the sheiks than it was two years ago. First, the US military has finally begun to work with the tribes in a realistic fashion, paving the way for tribal militias to supplement the Iraqi Forces. Secondly, the Iraqi Forces themselves are far more numerous and better equipped than they were two years ago.


That's all I have for now. Keep reading, watch the news, and keep your eyes to the sky. The winds in Al-Anbar are changing.

FRAGO

**Sad post. Fair warning.**

A FRAGO is a fragmentary order- a change of mission to reflect a change of circumstances.

We cleared up a tough road to bring a resupply convoy up to a series of isolated Observation Posts. We've done the mission multiple times before, and this time, things were going according to plan. We cleared the first part of the route in record time. As we turned on to one of the side roads that would eventually bring us to the first OP, the side of the road was lined with children waving and asking for candy. Even some of the adults with them waved and smiled- a rare sight this close to Ramadi. At the last turn before the OP, there was a young boy and an man in his mid-twenties. The boy waved, then pointed to a roadblock barring our path and said “Mister!... No!” and then his english failed him, and he switched to Arabic too rapid to understand. I asked him to slow down, which he did (slightly), but we found few words in common. All I knew was that there was something up that road that he didn't want us to run into.

We finished clearing to the first OP, and parked the vehicles by the side of the narrow road to allow the supply convoy room to pass by into the OP. This OP, like many others, is a large house that was converted to its present use. It sits between two palm groves near a small farming village. It has perhaps a quarter acre of grounds surrounded by a high wall, and the roof is dotted with sandbagged watchtowers. Today, we sat for a few minutes, and watched the supply trucks pull into the OP. The platoon relaxed- someone stayed alert on the guns, while the rest of the truck crews broke out sandwiches or cigarettes. We'd been in place for less than ten minutes when the mortars started landing. It was only three or four rounds, and they were off behind one of the buildings in the village. The men unloading the supply trucks took little notice of the explosions, and the locals that I could see simply started moving inside the buildings. War quickly callouses you to frightening things- explosions still make us jump, but if they don't directly affect us, we virtually ignore them. This time, they affected us.

I saw a crowd of villagers thronging up to the gate of the OP. Somewhere near the front, there was a man struggling towards the Marines. I'll never remember what he looked like or the clothes he wore, but I'll never forget his burden.

He carried a little girl. She looked six or seven. Her head lolled back, her dark, curly hair dusty on his arm, and her legs dangled limply by his side. The only pattern on her dirty white dress was streaks of blood.

A second man followed the first- the little boy he carried was even younger than the girl. Both the children looked dead, or close to it. Behind the men are more villagers, and some of them have burdens of their own. Too many. At least one of the mindless, undiscerning shells had landed in a school.

There was silence in the truck for an eternity, and then the driver whispered the thoughts of us all. In that moment, in the stillness, the profanity sounded strangely like a prayer:

"Fuck, man... just fuckin' kids"

No one else says anything- we all know what he means. People who weren't involved in this war died today, and more may die yet. Kids paid the price for their parent's fight. Children dying hits you in a way that other death doesn't. You don't feel the sharp sting of losing a friend. You don't view their death with the casual indifference you might feel for adults. You feel the dull ache of lost innocence, of a lost future.

The stillness is shattered a second later by the radio. The platoon leader is on the net calling for the medic. Our driver is a nurse back in the world- he stops to help a man who comes out of the trees behind us with a bleeding hole in his leg, and then he takes off to the OP to help the medic with the others.

The platoon leader is back on the radio, giving us our FRAGO- our change of mission. We're headed out to the regional medical facility at Camp Taqaddum with the wounded. Hopefully, we get there in time.

Amiriya

Omar at Iraq the Model tells us that Al-Hurra TV in Baghdad is reporting fierce fighting around Amiriya again. Members of the Al-bu Issa tribal militia fought with Al-Qaeda terrorists for hours last night, supported by Iraqi police and coalition troops. You'll remember the Al-bu Issa tribe as one of the targets of last week's chlorine attacks. The tally so far in the fighting is 39 terrorists dead, including two leaders referred to by the Iraqis as the "Minister of Oil" and the "Minister of War" for the Al-Qaeda group. 11 tribal fighters and 6 policemen were also killed.

Additionally-
Coalition troops supporting the effort discovered and safely detonated another tanker rigged as a chlorine gas VBIED.

Muj Weather

The day we traveled back to Falluja last week was a nice day. The sun was shining, and there was just the slightest wisp of a breeze. The LT gave his mission brief behind the vehicles to a circle of men in tan jumpsuits and blue-grey ACUs. He finished, and asked for comments, questions, or additions.

