Dirt Sailor

The End and its Afterlife

2008-10-29T21:45:00.000-07:00

My tour of duty is over. I am back and am glad to say I brought back every part of me that I took into theater. (Only now will I confess to an irrational fear that I would lose a limb over there.) What did I learn? What did we accomplish? While this final post attempts to describe the sum total of my experience it should by no means be considered authoritative. Iraq and the conflict we are engaged in there, are too complex for one person’s experience to be anything but suggestive of the larger whole. There are many moving parts and I only saw a few of them.

Sons of Iraq

Unquestioningly, I will say that things improved incrementally the entire time I was there. When I arrived last November, Iraq already was on the road to recovering from punishing ethno-sectarian violence the previous summer. The biggest initial change after my arrival occurred In Anbar province in the west, where Iraqi Sunni insurgents slowly began to reject the austere form of Wahhabist Sunni Islam espoused by Al Qaeda in Iraq (AQI). AQI leadership largely was foreign (Abu Musab al-Zar qawi, the notorious leader of AQI from 2004 to 2006 was from Jordan; other major leadership figures came from Syria, Saudi Arabia, and Egypt). These foreigners began to impose a very strict form of Islam on Sunni Iraqis. And when these foreigners attempted to marry into Iraqi families (a technique Al Qaeda successfully employed in Afghanistan and Pakistan), the Iraqi Sunni insurgents that had previously allied with them had had enough.

Under a nascent program begun in mid-2007, these former Iraqi insurgents began receiving modest pay-checks from Coalition Forces (CF) -- in effect switching sides. Initially dubbed “Concerned Local Citizens” these groups of former insurgents set up armed check points in their villages and cities and began providing information to CF where AQI foreign fighters lived and operated from. Additionally, they aggressively took the fight to AQI in a way CF couldn’t; they knew who the enemy were, where they lived, operated from, and what tactics they employed. In many ways, AQI did themselves in when they tried to impose their severe and strict version of Islam on Iraqi Sunnis.

Because the English label, “Concerned Local Citizens” didn’t translate well into Arabic, the CLCs became known as “Sons of Iraq” (from the Arabic, Abna’a al Iraq). Gradually, they became a quasi-political movement known as the “Awakening Groups.” They swelled in number as it became clear that their fortunes would be better off fighting AQI instead of remaining allied with them. As their ranks grew, AQI fighters either died or fled from Anbar Province to northern Iraq.

Muqtada al Sadr and Jaysh al Mahdi (The Mahdi Army)

In Baghdad, the influence of Muqtada al Sadr (MAS) and the Jaysh al Mahdi (JAM) was very prevalent. By the time I arrived in early November, Baghdad had splintered into sectarian division; formerly mixed neighborhoods became either majority Sunni or Shia, the latter sect dominating most of the city. The largest Shia enclave was Sadr City, a poor Shia slum named after MAS’s father, Grand Ayatollah Mohammed Sadeq al Sadr in the days after the fall of Saddam’s regime (it had previously been named Saddam City). JAM, the ad hoc Shia militia loyal to MAS, numbered in the many thousands and was well armed with heavy weapons, mortars, and rockets many of which were provided to them by Iran.

At the time of my arrival, JAM was in the middle of a six month cease fire with CF ordered by MAS. It was set to expire in February 2008. MAS was concerned JAM would not stand up in a conventional fight with CF and had ordered JAM to stand down while he concentrated on building a more legitimate religious and political power base. Things were relatively quiet when I arrived, although several “special” groups that had splintered from JAM continued violence against CF using Improvised Explosive Devices (IEDs), some of which were an especially lethal variety that utilized Explosively Formed Penetrators (EFPs).

MAS renewed the cease-fire in February but the day after his announcement a JAM special group launched a large mortar attack on the International Zone, the first real attack I experienced. These special groups wished to keep fighting CF. MAS, although keeping up his traditionally fiery anti-CF rhetoric, nevertheless wanted to establish himself as a political as well as religious leader. By distancing himself from the special groups, he continued to play both sides of the equation: claiming he wanted peace while still being able to shape, in some measure, the military fight against CF.

At some point during this time frame in early 2008, MAS left Iraq for Qom, Iran, a center of Iranian Shia theology (or Hawza). MAS wanted to become an ayatollah, like his father and grandfather, but to do so, he would need several more years of intensive religious studies. Studying in Qom curried favor with the Iranians, from whom MAS received a large measure of financial support, but doing so alienated him from the Iraqi Shia base in Najaf and Karbala, the traditional Hawza of Shia Islam.

By leaving Iraq, MAS gave up day-to-day control of JAM that by now had a presence in all major urban areas of southern Iraq. In addition to Baghdad, JAM also had a major presence in Basra and Amarah. Originally envisioned as a citizen militia that would protect ordinary Iraqi Shia and provide essential services in the absence of a functioning Iraqi government, JAM ultimately devolved into a criminal organization not unlike the Mafia where local “commanders” or bosses intimidated ordinary Iraqis into paying “protection” money. Some elements of JAM also embraced smuggling commodities such as oil and gasoline and controlled a lucrative black market in a number of other essential goods. And while JAM was the largest religiously oriented militia, there were several others operating in all major Iraqi cities in the south. As time went on, these militias began to battle each other as well as CF.

Battle of Basra (Operation Charge of the Knights)

By late March, Iraqi Prime Minister Nouri al Maliki, a Shia, had had enough of JAM’s criminal behavior and wished to reestablish rule of the Government of Iraq (GOI) in major urban areas of Iraq’s south. In a hastily prepared operation dubbed Operation Charge of the Knights, Maliki ordered the fledgling Iraqi Security Forces (ISF) to attack JAM strongholds in Basra. The ISF quickly ran into trouble as they did not plan out many key logistical elements of their attack. CF had to come to their aid. It was touch and go for a while but ISF with CF assistance slowly took back portions of Basra from JAM. As the ISF rolled into Basra, they uncovered massive weapons caches of EFPs, mortars, and rockets, most of which were manufactured in Iran. As the tide of battle slowly turned, many JAM leaders fled Basra for either Sadr City or Amarah to the northeast.

When the ISF began their operation, JAM elements in Sadr City began launching attacks against the International Zone in Baghdad, mostly using unguided artillery rockets. The attacks began on Easter Sunday. They continued nearly every day throughout the entire month of April. Personally, this was the time of greatest stress in my tour. Every day that month we endured multiple rocket and mortar attacks in the Green Zone. Despite the heavy barrages only a few people were killed. During April, there were more than several nights where I elected to sleep in the Republican Palace rather than in my unprotected trailer.

Battle of Sadr City (2008)

Nearly concurrent with the Basra operation, ISF units supported by CF began a slow push into the JAM stronghold of Sadr City. The battle lasted through mid-May. With the capture of the southern portions of Sadr City by early May, the rocket attacks on the International Zone tapered off as favorable launching points were no longer available to JAM insurgents. At one point, CF erected a several mile long barricade of 20 foot tall concrete T-Walls, in effect shutting out insurgent forces. By mid-May a cease-fire agreement was reached between the GOI and representatives of MAS that allowed ISF to fully occupy all of Sadr City. A majority of hard-core JAM fighters fled Sadr City for Amarah to the east. Compared to Basra, the operations conducted by ISF in Sadr City were much better coordinated and executed.

Battle of Amarah (Operation Promise of Peace)

As Basra and Sadr City were pacified by ISF and CF, Prime Minister Maliki was intent on taking the fight to Amarah, the last bastion of JAM in Iraq. Planning continued for this operation dubbed by the Iraqis, Promise of Peace. On 18 June, ISF began its push into Amarah but with a catch: as ISF forces massed near the city, Maliki announced an amnesty program for JAM fighters to lay down their weapons and leave. Many JAM fighters who already had endured heavy fighting in Basra and Sadr City agreed and began laying down their weapons and either fleeing or melting back into the population. Many hard-core JAM leaders, seeing the collective will to fight quickly evaporating, chose to flee to Iran. As a result, ISF easily re-took the city by the end of the month. JAM as a political and military force in Iraq largely was splintered and defeated.

Prime Minister Maliki’s actions against JAM earned him great credibility with other Arab governments in the region, many of whom feared he was just an Iranian puppet. His fight against JAM showed he cared deeply about Iraq as a nation, not as a self-interested Shia presumably under the sway of Iran. After Amarah several Arab governments announced they would send ambassadors to Iraq. Additionally, Maliki made a well-publicized trip to Iran where he confronted Iranian leaders with Iraq-gathered evidence that Iran had supplied JAM with lethal aid.

For more on the spring 2008 fighting in Iraq, see this article.

The Fight Against AQI

By the time I arrived in Iraq in early November, 2007, the Sons of Iraq and the growing Awakening Movement had reclaimed Anbar Province, a previous stronghold of AQI. Many AQI foreign fighters and their leadership fled north ultimately making a new base for themselves in the northern Iraqi city of Mosul, the so-called northern tip of the Sunni Triangle in Iraq. Mosul was important to AQI as it sat astride a major supply route from Syria and Turkey and a sectarian fault line between Sunni Arabs and Kurds to the east.

AQI conducted several high-profile attacks and bombings on Iraqi and Coalition Forces in the vicinity of Mosul in early 2008. Throughout this time, CF applied steady pressure to AQI. By spring, ISF was ready to take them on. On 10 May, just days after a cease-fire was finalized in the Sadr City operation, the ISF launched Operation Lion’s Roar in Mosul. On 14 May, Prime Minister Maliki flew to Mosul to personally oversee operations. The operation formerly concluded on 24 May and included the capture of two senior AQI leaders: Abdul Khaleq al Sabaawi, the AQI Emir of Ninawa Province, and Abu Ahmed, the AQI finance Emir for the provinces of Ninawah, Salah ad Din, and Kirkuk.