The platoon sergeant stepped up: "I have something, sir.
*This* is the most beautiful day since I have been in Iraq. I wish *every* day could be like this. The sun is shining, and it's not too hot and not too cold. It's good weather for us to do our jobs, it's good weather for the Iraqis to live their lives, and it's good weather for the Muj. I bet Muj is having wonderful thoughts of man-ass right now, and how much shit he can talk down in the man-ass bar after he blows us up. Do your job, enjoy the day, and shoot the Muj before he gets a chance to blow us up!"

As it turned out, it was indeed a day for the Muj. We saw nothing on our trip, but plenty of other people did. The air smelled of smoke much of the way, and the fires stretched away on both sides of the highway. Some of it was industry- those Iraqis out enjoying the day and making an honest Dinar. A lot of it was destruction.

An hour into the trip, the LT came on the radio and informed us that Gator had called in a TIC at Achmed's Garage. Achmed's Garage is a collection of repair shops and fuel pumps near Falluja. It's also the neighborhood hangout for insurgents. Gator is the Marine unit that owns the area, and they're letting approaching units know that they have Troops In Contact- a sustained firefight. Apparently, wonderful thoughts weren't all the Muj had in mind that day.

Not so long ago, the Marines and the Iraqi Police got tired of taking small arms fire, mortar fire, IED attacks, and sniper fire from the area. They came in under the cover of night, and the IPs proceeded to demolish the doors and back walls on the little adjoining shacks. They left them as little more than shelters from the sun, and capable of providing far less concealment than before. As we rolled past towards Falluja, there was a long line of Marine transports heading north towards the columns of smoke and dust of another battle. The weather is nice today, yes, but it's about to get a lot warmer for some Muj.

Linky Linky

Michael Yon continues with excellent dispatches from Iraq.

Omar at Iraq The Model with the silver lining to the recent spat of chlorine bombs in Iraq.

The Times in London reports the findings of a British research team conducting surveys in Iraq.
This survey has the biggest population since the beginning of the war, and the researchers found some surprising facts.

Soldier's Dad highlights an interesting side benefit of The Surge.


The Multi-National Forces - Iraq Public Affairs Office has finally jumped on the positive publicity bandwagon big-time, and given some sanction to the videos that troops film in Iraq. Go visit for clips of troops doing stupid and awesome things.

VBIED Update

The suicide VBIED I wrote about was an attempt at a chlorine bomb attack. It was the first of three chlorine bombings in Anbar province that day, all of which were SVBIEDs. See why we call it VBIED Friday?

Another detonated in Amiriya, south of Falluja, killing two Iraqi Police and sickening approximately one hundred residents. Amiriyah is the town in which local insurgent groups banded together with Iraqi Police and Iraqi Army to fight Al-Qaeda In Iraq militants.

All told, the three blasts killed 2, and injured over 350 people. Interestingly enough, the Guardian Observer makes it sound as though the death toll was far worse.

The attacks killed at least two policemen and 350 civilians - including dozens of children - and six US soldiers were taken to hospital.

Poor structure and punctuation make it sound as though the civilians were killed- a rather misleading sentence, in my eyes.

VBIED Friday

We drove back to Ramadi today, once more making the so-called "milk run" back from Falluja. We tend to see it as a short, easy clear- we know well the areas where the bombs normally are, and the road is wide and well-maintained. However nonchalantly we approach the mission, all of us know that there really are no "milk runs" in Iraq: anything can happen, at any time. Today is no exception.

The sky over Falluja was hazy with smoke today. I couldn't tell where it was coming from- it seemed as if the entire northwest corner over by the river was burning. I counted what appeared to be seven separate plumes. Black smoke, white smoke, and shades of grey all combined into an ominous pall. Whatever was going on, it was on the other side of the city, and therefore someone elses problem.

Just a few kilometers down Rt. Mobile from Falluja, we found Marines parked under an overpass in their armored tracks. They had found what seemed to be an IED, and were blocking traffic while waiting for EOD to come out and dispose of it. We volunteered to neutralize it with our BUFFALO, so they didn't have to worry about it exploding. The threat of explosion past, we continued down Mobile. Two overpasses further down the road, we found the EOD element. The had found an IED of their own while en route to the Marines, and were in the process of disabling it. We stopped long enough to let them know the status of the first IED, and moved on again.

The next incident started with a black mushroom cloud somewhere in front of us. There's all kinds of smoke in Iraq. There's the plumes that signify a fire- white for wood or reeds, black for vehicles, and grey for buildings. Mushroom clouds mean a bomb of some sort- white or grey, especially with a lot of dust, for an IED, and black for car bombs.

We call it "VBIED Friday", because the insurgents go to the mosque on Friday and get all fired up to fight Americans. After they go to the mosque and pray, they are assured a better place in Paradise if they martyr themselves that day. We get to deal with the consequences. This time, the bomber hit a small traffic control point along Rt. Mobile, run by soldiers and Iraqi Police. He drove into the front end of the concertina serpentine barriers and blew himself up.

We called up to the Observation Post that was coordinating the CASEVAC of the wounded soldier and the arrival of the quick reaction force to let them know we were close to the scene with a combat medic, as well as several other medically trained personal, and ask if they needed help. The radio starts chattering with information; both I and the medic behind me start checking our gear. He changes out his dark lens glasses for clear ones, and cinches down his kevlar helmet. I'm on the gun again, but once we get inside the security cordon at the site, my shooting won't be needed. My help carrying and tending to a casualty, on the other hand, will. Today, however, the situation is well in hand. The only soldier wounded was already in a Humvee headed for the helicopter extraction point, and the unit at the scene had secured the site with the help of the Iraqi Police there, so we kept rolling through.

There were three Iraqi Police by the side of the road as we approached. One propped his RPK machine gun up on a guard rail, and the other two knelt nearby with AK-47s. Behind them, two Bradley Fighting Vehicles were jackknifed to close off the road, their long gun barrels aimed down Rt. Mobile over the heads of the IPs.

The scene was covered with a knot of people as we pulled up- soldiers moving blackened chunks of the car bomb, others setting up security, and still others directing traffic. Two IP trucks sat on the left shoulder near a group of policemen. One of them derisively kicked a charred lump of wreckage near the trucks- I belatedly realized that it was part of the bomber. He was the only one to die in the blast, and both he and his vehicle were spread across both lanes of traffic. We thread through and head for home.

The Dump

We went to the dump today, two of my buddies and I. A dump is a normal fixture at any base in Iraq- I've already explored scrap piles at Ramadi and Habbaniyah. Dumps interest me; I like to see what other people have no more use for. I like to put into practice the old saying: "One man's trash is another man's treasure". I've always been that way; a trip to the dump with my dad as a kid almost always ended in him trying to keep me from dragging home more trash.

Most of the material in this dump is useless- torn and burned hulks of vehicles, both ours and Iraqi, tangled snarls of old concertina wire, expended brass and used portable rocket launchers. The Falluja dump is also home to a collection of rusting Iraqi anti-aircraft guns. They sit along one wall with their barrels criss-crossed towards the sky, slowly rusting into the sand.

There's always something usable in amongst the trash, though. Today's visit produced a handful of portable individual radios- small sets with a 1-kilometer or so range, from which we were able to cobble together several working sets. One of my buddies found an small old-fashioned oil can, made of brass and about the same size and shape as an old pocket watch.

New Interview

My interview with Matt of BLACKFIVE is up, and it's cross posted at Michelle Malkin's blog.

Go read it for my answers to questions like these and more:

What worries you most about back home?
What is the one story, currently not told, that you would want America to know about?
What is most on the mind of the troops at the moment?


I should have the next few days pretty much to myself, so you can look forward to some new posts here, as well.

Home Front

Cool, Calm, & Collected is Mel's blog. She was SGT Holtom's fiance.

She writes honestly and powerfully. Go give her a read.

Yep, Still Alive

I'm on the "weekend" back in Ramadi, doing vehicle maintenance and sleeping a lot. I'm away from my computer and consistent internet here. My apologies for the lack of posting. I'll be writing some more in a few days.

There's an interview with me up on VAJoe.com. Keep on the lookout for a upcoming interview with BLACKFIVE, as well.

It turns out that I'm not the only writer in the family. My brother wrote a sonnet for his high school English class, and gave me permission to repost it here.

Here is a story from distant shores
Across the sea of frothing foam
Veiled by Heaven’s glittering dome
A silent city with broken doors
Sleeping women on the floors
In the deserts which nomads roam
Sleep the soldiers, so far from home
In their haven, safe from war
They are soldiers, behind the gate
Soldiers laugh, soldiers cry
Soldiers fight to make them free
Soldiers love, and soldiers hate
Soldiers live, and soldiers die
Far, far away, across the sea.