AQI counter-attacked in late May and throughout the month of June using primarily suicide bombers, a tactic that belied their growing inability to stage large scale military attacks. Despite this desperate strategy, AQI killed hundreds of people in the vicinity of Mosul. By late June, most of the security gains achieved by Lion’s Roar had disintegrated with AQI insurgents making their way back into Mosul.

Then on 27 June, CF announced it had killed Abu Khalaf, the leader of AQI in Mosul, who had been a close associate of Abu Musab al-Zarqawi. AQI cohesiveness began to evaporate. And on it goes: on 5 October, Abu Qaswarah, a Swedish citizen of Moroccan origin, was killed by CF. An AQI spokesmen identified him on an Internet website as the number two leader of AQI. The loss of these senior leaders continues to deteriorate AQI’s effectiveness.

AQI is by no means finished, but it is severely degraded. AQI’s own harsh tactics against ordinary Iraqis -- murder, hostage taking, espousing of austere Wahabbist practices, banning smoking, singing, dancing and music -- also ultimately helped seal its doom. Slowly, Iraqi insurgents who had been allied with them saw them as a foreign menace and rejected them. That trend continues.

Much has been written that the Al Qaeda concept never will be defeated militarily. Rather, it must be rejected by those it has been (and still is) being sold to as a repressive and empty philosophy. In Iraq, that is happening. Ordinary Sunni Iraqis, many of whom later risked their lives daily as Sons of Iraq, soundly have rejected AQI’s repressive, internecine agenda. The Government of Iraq faces a tough task on how best to integrate the SOI into either the ISF or find a livelihood for them. Like many issues in Iraq this remains on a razor’s edge.

Iraq’s Future

We are in the business now of getting out of Iraq. As I write this the US and Iraqi governments continue to negotiate a Status of Forces (SOFA) agreement which will dictate how US forces continue to operate inside Iraq after the expiration of the current UN Security Council Resolution (UNSCR) on 31 December. Although not authoritative as yet, it appears 2011 will be the year US forces complete their withdrawal from Iraq.

In the year I was there, the GOI took the first, important steps to take control of the security situation. Now the political and economic process must mature but there will be significant obstacles that only the Iraqis can address. There is still deep distrust between Iraqi Shia, Sunnis, and Kurds. The current Iraqi coalition government is made up primarily of Shia political parties. New provincial elections will take place either in December, 2008 or January 2009. The Sunnis, who boycotted the 2005 elections, are expected to make a strong showing. The Kurds, who continue to push for more political, economic, and military autonomy in the north of Iraq continue a war of words with GOI

Iraq is fortunate to have large oil reserves but the GOI must figure out how to equitably distribute its oil income between all three groups and how to use that money to fund reconstruction efforts throughout the country. It also must address widespread corruption and smuggling of essential goods such as fuel. Dismantling JAM was an important first step but smuggling and corruption won’t ever go away completely.

There are both positive and negative indicators that the Iraqi people and its fledgling government are up to this challenge. It is in their hands now. One thing is for sure: all hope the bloodshed is over.

What Did I Learn?

Like many deploying to either Iraq or Afghanistan, I was apprehensive. Would I perform well? Would I be able to deal with the challenges thrown at me? Would I serve honorably under fire? Would I make a difference? Would I be a dumb ass?

I was fortunate that I never once had to fire a weapon in the year I was there. I did come under indirect fire on numerous occasions. It was stressful and I didn’t sleep well. When it was happening, I wondered if I would go to sleep never to wake up if that magic rocket hit my trailer. I was caught several times outdoors when rockets hit and I just got small on the ground and hoped they didn’t land on or near me (only one did -- my only “close call” but thankfully no one was seriously injured in that attack). When it got particularly bad in April, I just slept in the Embassy/Republican Palace which took several rocket hits while I was there and was none the worse for wear. Still I was fortunate; my lot was much better than the thousands of leg infantry grunts who were based out of Joint Security Stations or Forward Operating Bases throughout Iraq.

And while it was my turn to man the wall, I was doubly fortunate that the military actually placed me in a position where I would do the most good: a strategic planner attached to MNF-I. I did not have the benefit of having formal schooling in joint planning before going over but learning on the job has its own advantages.

The Plans staff visualized and wrote strategic level direction for both MNF-I and Multi-National Corps-Iraq (MNC-I). While the Iraq campaign was run at the strategic level by General David Petraeus (MNF-I), it was fought on the operational and tactical level by MNC-I and its subordinate Multi-National Divisions (MNDs). For the majority of my time in Iraq, MNF-I was commanded by General Petraeus and MNC-I by Lieutenant General Lloyd Austin. (When I arrived, MNC-I was commanded by then Lieutenant General Raymond Odierno who later came back to head MNF-I after General Petraeus was nominated to head US Central Command (USCENTCOM). Odierno was replaced early in my tour by Austin.)

To be sure, there were some operational challenges dealing with a command structure that had so many general officers assigned to it. For example, the head MNF-I’s individual directorates (intelligence, operations, plans, sustainment, etc) were either one or two star generals or admirals. Their deputies were always coalition nation one star brigadiers (from either the UK or Australia). MNC-I’s directorates were headed usually by army colonels.

It became a self fulfilling reality that all Army echelons complain about their higher headquarters. For example, the guys assigned to MNDs complained about the guys at MNC-I who complained about the guys at MNF-I who complained about USCENTCOM. I got to spend time (and planning) with representatives from all groups. Once we were in the same room and working together, things always seemed to work out (personability and an open mind went a long way).

As a planner I worked most of the time with representatives from other MNF-I directorates, mostly operations and information operations. Serving on a cross-directorate team was enjoyable and really served to broaden my outlook and understanding of the campaign.

During my year, I put to work nearly the sum total of my undergraduate and postgraduate education in political science, international relations, my military training and experience, and all that I knew of strategic and operational planning. I left feeling that yes, I had made some measure of difference.

Most important: I learned that people matter a lot. Intrinsically, I knew this but it was made evident again and again while I was in Iraq. I wrote earlier that the people I served with made the biggest difference in my experience in Iraq. Without doubt, they were the finest military officers I have ever worked with. And while there was constant rotation, every person that left was replaced by someone of equal or better character and ability. No one could ask for anything better, especially in a combat environment.

When it was my time to leave, inspired by that aged army captain back at Fort Jackson, I recited from Shakespeare's Julius Caesar:

Farewell! And whether we shall meet again, I know not.
Therefore, our everlasting farewell take:
For ever, and for ever, farewell!
If we do meet again, then we shall smile;
If not, ‘tis true this parting was well made.

Maybe you learned something too.

Raising Jack

2008-10-29T17:38:00.001-07:00

Now that I'm back be sure to check out my new blog, "Raising JD," which documents my transition back to being a dad.

Republican Palace

2008-10-28T09:48:00.000-07:00

The new U.S. Embassy Complex (NEC) in Baghdad is complete and operational. As part of the transition, the U.S. will give the Republican Palace, formally known as the U.S. Embassy Annex, back to the Government of Iraq along with much of the International Zone. Since 2003, the palace was home to both Department of State and Multi-National Force-Iraq (MNF-I) personnel.

One would think this would be big news but so far only two English newspapers (1, 2) seem to be carrying the story.

During my deployment, I worked in the palace every day along side roughly a thousand other people. As I write this, my old office mates have moved out of the International Zone and over to the sprawling Victory Base Complex near Baghdad Inernational Airport (BIAP). Personally, I'm glad I missed the move. The palace was a great place to work and live near.

A final post...

2008-10-26T14:45:00.000-07:00

...is coming. I hope to Pull It All Together for you. It's still in draft form. I'll get there eventually. Check back.

Adjusting

2008-10-26T14:26:00.000-07:00

Remember when I laughed off all those "transition assistance" briefs back at WTP? Well, they were right; adjusting to life at home is, well, not as easy as I thought it would be.

For one thing, I can't concentrate on just one thing. This is to be expected in a household with an energetic nearly-three-year-old. I realize that, while deployed to Baghdad, I had the luxury of concentrating on whatever it was that I was working on. Completely. Meals came at regularly scheduled times and I didn't have to think about what I would be eating next (well, we did ruminate on what might be on the menu and whether or not it would actually taste different).

The other thing is I keep losing everything. My lilliputian trailer made it easy to keep track of things. My two-story residence is a warehouse in comparison. All the "stuff" I kept in my pockets day to day has disappeared (digital camera, pocket knife, Fisher Space Pen, etc.). Worse still, my attractive wife in her zeal to keep things organized keeps putting things away for me. I put something down, it disappears to a place only She knows where. "Where is X?" I ask her. "In the place it's supposed to be," she answers cryptically.

On the plus side, it is wonderful to be with my family and my son seems to have fully accepted me as part of the household. In fact, it's like I never left. I take him to a nearby park nearly every day and he seems pretty happy. Also, I forgot what sleeping on a quality bed was like. Yesterday and today, I actually slept in so I think the worst of the jet lag is over.

It Ends ... at the NOSC

2008-10-21T07:36:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I went back to Naval Operational Support Center (NOSC) Alameda, CA, my home reserve center, to finish up some final administrative tasks. Like NMPS, demobing was significantly easier than mobilizing. I turned in copies of my orders, leave slip (I get thirty days of it!), a travel claim, and my DD-214. I got a brief medical review and advice on several veterans-related assistance resources.

It's not really totally over (nothing with the Navy ever is); I have to come back on 1 Nov for a reserve medical physical. Despite having been on active duty for the last year, and having undergone a battery of physicals and screenings, I am techincally delinquent on reserve medical examinations. Rich.

Dead Guy Quotes

2008-10-20T21:27:00.000-07:00

If you find yourself alone, riding in green fields with the sun on your face, do not be troubled: for you are in Elysium, and you're already dead!

Brothers, what we do in life echoes in eternity.