Arabian Nights

Last night we went down into the canal region south of Falluja. We cleared back and forth through the tall reeds, along canals, and through villages. In one nasty little village, we found a bomb in an intersection. It was a large plastic tube of rocket propellant, jury-rigged as an IED. The LT decided, along with the EOD team, to shoot it and try to set it on fire, rather than get down on the ground to blow it up. Of course, we all foresaw the result- we ended up with chunks of unignited rocket fuel all over the road, and had to get out anyway to gather them up and dispose of them with an incendiary grenade. The fuel caught fire immediately, burning with a white flame tinged with green. There was a sudden *pop*, and bits of flaming fuel flew in all directions, trailing greenish fire. We watched the flames quietly burn themselves out, and prepared to continue with the mission. At some point while we were digging up the bomb, all the lights down the road went out, leaving the scene light only by the ghostly half-light of the moon. As we pulled off down the road, even that pale illumination faded- the lunar eclipse had come and stolen the light.


Tonight, we struck out once more for the lovely (I use that term very loosely) village of Karma. The last time we were there, a week ago, there was a giant new blast hole near the bridge where we found our first IED in the area. It stretched nearly twelve feet in diameter- halfway across the road. At the bottom was a metal culvert shorn in two. Someone had pushed a huge bomb into the culvert and detonated it. Tonight, I noticed that the hole is gone again, or nearly so. The crater is filled with dirt, and a large half-circle of fresh asphalt is the only reminder of the devastation of a week ago. The small palm grove that was near the road is gone- the tops of trees sheared off by blasts, and the stumps toppled by tanks. The village looks like what it has become- a prominent battlefield in the war for Anbar province.

North of Karma the road is normally quiet for a few kilometers, and it proved to be so again tonight. The last few klicks are often busy, and tonight, that is where we start finding bombs. The first one is relatively easy: the truck slows to scope out a pile of rubble by the side of a culvert, and I spot a wire heading off along the ditch. As the BUFFALO is digging out the bomb, one of the other trucks notices movement through their thermal imagery. They report what seems to be one or two individuals at a house some distance off the road, in the same general direction as the wire seems to run. As we continue to work on the bomb, our Marine security element splits off across the fields to corner whoever it is taking advantage of the 1AM air and ask do they happen to know anything about yonder bomb? The bomb finally pops out of the ground- a mid sized IED, and the Marines call back in. They have in custody two insurgent cows. Our pleas to retain the triggercows for further "questioning" are denied, and we continue mission.

Just a little further up the road, we find the second and last IED of the night. There are certain things that attract our attention more quickly and strongly than others, and this bomb had all of them. It was buried, but so painfully obvious that we started wondering where the well-hidden second IED was (we found no second). We blew it up, and moved along the rest of the roads we had to patrol, finding nothing more. We pulled in back home just as dawn was breaking. I looked up at the moon as she drifted silently behind a thin veil of morning haze and mentally checked myself.

All limbs attached- check
No new holes- check
All friends here- check

It's going to be a beautiful day.

War Cocaine

There's a rush that comes on the heels of significant events here.

After the IED explodes, or the RPG whistles overhead, or the shot cracks past, there's a moment of panic as you process the fact that you are still alive- that this time, they missed you. After that seconds hesitation, the rush hits.

No one really knows what it is, exactly, but we all feel it. It's physical. It's emotional. For some, it's spiritual.Some say it's endorphins or adrenaline; some say it's rage, or hate, or joy. Some say it's safety- the knowledge that Someone is watching out for you. It's different for everyone, but it's always there.

For me, the rush is mostly exhilaration. It's a feeling of invulnerability. I've heard the unforgettable sound of an RPG somewhere very, very near my little sector of space, and stood a little taller yelling "Missed me, you bastards!" as I spin the turret and look for the shooter.


The first time I got blown up, I had to remind myself to get up and look around for the trigger man or possible gunmen set to take advantage of the confusion. I felt like I was floating through a world where time stood still. There's something about looking directly at an artillery shell and seeing it vanish with a sharp crack and rush of dust and debris that changes you. My brain was yelling at me "This isn't normal! You shouldn't be alive and thinking right now!", and my body was yelling back "Well, I'm definitely alive, so hoist your doubting ass up into the turret!"

I've never felt more alive than I do in the moments after a near miss. I feel the same way after a big jump skiing, or after jumping off a bridge, but here the feeling is magnified a hundredfold. It's incredible when you do something that you shouldn't live through but do.

Some might call me sick, or crazy. I assure you that I am sane, and very much alive.

For The Win!

Acute Politics took first place in the MilBloggies!

Thanks to all of you who voted! I'll unfortunately miss the presentation of the blog awards. I'll be here, gathering source material. Speaking of which, I should (barring the unexpected) have some more posts up soon- some serious, some not so.

Get Out the Vote!

Two days left in the Military.com MilBloggies contest. It ends at 8pm EST on 27 Feb.

Go vote- I'm neck-and-neck for the lead right now.

UPDATE: Acute Politics is now ahead, 74 - 67. 1 day left. Keep it up!