-- Maximus Decimus Meridius, Commanding General, Fourth Roman Legion (Legio IV Flavia Felix), Germania, 180 AD

MVP

2008-10-20T21:04:00.000-07:00

Woo hoo! My rad friend (and fellow blogger) CKD rated me an MVP on her very well-written and witty blog. I read it regularly while deployed to remind me of friends left behind and generally keep my sanity. Thanks for the shout out, CKD!

It bears mentioning that when my attractive wife (then girlfriend) met CKD at Toronado, a bar in the lower Haight that specializes in Belgian beer, they remarked how they liked each other's tops. In a move that still impresses me, they exchanged tops right there in the bar. Booyah! Yeah, that's how the women in my life roll.

You know, any halfway decent girl can rob me -- blind -- because I'm too torqued up to say no.

Service Flag

2008-10-19T13:23:00.000-07:00

While away, I sent my parents and my attractive wife service flags to signify I was overseas. Displaying such flags to signify a family member is overseas serving with the military dates back to both World War I and II. Shortly after I got home two days ago, my parents sent me this picture of my father ceremonially taking down the service flag they had displayed outside their house.

Three is a Magic Number

2008-10-18T16:22:00.000-07:00

17 Oct 08, 1807 PDT. Back with my family.

NMPS - Day 2

2008-10-17T14:53:00.001-07:00

Day two consisted of a final administrative push to complete my DD-214, the form which documents my military service and secures veteran's benefits. It involves a thorough review of my existing record and a description of what I did over the past year. During the process, several drafts are produced which I was required to edit and correct. By lunch time, I was done the travel desk procured a flight back to my home in northern California.

After signing the final papers, I went back to the BOQ, checked out, drove my rental car back to the airport and camped out in the waiting area. Unfortunately, no earlier flights were available. Sitting here in the passenger terminal, still in my desert uniform, I am overwhelmed by the site of normal people. I guess the transition will take some time getting used to.

In a few hours I will get to see my attractive wife and handsome son.

NMPS - Day 1

2008-10-16T21:00:00.000-07:00

Rather than spend the night in Baltimore, I was able to correct SATO ineptness and secure a flight all the way to San Diego via a stop in Salt Lake City. It didn't help that I was freely hallucinating from jet lag but I wanted to see if I could get to San Diego for demob processing sooner than later.

I arrived in San Diego around 2100 on 15 Oct after a trip of some thirty hours. I checked into the BOQ at 32nd Street Navy Base and had no trouble falling asleep.

The next day, I reported to the Navy Mobilization Processing Site (NMPS), the same building I went to last year to start my mobilization journey. As I walked to the building I saw an enormous line of people in varying types of Navy uniforms (officers in Khaki, aviators in flight suits, enlisted sporting the new khaki and black uniforms) all waiting to get mobilized. Poor bastards. I tried not have an overt smirk on my face as I walked by in my well worn Desert Camoflauge Uniforms. I got a few appraising glances as I walked by -- a senior officer returning from overseas. Yeah, been there, got the tee shirt.

Fortunately, the demobilization process didn't have so many people. I saw a Navy chief petty officer I knew who had gone over with me, plus two other petty officers I recognized from the rotator flight from Kuwait.

On this first day, we filled out forms, and ran a gamut of medical and dental processing. Blood was drawn for our annual HIV test, vital signs taken, a dentist looked at my teeth. At the end of the day, we had a legal brief. It was better than average progress and I was glad for it; I wanted to finish by tomorrow to avoid having to spend the weekend here doing nothing.

That night, I had dinner with my Navy friend Dave who I served with in a helicopter squadron years ago. He and the squadron had gone to Iraq on several detachments at the beginning of the war but I was unable to join them at that time. It was good to see him. We had an excellent Italian dinner where I spoke broken Arabic with the head waiter who was Palestinian. I enjoyed my first glass of Chianti since last May. It was good although it made me sleepy.

Baltimore, MD

2008-10-16T09:44:00.000-07:00

We deplaned and went through another round of US customs. Most people went through just fine. The custom officer I went to looked at his computer screen for a long time after I presented my military ID card. Without looking at me, he said, "Do you have any other surnames?" "No," I answered. Still looking at his screen he asked, "Are you a citizen of the U.S.?"

A number of potentially smart ass remarks went through my head like, "I'm a commissioned officer in the U.S. Navy and am in uniform just arrived from Iraq, dumb ass. Of course I am."

Instead, I took a deep breath and said, "Yes." He let me through. Thanks, oh so much, Customs' finest.

Any frustration I felt quickly evaporated as I left customs and entered the terminal. There, like in Maine on the outbound flight, and Dallas, on my return to the US for leave, a group of well-wishers, including children, adults, veterans and some Navy personnel in dress blue uniforms, were gathered and cheered our return. I shook a lot hands and high-fived some kids.

As I made my way through the line, I came to two elderly veterans in wheel chairs, wearing world war two baseball hats. I saluted each and shook their hands. "Welcome back, commander," one of them said. He must have served in the Navy. I fought back tears. "Thank you, sir," I said. "It's good be back in the U.S."

CONUS

2008-10-16T08:00:00.000-07:00

Wheels down, Baltimore, Maryland: 1351:29 Eastern Daylight Time, 15 October 2008 to the sound of applause throughout the aircraft.

Ramstein, Germany

2008-10-15T09:17:00.000-07:00

We landed for fuel in Ramstein, Germany some seven hours after taking off from Kuwait. The Air Force passenger terminal was a thing of beauty, multiple stories, massive glass windows viewing the tarmac. Free wireless Internet that actually worked. At the USO, I got a free cup of coffee and some German cookies.

The Air Force knows how to live.

WTP - Day 3

2008-10-14T01:59:00.008-07:00

We boarded buses in the late afternoon on 14 Oct to go through the painful customs procedure. I went through this previously when I went on R&R leave last May. It was about the same level of pain this time too.

We went through the customs inspection process twice; first for our checked bags and then again for our carry ons. It was relatively smooth but took a long time (roughly three hours). After it was over, we were bused over to the DFAC for one last meal. Then back to the customs area for a brief wait.

At around 2100 we boarded a new set of buses and made the hour plus drive to Kuwait City International. We stayed on the military side of the airport and stayed briefly in a transient military passenger terminal. Around 0100 on the 15th we walked in single file along the tarmac and boarded a chartered Boeing 767 for the flight to Baltimore.

We are finally getting out of here.

I Hate SATO

2008-10-14T01:03:00.004-07:00

So we were supposed to get our commercial airline itineraries yesterday at 1600. We dutifully showed up at the WTP building only to be told, "come back in an hour" as SATO -- the US Government Travel Agency -- was still working on them.

We showed up at 1700. There are significant "issues" with our itineraries we were told; the few that had been turned in were largely incorrect. Oh, and the SATO office is now closed for the day. WTF? About the only thing I did find out was that I was on the scheduled for the chartered flight that would fly from Kuwait to Baltimore. Some people were told they didn't make that and instead would be issued commercial air tickets to their ultimate destinations.

We checked back again at 1830 and were told someone at SATO promised all itineraries would be ready first thing in the morning. So we checked back this morning. Only ten out of roughly fifty were ready.

Somewhere, someone screwed up; those of in Iraq I know put in our travel requests between forty-five to fifty days ago. Why are our itineraries being worked on at the last minute when surely there will be a paucity of available seats on desired commercial flights leaving Baltimore? As a result of this oversight, it's very likely many of us will be stuck in Baltimore waiting for flights that leave next day.

For frak's sake. This is how redeploying service members are treated? No wonder they had us turn in our weapons on day one.

WTP - Day 2

2008-10-14T00:40:00.006-07:00

The only major event for today was a three-hour seminar designed for us to talk about our collective experience during deployment. The session was led by a Navy chaplain. He was a amiable enough guy but one whose deployment assignment was to Kuwait so I felt that he was at a disadvantage talking to us about serving in a combat zone when he had not. He plodded through the PowerPoint slides and encouraged us to talk about our expectations and the reality we actually faced. I smiled and looked at my watch ... three ... two ... one: Initiate bitch session.

A female lieutenant wearing Naval Academy shorts was the first one to mention that the duties she performed in Afghanistan had nothing to do with 1) her Navy specialty and 2) the five months of specialty training she received before going over. This equivalent sentiment was echoed by more than 70% of the group. Yes, we were not technically "re-missioned" (i.e., tasked to do something completely out of our lane) but our collective experience sure pushed the boundaries. About the only persons who actually performed their expertise were Explosive Ordnance Disposal (EOD) guys.

Everyone blamed the unwieldy, faceless Joint Manning Document (JMD) which stipulates which jobs exist, and which services are responsible for filling them, for both Iraq and Afghanistan. The JMD review cycle spans well over a year -- someone mentioned eighteen months -- which is one a half one-year tours for Individual Augmentees. The result? We are placing people in jobs that, in many cases, have been overtaken by events (OBE). All our kvetching echoed the same sentiment: "fix the frakin' JMD." Yeah, I'm sure the Pentagon and Joint Staff will get right on that.

Rather than being cathartic, the session just pissed me off. I thought I was here to decompress? The poor chaplain leading our session wasn't prepared to facilitate this type of discussion. I felt sorry for him but he soldiered on until we finished. I thanked him after it ended nonetheless. After all, he was doing the job he was sent here to do.

Happy Birthday

2008-10-13T03:06:00.004-07:00

Happy 233rd birthday to the United States Navy!

The flag shown here is the US Navy's Jack, traditionally flown at the bow of a warship while in port. It's based on a design of flag made popular before the War for Independence. The rattlesnake, found only in the colonies and not England, became a iconic symbol for the burgeoning independence movement.

Shortly after 9/11, the Navy readopted this design as the Navy's Jack to be flown during the War on Terrorism (the previous Navy Jack was a blue flag with fifty stars). Below is a picture of the Jack flying just outside the WTP building.

WTP - Day 1

2008-10-13T02:56:00.004-07:00

We awoke early on 12 Oct to catch bus transportation from Gateway to Camp Arifjan, about a two hour’s drive away. We separated our issue-gear from our personal gear, loading the former onto a convoy of four buses and latter onto a cargo truck. The ride was uneventful; I slept for most of it.

We arrived just before lunch and were welcomed by the members of the Navy Warrior Transition Program (WTP). After unloading our gear outside, we walked into a large hangar building to the sound of applause from the WTP staff. We lined up in front of tables with our issue-gear and body armor to turn it all in. While waiting in line, I had to break down my body armor into its individual parts: front, back, and side ceramic impact plates, side carrier pockets, shoulder protection, groin protector, neck protector, etc. I remembered assembling all of this a year ago back at Fort Jackson and how long it took. It was remarkably easy to take apart. The armor had been such a constant part of my life over the past year, lugging and wearing it as I had to, it was a little odd (maybe even disrespectful?) to disassemble it so quickly.

My turn came up and I placed the body armor parts on the table to watch them be checked off and disappear into storage bins. Next, I emptied two sea bags worth of other issue gear and similarly watched it be checked off and placed into bins: chemical suit (still in its bag), gas mask, entrenching tool, two canteens, pistol belt and holster, ruck sack, foul weather jacket, gortex outerwear, etc.

Next, I went over to the opposite side of the hangar to turn in my pistol. I disassembled it, cleaned it, and turned it in along with four magazines. It was inspected and placed in a box.

For the final stage, I took a post deployment health assessment survey on a laptop. Did I have any pressing health concerns? Yeah, how about inhaling a metric ton of dust while I was here?

When finished with all of this, my battle buddy, Paul (a Navy commander who went through Fort Jackson with me last year) and I raced to lunch at the DFAC before it ended at 1330. We talked over lunch and both agreed it felt odd to be free of all that gear.

A few hours later, we returned to the hangar to receive an admin brief. We were greeted by a female Navy captain who heads WTP. She congratulated us on successfully completing our Individual Augmentee assignments. She told us we were now part of an elite minority in the Navy: only 3% of the total Navy (reserve and active components) had performed the job we had. We should be proud.

She also said that over the next two days, we should be selfish. We would need to make time for ourselves because, she reminded us, there would be demands on our time the moment we returned to our families.

After working a year’s worth of 14-16 hour days six and a half days a week, I find it actually challenging to do nothing. Wasn’t there a meeting I had to go to? Some urgent email to answer? Some planning project that wasn’t finished? A brief to prepare?

I guess it really is finished. Maybe I should take a nap?

Dead Guy Quotes

2008-10-13T02:50:00.001-07:00

It will be a hard life
One without reward
Without remorse
Without regret

A path will be placed before you
The choice is yours alone
Do what you think
You cannot do

It will be a hard life
But you will find out
Who you are

-- Qui-Gon Jin

Dragon

2008-10-11T07:37:00.008-07:00

I thought a lot about whether to post this because it's very private. But what the hell, you've read this far, haven't you?

I missed my family terribly during the last year. I missed Thanksgiving, my son's second birthday, Christmas, my attractive wife's birthday, and our fifth wedding anniversary...the list goes on.

When I missed my son particularly, I watched this video on my iPod in an attempt to cheer me up (originally downloaded from YouTube)

I think it's one of the most creative, thoughtful, and brilliant commercials I've ever seen.

In my own personal journey, the dragons took the form of artillery rockets which were fired at the International Zone with special intensity last spring.

Joaquin, I won't be able to bring you a toy rocket but I'll bring the next best thing: me -- intact.

Truckin'

2008-10-11T07:06:00.009-07:00

Sometimes the light's all shining on me

Other times I can barely see

Lately it appears to me

What a long, long strange trip it's been...

Truckin' (The Grateful Dead)
(The cover by Dwight Yoakam is particularly good)

Dust Devil

2008-10-11T06:25:00.002-07:00

Day two of decompression at Gateway. I slept through breakfast courtesy of ear plugs and eyeshades. I think I slept for over ten hours. I grabbed coffee and a doughnut at the local Green Beans and the retired to the MWR Tent to watch TV but really play on the laptop. There is a reasonably priced wireless Internet service which I am using to post blog entries and do email on.

As I walked back to the tent, looked up and saw the tallest dust devil I have ever seen. It was easily 200-300 feet tall.

My God, it's full of stars

2008-10-11T06:15:00.003-07:00

Back at Camp Victory, the night we left for BIAP, we had to stop at the Perfume Palace to pick up a driver who would return the borrowed truck after dropping us off at the passenger terminal. Joe rushed inside and I took to repacking our gear so someone could fit in the back seat. That only took a few minutes. When I finished, I noticed how dark it was. The palace sits astride one of several man-made lakes. The lake in this case is completely walled in and devoid of light towers. It was really dark. I looked up and saw stars, the kind you see only in, well, really dark skies. Above me, spanning many degrees of arc, was magnificent Orion. I hadn’t so much seen a constellation in Baghdad. I hadn’t seen this one, well, before leaving the US. And here he was, familiar from my youth, looking down on me. Perhaps a harbinger, pointing the way home.
Using a trick I learned as a child, I looked just askance at the three faint stars that make up his sword. While not directly looking at it, I could just make out the middle star, which really isn’t a star at all but spectacular nebula, the Orion Nebula, a cloud that would span the distance of many of our own solar systems, a giant stellar nursery where stars are being born.

As I continued looking around the sky I saw Canis Major, Orion’s faithful dog following just behind and to the left of Orion, the tight star cluster of the Pleiades, which are so young, the dinosaurs didn’t see them, and the familiar W shape of Cassiopeia. All familiar from my childhood, all now visible on my last night in Baghdad. Directly overhead, I noticed two brightly flashing strobes, not stars, but manmade anti-collision lights. A moment of confusion because there was no sound of an aircraft engine. As I looked more closely, I saw the dark outlines of a tethered aerostat floating silently above me like some bespoke German dirigible.

In addition to the dark, it was also preternaturally quiet. No helicopters, jets, or Prowler UAVs overhead. No whine of diesel engines from HUMVEEs or tracked vehicles. Just quiet and dark. Maybe even peaceful.

Presently, my revelry was interrupted by voices drawing near attached to two moving shadows: Joe and our driver. Time to go. See you soon, I whispered to the stars.

Gateway Again

2008-10-10T07:21:00.008-07:00

We landed around 0800 at Ali as Selem Air Base in Kuwait. This was my third time here and by now the mechanics were familiar: we boarded waiting buses for a fifteen minute drive to US Army Central Gateway Operations (Gateway bears a disturbing resemblance to Mos Eisley Space Port from Star Wars minus the cantina, of course). We offloaded from the buses and scanned our ID cards at the inbound operations tent, recording our arrival. We checked in with the Kuwait Navy LNO’s office where a representative told us we were to arrange for a temporary tent, store our gear and hang tight for a two day wait before proceeding to Camp Arifjan for Warrior Transition Program. The down time is designed as part of the demobilization/redeployment process to “decompress.”

Miraculously, all my bags arrived on the luggage pallet which we broke down. I was assigned senior officer’s tent quarters along with several others in my group. We even were offered the services of a camp Gator vehicle, a type of ATV, to haul our heavy sea bags and suitcases to our tents. (Presumably, once one gets away from the high concentrations of general/flag officers and colonels in Baghdad, field grade rank actually begins to matter again.)

I checked out some linen, made by bed and promptly fell asleep. Yeah, decompression.

Leaving Camp Victory

2008-10-10T05:04:00.001-07:00

When the convoy arrived at the Al Faw Palace at Camp Victory, I was met by my Navy colleague, Joe, a lieutenant, junior grade. It was Joe’s last day in the office and he would be redeploying with me. We drove over to a different palace he worked in, the so-called “Perfume Palace,” the site of a former brothel run by Saddam’s sons, Uday and Qusay. We checked in with the Navy element by phone to confirm our show-time for tomorrow’s flight: 1030. Too easy.

We left the palace to grab dinner at their DFAC and then I went back to the trailer he shared with several other people, most of whom already had deployed. I took a sinfully long hot shower in the nearby shower trailer and then watched an episode of Battlestar Galactica. Cut free from the IZ, I all of sudden felt immensely tired. I was thinking of actually going to sleep when Joe came back to the trailer and said, “I have bad news.”

Not hearing him correctly, I said, “Tell me the good news first.” He looked at me quizzically. He explained that, while at a final meeting, the Navy element tried to reach him by phone that our flight had changed or may have been cancelled altogether. The spottily written message handed to him by a co-worker who had since departed the office suggested our new show-time was now 0215, roughly in five hours time. I got dressed and we walked back to his desk at the Perfume Palace where we tried to call the Navy element. No one was available and no one picked up there published cell phone. We called the BIAP passenger terminal who confirmed there was a show time for a flight to Ali as Salem at that time but that we would need to know the Unit Line Number (ULN) in order to get on the flight. Of course we didn’t have that and it wasn’t specified on the written message.

We decided to drive over to BIAP to talk to them in person. Normally, this takes around ten to fifteen minutes but, as bad luck would have it, we encountered the mother of all truck convoys driving along the exact route we needed to take to BIAP. It took the better part of forty minutes.

At the passenger terminal -- a place I knew all too well from previous inter-theater travel -- an enlisted air force terminal representative said several other navy personnel had wandered in saying they were redeploying like us and that they were to show up at 0215. One of the navy personnel said he was told a representative from the Navy element would be present to give us the ULN. Fine, we thought; let’s just show at 0215.

By now, it was nearly 2330. We hoped back in Joe’s borrowed truck and made our way back to his home in Camp Slayer. Once again, we encountered an impossibly huge, slow moving truck convoy -- part of the immense logistical effort that keeps Camp Victory running. It took us an hour and change to get back. We arrived back at Joe’s CHU at nearly 0030. We decided to try and leave as early as possible given the bad traffic karma. Joe hurriedly finished his own packing, we reloaded the truck with our bags and set off for the palace to find someone who could drive the truck back after dropping us off. We left the palace at 0130.

Predictably, we hit yet another frakin' convoy on the way back to BIAP. It took nearly forty minutes but we arrived just in time. As we finished unloading our baggage train to an area near the Navy LNO trailer, we spotted a navy lieutenant commander in the darkness with a clipboard -- the sign of knowledge and authority at the terminal. He told us our ULN and told us to check in at the terminal. We did so and everything seemed to start flowing smoothly from there. We immediately palletized our luggage and then were told to come back at 0445 for the gate call. Hurry up and wait.

I went into the Navy LNO trailer, where I previously spent the night just before taking leave last May. I found a hgh-backed chair and caught at least an hour of sleep.

We left Iraq, on time, in the pre-dawn twilight at 0630. As Luke Skywalker mused a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away, "I'm never coming back to this planet again..."

Route Irish

2008-10-09T06:53:00.000-07:00

The MRAP convoy rolled westwards to Camp Victory along Route Irish, once dubbed, “the most dangerous road in Iraq.” Not so anymore; that distinction likely belongs to some other Main Supply Route up in northern Iraq, near Mosul.

On the various occasions I had to convoy between the International Zone and Camp Victory throughout my year-long tour, I noticed a subtle transition along Route Irish. Little by little it began to look less desolate, less deserted, more lived in. No more was that echoed than on this last transit. Once bleak concrete retaining walls now were brightly painted with geo-metric and middle-eastern designs. Actual billboards dotted the route here and there for cellular telephone services. Everywhere construction gangs worked on the median, clearing the open fields that a year ago were akin to no man’s land. Overhead highway spans were being repaired, heavy construction vehicles, Iraqi civilian traffic all along the route. I even saw a man on a bicycle.

Things looked better.

Leaving the International Zone

2008-10-09T05:35:00.000-07:00

After a flurry of surprisingly frustrating packing-throwing-things-away-giving-things-away-sending-boxes-home I stood ready on 9 Oct to leave. I would take the midday Rhino convoy from the International Zone to Camp Victory. I was to be picked up by another Navy colleague who also was redeploying and who with I would spend the night with.

My co-workers were depressed and went out of their way to tell me so. I don’t know if that made me feel good or bad (a little of both). I too was a little melancholy. Looking back on photos from my early on in my deployment, none of the current crew were around. Still, they all seem amalgamated into a collective whole that I remember fondly. After a last lunch at the Palace DFAC (we ate outside) my teammates and I went to my CHU to get my bags. They consist of: two issue sea bags full of gear I will need to turn in when I get to Kuwait, a large DCU back pack (for my laptop and other miscellany) and a large rolling suitcase.

We walked the bags over to the North Ballroom of the Palace and waited around for the Rhino show-time in the early afternoon. I did some last minute emails and phone calls related to my current planning project. I looked at my watch and announced, “well, it’s about that time, gents.” We started gathering my bags. To my surprise, the army colonel who runs our Plans shop shouldered the heaviest sea bag. I said, “Sir, you don’t need to carry that,” but he said, “you carried our burden, now we’ll carry yours.”

As I made my way to the office door, my teammate, Al said in a booming voice heard throughout the ballroom, “Call it out! Commander, U.S. Navy, de-par-ting!” which is the custom when a senior officer leaves a ship in port.

As a group we walked the short distance from the north end of the Palace to the Rhino staging area. When we arrived everyone stood around chatting and laughing waiting for the Rhino convoy. We took one last picture as the convoy arrived and I shook everyone’s hand and saluted all.

Very bittersweet. From within armored confines of a new MRAP, we drove away.

On the road ...

2008-10-09T02:56:00.004-07:00

Leaving the IZ today. More posts to come when I find Internet connectivity in Kuwait.

The Last Week

2008-10-05T06:17:00.002-07:00

Suddenly, I find myself in my last week in Iraq. It snuck up on my in way I didn’t think it would. After all, I’ve been looking forward to the end of my tour – everyone does. But to be actually faced with its impending completion leaves me feeling, well, strange.

I had my outcall a few days ago with the Army colonel who runs my shop. He asked me how I felt and I told him I was surprised I didn’t feel like I thought I would. In fact, I had mixed feelings. Not about what I have done or accomplished but with the simple act of leaving behind the people I’ve worked so closely with over the past year. As I look around my office, I am the senior guy; that is, I can remember the day everyone walked into the office. I can remember the guy each of them replaced when they arrived. I explained to him that the biggest surprise was that each of the people who walked through the door was as good or better than the person we said good bye to. How was that possible? How long could that keep up? And yet it did for the entire year I was here.

Years ago, I served in a Navy tactical helicopter squadron. It was a great assignment and when I finished I thought I would never experience that kind of camaraderie again. I was wrong. The people who end here consistently are excellent and enjoyable to work with. Maybe it’s the fact we are in a war zone and were occasionally shot at. Maybe it’s the subject matter. The prospect of rebuilding a country and government from scratch is daunting but we were surrounded by smart people who generated a sort of collective wisdom that informed our actions, our planning.

Last Friday, it was my turn to stand up, receive my end of tour award, and give a brief speech. It echoed what I wrote above: it was always about the people, in Navy parlance, my shipmates, which made the experience worthwhile, satisfying. I won’t miss many aspects of Baghdad but I will miss the people I served with: Americans, Brits, Aussies, civilians from the Department of State, Treasury, Justice, civilian translators, the local Iraqis who work in the International Zone, and all the Third Country Nationals who keep everything running.

Today was my last Sunday mass at the Embassy Chapel, located in a large trailer outside the palace. At the end of mass, the priest always asks if anyone is leaving the coming week and invites them forward to receive a blessing. There were quite a few of us this week and it was with that same feeling of now it’s my turn that walked up to receive a blessing in the name of Saint Christopher, the patron saint of travelers.

Finally, another milestone: it was one year ago today that I reported for active duty at NOSC Alameda. A whole damn year.

I’ve only got a few more days left in Iraq. I better get packing. There’s a lot more ground to cover, and many miles to go, before I sleep at home.

The Heat

2008-09-30T12:08:00.004-07:00

The iron grip of the Iraqi summer finally seems to have broken. Looking back, it was the day of that dreadful sand storm, the worst I experienced while in Iraq, that was the turning point. After that day, the daily highs dropped and hovered just above 100F. It was a palpable difference from the seemingly endless 120F days of high summer. Slowly, there were other signs: early morning and late evening weren't oppressively hot, the cold water tap wasn't hot anymore, I had to actually start using the hot water while taking a shower.

Last Sunday, when I returned from my TDY to Qatar, walking around BIAP and Camp Victory wasn't that uncomfortable, even while wearing body armor and lugging around my assault pack. I later found out the high for that day was actually below 100F.

This week, the highs have been been all below 100F. It's the first time we've enjoyed double-digit temperatures since spring, it seems. It feels wonderful. We've taken to eating lunch and dinner outside now and marvel in the simple pleasure of not sweating.

Caught Sleeping

2008-09-29T13:42:00.002-07:00

This is one of my favorite photos from my tour. I didn't take it, nor was I there when it was took but it's two of my coworkers. The guy on the left the gal on the right's team chief.

Has Been

2008-09-26T09:33:00.002-07:00

My friend, Mark W. sent me a hard drive full of music early in my tour (strictly a backup of selections of his music collection to be stored with me in case of a catastrophic earthquake in California, you understand). It's larger than the hard drive on my laptop and way more than my iPod could ever store so I've been perusing it for new music.

Just before leaving on this trip, I loaded William Shatner's 2004 album, "Has Been." Everyone knows about his kitschy spoken word album from the 1970s, "The Transformed Man," which has such hits as "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds" and "Tambourine Man."

"Has Been" was produced by Ben Folds who I believe wrote a majority of the songs. There are guest appearances from Aimee Mann, Lemon Jelly, and even Henry Rollins. I am here to tell you it is sheer, unadulterated genius. I love it.

The title track's music is set to a spaghetti western soundtrack riff, complete with mariachi-style trumpets and percussion that sounds like a horse's hoofs. Shatner's narration confronts three strangers who he thinks he heard call him a has been:

You talkin’ to me?
You talkin’ to me?
You callin’ me ... ‘Has Been’?

I've heard of you, the ready-made connecting with the ever ready
Yeah, 'Never Was' talkin’ about 'Still Trying'
I got it, 'Forever Bitter' gossiping about 'Never Say Die'

What are you afraid of? Failure? So am I
Has been implies failure, not so
Has been’s history
Has been ... was
Has been ... might again

I ended up listening to most of the album while making my daily walk between the billeting building and the conference building. Great stuff.

So Say We All

2008-09-25T10:26:00.000-07:00

Present at the conference are a group of people I first met last March on my first visit (and TDY) here. Among them is my friend Francis, one of the smartest army officers I have met. Period. He is assigned to Afghanistan. This would be the last time, for the foreseeable future, to see each other given the impending end of tour in October.

Francis writes an occasional newsletter/missive, distributed exclusively via email, called “The Litany” which is bitingly funny if you 1) are in the military, and 2) know anything anything about military planning. Having only been a planner for the past year some of the dialog transcends my poor understanding but, given Francis’ excellent writing style, the gist is always clear.

Many of his colleagues have told him to turn it into a book. Already at twelve chapters, The Litany is well over one hundred single-spaced pages long. Reading it has taught me a bit about what is means to be a planner, what to avoid, how to compensate for bureaucratic inefficiencies, how to look at operations, how a well-written order should look, and how to stay sane. He usually ends each chapter with the phrase, "So say we all," which is homage to Battlestar Galactica. He also is a fellow blogger.

Thanks, brother. Stay safe.

As Sayliyah Again

2008-09-23T13:20:00.001-07:00

So I’m back at Camp As Sayliyah. It’s much cooler (only between 100F-110F) and less humid than the last time I was here in August. Everything here -- the surroundings, the enlisted kids on four day passes, the Toyota mini-buses driven by Third Country Nationals -- is same as before. The familiarity is strangely comforting. I’m here with three other people from MNF-I, two of whom I met along the trip down here.

This time the trip wasn’t bad; it just happened to run overnight which made it extremely inconvenient. We left Baghdad at at 0030 on 22 September on a C-130 with not too many passengers and flew to the western airfield of Al Asad where we dropped off some passengers and then proceeded southeast to Al Udeid Air Base in Qatar. Because there were so few passengers, I was able to lay down on the canvass like “seats” on the plane and actually fell asleep. I woke up some time later freezing my ass off as the cumulative effect of the plane’s air conditioning and altitude combined to make the cabin quite chilly. Lacking a blanket, I grabbed my body armor and laid it over me in a sort of ersatz, thirty pound blanket. I was able to get back to sleep. As I dozed off, I remembered my friend Lance’s Five Rules of Airlift:

Eat when you can
Sleep when you can
Piss when you can
Crap when you can
And always, always, always, bring a jacket

I had heeded the first four rules but failed utterly on the last one since I had wanted to travel light. Lesson learned.

We arrived at Al Udeid Air Base around 0430 on 22 Sep. By the time we met our ride and got to Camp As Sayliyah it was 0530. I grabbed an hour’s worth of sleep in my assigned shipping container, went to breakfast, and then rolled into the conference where I had to give one of the opening briefs. Fortunately, I remained coherent and the brief was well received.

The Last TDY

2008-09-20T11:42:00.003-07:00

So I'm headed out on one last TDY to Qatar. I'll be out of pocket for the next day or so on travel. Expect another whiny post about why traveling in theater sucks so bad. Despite the advent of bad travel, it will be good to see the people on this trip; I've worked with them remotely since last January. A good bunch they are. I'll miss them when the tour ends here in less than thirty days.

Dust...again

2008-09-15T12:46:00.002-07:00

The dust is back with a vengeance. Up until today, it had been enough just to blot out the blue sky. This afternoon, I went to my trailer to get some cold medicine at around 1700. By 1730 it looked like this:

.

It’s the darkest, reddest, strangest day I’ve seen here yet. Back in April, we would have called this rocket weather since the insurgents preferred to launch rockets in bad weather to reduce their vulnerability to air attack. Thankfully, the security gains since then have held. Today was dark, and even a bit spooky, but not dangerous.

Big Boy

2008-09-15T11:15:00.006-07:00

I thought about what to write to accompany this photo which first was sent around via email last May. Consider it a study in contrast.

Ka-Boom

2008-09-14T13:09:00.003-07:00

Hey, Mister Explosive Ordnance Disposal guy, if you must conduct controlled detonations on Sundays, which is the only day I get to sleep in, how about waiting until the late afternoon when everyone in the International Zone is actually awake and not at 0800 so that the resulting boom and shock wave doesn't shake my trailer to its foundation, scare the crap out of me, and has rolling off my bed and muttering the words, "Oh, for Fuck's sake!"?

Thanks.

9/11

2008-09-11T13:06:00.002-07:00

For the seventh anniversary of the 9/11 attacks, our shop decided to conduct a flag raising ceremony in front of the embassy. Each of us purchased a few American flags from the post exchange store which we planned to raise and lower and then give out as gifts back home. We quickly tallied over fifty flags. We organized ourselves under the guidance of a Marine Corps captain, who had served at a few other US embassies. We walked out to the front of the embassy and stacked the flags, in their cardboard boxes, one one side of the main flag pole.

I was asked to say a few words to begin the ceremony. Not having had time to prepare, I improvised and said we were all here today to honor those who perished in the attacks and ensure that their sacrifice would be remembered. I mentioned the three locations, New York, Washington, DC and Somerset County, PA. I identified the brave choice the passengers of United Airlines Flight 93 made, who chose to fight the hijackers. Because of their sacrifice, the target of that plane, US Capitol or the White House, still stands today. I then gave he command to the Marine captain to begin. It was 1545 Baghdad time, seven years to the day and time from when the American Airlines Flight 11 crashed into the north tower of the World Trade Center.

A flag detail consisting of an officer from each service and led by the Marine captain, ceremonially lowered the embassy’s flag. A separate group from our shop folded it and handed it to an Army major who stood holding it. A separate group, to which I belonged, took the flags out of their cardboard boxes and handed them to the flag detail who raised and lowered each flag.

Except for the commands, issued by the Marine captain, “Raise the colors!” and “Retrieve the colors!” the entire ceremony was performed in complete silence, something we had not rehearsed but, given the solemnity of the event, became at once appropriate. Those not involved in flag handling or folding ritually came to attention and saluted as each flag was raised and lowered.

The emotion everyone felt was unexpected. Military personnel coming and going paused, came to attention, and saluted. Department of State personnel paused, put their hands on their hearts. A British brigadier general, who had been dropped off by his detail at the front of the embassy, stood and saluted over the course of four flags raised and lowered. Others, who had wanted to raise their own flags, sheepishly came up to us and asked if we would raise their flags too. Our original fifty flags swelled to over eighty. The ceremony lasted well over an hour and a half. After the last flag had been lowered, I gave he command to raise the embassy's flag and then lower it to half mast.

In an unexpected way, it was a defining moment of my tour here.

Chicken Dance Redux

2008-09-10T12:34:00.007-07:00

Back in November, I first wrote about the Chicken Dance which occurs every night in the North Ballroom of the Republican Palace/Embassy Annex at 2100. It's a sort of coda on the day's work where people throw things, indirectly, at each other for four minutes to the accompaniment of the "Chicken Dance" song.

My office section is infamous for the use of a crew-served weapon, a rubber sling, which can send objects hurtling at great speed across the ballroom. We have been counseled, on more than on occasion for its use. When this happens we lay low for a week and then bust it out. For a while, we were launching tennis balls which are just dense enough to make maximum use of the sling. We often aim for a balcony on the second floor that over looks the ballroom. The occupants of that office space have long since stopped complaining about the various objects that get thrown up there. As they say in real estate: it's all about location.

Being here now for eleven months, I've seen a lot of good and bad Chicken Dances. It's good when there is wide scale participation; lame when only a few people join in. Very recently, a co-worker handed me this photo of yours truly operating the sling last June. As I recall, it was a good Chicken Dance.

Relativity

2008-09-10T09:57:00.003-07:00

A strange weather pattern blew through central Iraq over the last two days which abruptly dropped the temperature from 120F to about 100F. It’s strange to say, but 100F feels absolutely cool. Walking to and from work in the morning and late evening it dips into the low 80sF. It feels absolutely pleasant and foreign given the last, oh, 100+ days of searing heat. Who would have thought not sweating was so nice?

There are other, subtle signs time is moving forward, that the Iraqi summer’s iron vice is slowly easing up: the sun is no longer so high in the sky, it's getting darker earlier. Today, in the late afternoon, I took a shower after coming back from the gym and actually had to turn on a little of the hot water in my shower (there is no “cold” water in summer here).

I am in a restless mood. I have less than thirty days left in Iraq and I’m finding it hard to concentrate at work. I have finished training a co-worker to take over my projects and feel confident she will do a fine job. At this point, I want to just turnover responsibility completely but it’s hard to let go with just under a month left here.

Meanwhile, I’m looking at the detritus, books, DVDs, and toiletries collecting in my trailer and thinking about how to purge everything and start packing for the trek home. It will involve stops in Baghdad (Camp Stryker), the dreaded Passenger Terminal at Baghdad International Airport, a week in Kuwait, a stop in Germany, the east coast of the U.S., a week in San Diego, and then home by late October. Nevertheless, the psychological barrier is the start of that journey, in less than month.

I remember a year ago thinking, well, I’ll have the entire month of September to spend time with my family before I would have to leave home in October. Now, I want that same fall month to speed by so I can start the trip home.

It’s all relative.

Fobbert 02

2008-09-05T12:02:00.004-07:00

More messing around with the Comic Life application on my laptop.

What Kids Send Us, Part II

2008-08-31T09:55:00.007-07:00

Hi Mason from the Third Grade! While I have the opportunity work with some great people, I can tell you it's not that fun here.

Hi Dylan, thanks for the good wishes! (So far, so good.) I hope you enjoy Boy Scouts!

En-Mic-Pees, Part II

2008-08-31T05:03:00.003-07:00

I finally have demobilization orders. However unlike a majority of Navy reservists here, I had to actually had to argue to get them. As I originally feared, the fallout from the fact my originally designated relief, a navy lieutenant who shall remain nameless, was medically unqualified culminated in a bureaucratic SNAFU of large proportions.

When I originally got my relief’s name last June I didn’t get any kind of contact information which is very unusual. After some phone calls back to the States I found out he was assigned to Naval Operational Support Center (NOSC) Jacksonville, FL. After some more emails, I received confirmation in July that his mobilization orders had been cancelled because he was medically unqualified for mobilization. (This of course begs the question: what the hell is he still doing in the reserve component collecting a pay check every month.) I tried pinging the system, as it were, trying to raise awareness that my billet was now unfilled. Before leaving for TDY in Qatar, I got confirmation via email from the powers that be in the States were working on it.

Upon returning and finally being able to check my work email, I found notification that a volunteer had been found but that he had some civilian work commitments that precluded his getting to Iraq until 4 December. There was an email for me describing this that originated with the Navy and that had been passed and forwarded up through MNF-I’s personnel system. By the time it got to me it was phrased as a question: would I consider extending on station an extra fifty-nine days in order to minimize the gap in coverage?

To say my head exploded would be an understatement.

I took a deep breath and crafted an email saying, no, I would not consider staying here two extra months in order to accommodate another reservist’s schedule. The problem now was that I had less than sixty days left on my Boots on Ground (BOG) clock and that is the minimum number of days required to notify a reservist that they have orders.

Aside from getting killed, this sort of SNAFU is everyone’s worst fear here: that because a faceless system doesn’t work, you, the guy or gal in country, have to pay the price and extend in order to cover for some bureaucrat’s failure back in the states of not properly finding your relief.

To make a long story short, I received some top cover from our directorate’s deputy who made some phone calls and pointed out asking me to stay two months extra was the not the best solution. Eventually, the navy found another replacement for me who will arrive here 14 November, roughly a month gap from when I am supposed to leave. The colonel who runs my shop said I should leave on time and that he was willing to accept the month’s gap. Not an optimal solution for my shop but there it is.

After this was sorted out, I called NAVCENT DET Iraq, the activity here who tracks Navy billets, and explained what was going on. They finally issued me demobilization orders which, for reservists, is the Golden Ticket for getting out of here.

When I got within forty-five days of leaving, I put in the appropriate requests for scheduling my rotator flight and transition program in Kuwait. As I write this, I should be set for an on time departure from Iraq in early October. Ultimately, the journey home will include stops in Kuwait, San Diego, and Alameda but I’ll write about that as it happens.

Crossed Swords

2008-08-27T05:15:00.002-07:00

Last Sunday, my shop took a field trip of sorts to Saddam’s old military parade ground, known colloquially as the Crossed Swords Monument. Saddam constructed the monument after the end of the ruinous Iran-Iraq War (1980-1988). Ever the egoist, Saddam had a German firm sculpt two sets of titanic replicas of his own hands holding a pair of swords that arch across a large causeway. The two swords meet and form an arc under which military units used to parade under. Two sets of these arches lie at either end of the parade ground. In the middle are open air auditoriums where former regime dignitaries could watch the “battle hardened” Iraqi army pass in review. When the monument first opened, Saddam himself rode a white horse across the causeway, an allusion to Shiite martyr Hussein.

Today, the monument is in great disrepair. Portions of the bronze sheets that form Saddam’s hands have peeled away or fallen off. A hand is completely missing on one of the swords altogether. The auditoriums are in ruin, windows broken, seats missing, even the marble floor of one building pried off and taken by looters shortly after the regime’s collapse in 2003.

After visiting, we drove a short distance to the Monument of the Unknown Soldier, which is often mistakenly referred to as the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier (there are no Iraqis soldiers buried in it). It’s a very modern looking monument which resembles a large oyster shell opening. Official descriptions of the monument say the rising open air roof is supposed to evoke the fallen shield of an ancient Iraqi warrior. In the center, where the “pearl” of the oyster would be, is a large red-colored Murano glass cube surrounded by geometric metal sheet shapes. The red glass evokes the blood of Iraqi solders spilled during the Iran-Iraq War.

The monument is guarded by Iraqi army troops who grant permission. During our visit, we were escorted by a taciturn looking but accommodating Iraqi soldier (anyone would look taciturn guarding such a monument in 120F heat).

One of my co-workers, a marine lieutenant colonel who is a helicopter pilot, spoke broken Arabic with our guide. At the end of the visit, he gave the Iraqi soldier his gold pilot’s wings as a token of appreciation and respect.

Today Was a Good Day

2008-08-27T04:38:00.002-07:00

After getting back from Qatar I had a busy week and half; I briefed or otherwise met with five flag officers in one week. First, I met several times with the navy rear admiral who heads our directorate and his deputy, a British army brigadier. They suggested an update for General Petraeus so I went to work preparing a suitable brief for him. Later that week, I briefed him once again (my third time) on the project’s progress. He was in a great mood which, I suppose, stems from the fact that he soon will leave Iraq to take over Central Command (CENTCOM) which is headquartered in Tampa, Florida. He even cracked a few jokes during the brief.

The next day, I was asked to brief the same subject, modified somewhat, to the head of another staff directorate, an army major general. This brief also went well and will spark a whole new angle to the project. Then, I received a similar request from another directorate, also headed by an army major general, for a similar brief. That brief, which also went well, happened yesterday.

Mentally, I’m a bit put out. Today is only Wednesday, but it seems like it should be later. It’s not exactly the type of time shift I would like. (It’s much better, after all, when you realize it’s much later in the week than you thought.)

Still, I’m happy the project is going well. I’m already training a fellow co-worker to be my replacement on the project.

Dead Guy Quotes

2008-08-24T12:54:00.002-07:00

"Either write something worth reading or do something worth writing."

-- Benjamin Franklin

For Deb

2008-08-24T10:02:00.007-07:00

Sad news: my wife's step-sister, Deb, passed away unexpectedly. I only met her on a few occasions; I will remember her as a great person with an infectious laugh. I said the following prayer for her today at mass:

Corus Angelorum te suscepiat,
Et cum Lazaro quodam paupera,
Aeternam habeas requiem

May choirs of angels accept you,
And with Lazarus, once a pauper,
May you have eternal rest

From the Requiem Mass for the Departed (Missa Pro Defuncta)

Since Deb was Jewish:

Hinei mah tov umah na’im
shevet achim gam yachad

Behold, how good and how pleasant it is
For brethren to dwell together in unity

From Psalm 133

Hot

2008-08-19T12:43:00.001-07:00

Frak. It's. Hot.

Planes, Tractors & Automobiles

2008-08-18T12:30:00.000-07:00

Getting back to Baghdad from Qatar was hell. It was like a Fellini movie filmed in black and white where you are forcibly kept awake by a transvestite dwarf and simultaneously taunted by the Sad Clown of Life.

I travelled with my co-worker Jan, an army lieutenant colonel. We left Camp As Sayliyah, Qatar at 2000 on 16 Aug and were driven in an SUV to Al Udeid Air Base. After the usual confusion at the check in counter on whether 1) we were correctly space blocked on the flight and 2) if there was an actual flight, we boarded a C-17 around 2300. Inside was a monstrous tractor whose wheels were made from steel and were prickled with large teeth. It looked like something out of the movie, “The Road Warrior.” About fifty of us filed aboard the plane, wearing our body armor and lugging our packs and bags. We sat in the installed jump seats along the side of the fuselage. Never quite sure of the plane’s actual itinerary, we were disappointed to hear that Baghdad would be the third stop on the flight. We would fly first to the northern Iraqi city of Tallil, then Balad in the middle of the country, and finally Baghdad.

I managed to doze a bit on the first segment. After landing at Tallil at around 0200 on 17 Aug, we were herded off the plane while the monstrous tractor slowly was unloaded and new vehicles were loaded on board. We were there about two hours. In the transient passenger tent, I watched most of “The Terminator” which was on Armed Forces Network (AFN) Europe television. The most striking thing about Tallil was the weather: it was actually cool. It was the first time I had experienced cool weather outside in, oh, about a thousand years. While outside, I heard then saw the metal wheeled tractor moving slowly across the tarmac in the darkness to a storage area adjacent to the parking apron. It was moving about one mile an hour and each spoke of the metal wheels made a loud clanging sound as it clamored across the concrete. It reminded me some kind of lumbering, mechanical leviathan.

We re-boarded around 0400 and took off this time with a HUMVEE and a large trailer loaded onboard. We landed in Balad sometime before 0600 to blinding daylight, the nocturnal portion of our journey now ended. Much to our surprise, we were told by KBR ground representatives that this was the final stop of the flight. Everyone looked at each other with the now familiar look of frustration associated with flying on military air (MILAIR). No, we all said, we were supposed to fly on to Baghdad. Really? The KBR guy was flummoxed. “The manifest says you’re all supposed to get off here.” It’s been my experience that KBR and MILAIR representatives stubbornly hold to the idea that their paperwork is Never Wrong. Grumbling, we were herded off the plane and boarded buses which then took us to yet another passenger terminal. This one was very large and even featured wireless Internet, a veritable paradise – at least for those of us with laptops. The KBR folks actually were very accommodating. “We’ll figure this out,” they said. And they did. Around 0700 we re-boarded and made the final leg to Baghdad.

When we landed around 0830, I was hit with that familiar smell of burning garbage accompanied by searing heat. Ah, home. Jan and I still had to get to the International Zone. Before leaving Qatar, I had made arrangements with my office for them to book “Space A” seats on a helicopter flight. Unfortunately, that flight didn’t leave until nearly 1800. We exited the passenger terminal and grabbed the bus to Stryker Stables. We slept for about two or so hours, grabbed lunch, and then hung out in the check-in area which had TVs tuned to AFN-Sports showing the Olympics. Eventually, we made our way back to Liberty Helicopter Pad, where our flight would originate from. This required taking a bus from Stryker Stables to the main bus stop at Camp Victory and then catching another bus to Liberty. It was about a thirty minute journey.

We got to Liberty an hour before our flight. Fortunately, our reservations were in the system and we waited in an air conditioned tent for the helicopters to arrive. By this time, Jan and I were walking zombies but at least we weren’t in front of a computer screen making PowerPoint slides.

The flight back to the International Zone was great; the slanted late afternoon sun illuminated numerous Iraqi neighborhoods speeding below each showing signs of refreshing normalcy. After landing, we made the long walk to our trailers. Finally, we were home after a journey of Homeric proportions; it took all of twenty-two hours.

Year Six, Part II

2008-08-15T11:41:00.004-07:00

Last March, also while TDY to Qatar, I wrote about the completion of the fifth year of the war here in Iraq and the challenges ahead for year six. At the time, I had only vague inklings about just how personal it could become. As I tried to get back to Baghdad following that TDY, Shiite extremists -- members of Jaysh al Mahdi -- fired artillery rockets into the International Zone in protest of the Iraqi Army’s offensive against JAM elements in the southern Iraqi city of Basrah. After getting back to Baghdad International Airport (BIAP), I caught a helicopter to the International Zone. As we attempted to land near the embassy, I looked down and saw people running out of the passenger terminal and into bunkers. I looked out to the right and saw the impact of rocket near the banks of the Tigris River and accompanying plume of smoke. Just fifty feet from the ground, the helicopter pilot applied power and we veered away from the landing zone. We raced back to BIAP and waited for things to settle. Welcome to year six, not an auspicious start.

Since then, things thankfully have quieted down and, dare I say, improved. The Iraqi Security Forces (ISF), who every day grow more professional and capable, completed their security sweep of Basrah and performed similar operations in Sadr City (where most of those pesky rockets were fired from) and Amarah, another important JAM bastion near the Iranian border. Amongst the dwindling press coverage of Iraq, you can read about a current operation ISF is performing in the Diyala River Valley, north of Baghdad, to root out both Shi’a and Sunni insurgents.

The most troubling recent trend is Al Qaeda in Iraq’s (AQI) use of female suicide bombers. While we were away on this TDY, female suicide bombers struck three times targeting Shi’a pilgrims in the vicinity of the Shi’a holy cities of Najaf and Karbala. It’s a familiar AQI technique -- trying to foment sectarian violence -- only this time using female Sunni suicide bombers. As the press has reported, women in Iraq (or any Islamic country) are not typically subjected to searches by police due to religious taboo and thus can pass relatively unhindered through security checkpoints. AQI recruits Sunni destitute widows who, under Islamic practice are virtually persona non grata, with promises of money for their families. While the attacks this week were devastating, they are the mark of a desperate foe and it is certainly not a viable long term strategy. Nevertheless, it shows that things are far from over here even as they slowly improve.

As I write this, we are nearly half over with year six of this war.

On a more positive note, and while I’m writing about five year anniversaries, let me also say it’s my attractive wife’s and my fifth wedding anniversary today. When I think of what I was doing six years ago, it seems like I was in another world and another person. Of course, something similar might be said about my current position but there is light at the end of the tunnel: There are sixty-two days left in my tour in Iraq.

Arithmetic on the Frontier

2008-08-12T12:04:00.008-07:00

A scrimmage in a Border Station

A canter down some dark defile
Two thousand pounds of education
Drops to a ten-rupee Jezail
The Crammer’s boast, the Squadron’s pride
Shot like a rabbit in a ride

No proposition Euclid wrote
No formulae the textbooks know
Will the turn the bullet from your coat
Or ward the Tulwar’s downward blow
Strike hard who cares -- shoot straight who can
The odds are on the cheaper man

“Arithmetic on the Frontier”
-- Rudyard Kipling, 1886

Today, while in a side bar meeting, I saw this verse written on a white board. No one in the room knew who wrote it and, despite a lot of other writing on other whiteboards, no one wanted to erase it. I scribbled it down in my notebook.

This excerpt from Kipling’s poem describing British casualties in their war with Afghanistan is clear: you’re never too smart to get killed by someone dumber, wielding a cheaper weapon than you. Kipling might as well have been describing Improvised Explosive Devices or suicide bombers.

Strike hard, then. Shoot straight. Good advice, Mr. Kipling.

(ETA: Thanks to my friend, Mark W. for providing the link to the full poem.)

Groundhog Day

2008-08-11T13:04:00.004-07:00

The military has a word for daily routine: battle rhythm. In Baghdad, our shop works seven days a week, 0730-2200 (7:30 AM - 10 PM, if you’re a civilian) with a two exceptions: we come in at 0900 on Fridays (our nod to the Muslim holy day) and 1300 on Sundays (where we get a whole half day off). My only complaint is that assigned work hours are like hard drives: work, like data, expands, often unnecessarily, to fill the space available to it. As a result, I believe we are in the office longer than the work we’re actually doing calls for. The only advantage of our Draconian hours is that the days seem to fly by when we’re busy (which is most of time). Week days become meaningless; numerous times, I’ve tried calling my attractive wife at her office when it was a Saturday or Sunday. When you’re on our battle rhythm, weekends lose their meaning.

Here in Qatar on TDY it’s much the same only not as intense. Since most of the people attending conferences here are coming from commands in the US where they still have eight hour work days and weekends, our meetings usually wrap up between 1800 and 1900. You can see the consternation on their faces as early evening approaches. I chuckle. In Baghdad, dinner is more like lunch during the work day back in the World.

Everything here at Camp Asaliyah is the same as it was when I was last here in March: Stark, utilitarian, buildings, blinding sunlight, heat, bunches of enlisted kids on four day passes, Toyota mini-buses hauling them over the large expanse of the base from the living quarters to the DFAC and the PX. My ten minute walk from billeting to the building where my conference meets is exactly the same (only it’s hotter this time). After work ends, we grab dinner at the DFAC, walk back to billeting, change into civilian clothes and walk to the Top Off, a giant converted hangar housing three bars, a performance stage, pool tables, and Internet computers, where we can enjoy our sanctioned three beers a night. I’m drinking with roughly the same group of people from last March. I’m wearing the same one and a half sets of civilian clothes (two polo shirts, one pair of canvas pants) and listening to bad Karaoke wafting over the roofless walls of the pub from the performance stage. It’s like I never left (or arrived, depending on the point of view).

Among the many things I miss (my attractive wife and clever two year old son being chief among them), is simple daily variation. Or maybe it’s variety. Of course, routine has a quality all its own, especially if you want time to pass quickly.

More Travel!

2008-08-08T12:24:00.001-07:00

Another conference! This time at Camp Asayliyah in Qatar which means more intra-theater travel using military air (MILAIR). The advantage is that Qatar is in the same time zone as Iraq. The disadvantage is that it’s still the desert and it’s hotter. I was here last March on a similar assignment. I’m headed down to this particular conference with two other colleagues. Last week, I spaced blocked (the MILAIR version of a reservation) the three of us on a flight leaving on the 6th of August. We showed up at the Baghdad International Airport (BIAP) passenger terminal at the appointed hour only to find our flight was cancelled (not an auspicious start to the trip). We were especially disappointed because the flight we were supposed to go on was on a C-17 which is much nicer than a C-130. We grabbed great and caught the bus over to Stryker Stables to spend the night. More walking on rocks to and from the tent.

The next morning, we caught the bus back to BIAP and began the waiting game for the next available flight. Fortunately, we caught a flight leaving in the early evening, although it was on a C-130 (less room, less comfortable, and takes longer to fly to Qatar). We were called into boarding area but then inexplicably had to wait another hour. I asked what was going on and was informed we were waiting on some Army general who needed to catch the flight.

Eventually we boarded the plane by walking across the concrete ramp from the terminal. The shimmering heat of the early evening reflected off the ground as we walked toting our carry on packs and wearing body armor. Fortunately, the flight wasn’t crowded. Once aloft the cabin temperature dropped dramatically as the plane gained altitude and the air conditioned overcame the oppressive heat. Unfortunately, there is no middle setting and it quickly became genuinely cold. We made the best of our situation during the two and a half hour flight. Most people took off their body armor wore it in front like a blanket. As we descended, the temperature began to rise but with an added bonus: humidity. The cold air coming from the overhead air conditioning vents quickly misted as it collided with the increasingly warming air of the cabin.

When the plane stopped and the ramp opened up at roughly 2130 local time, we were assaulted by a wave of temperature and humidity such as the likes I have never experienced before. Worse than Florida in summer. Completely unbelievable. We walked, toting our gear, about 200 yards to the passenger terminal. All of us were dripping with sweat by the time we arrived five minutes later. I lamented my decision to bring only one uniform on this trip. I will be doing lots of laundry.

Conversation with a Dead Friend

2008-08-03T11:06:00.002-07:00

I’ve had terrible jet lag since returning from TDY; I haven’t been able to sleep for more than four hours at a time. Last night, I went to sleep at midnight and right on schedule, I woke at 0400. I used the restroom and noticed I actually was still tired as I got back into bed. I carefully put myself in the same position, lying on my left side, in an effort to trick my body into going back to sleep. Much to my subsequent surprise, I did but not before having a strange dream.

I dreamt that I was walking alone on a sidewalk in west Los Angeles, where I used to live years ago (in the dream, I was visiting). It was pitch dark and I was looking for a restaurant/bar I knew was close by. I got out my Blackberry to look up the location but couldn’t remember the name. While still walking, I came across a well dressed crowd of people waiting on the sidewalk. A woman dressed as a waitress came out of the building and announced, “we’re open,” and everyone began filing inside. I realized this was the restaurant/bar I had been looking for. As I put my Blackberry away and walked to the front of the building I saw my friend Brian, whom we all called “Radar” since he had a slight resemblance to the actor Gary Burghoff of the 70s TV show M*A*S*H. Brian passed away in May 2007.

He fell into step with me, as if we had arranged to meet there. But he looked a little confused. He asked me how I’d been. “How’s life at home?” he asked. “I’m married now,” I replied, “and I have a two year old son.” This seemed news to him although it shouldn’t; he knew I was married before he passed away. He looked tan and was now taller than me. I got the sense he didn’t know he was dead so I tried to be careful about what we talked about.

We sat at the end of the bar and looked at the menu. The hamburger looked good but I wanted a steak before I knew I would have to return to Baghdad. The female bar tender told us to hurry with our decision. I chose the steak but had to order the condiments a la carte. I wanted the mashed potatoes but got the number wrong. “Twenty-nine, the mashed potatoes,” I said. “You mean twenty-seven,” she said. I looked at the menu but it said, twenty-nine. “Rico was never good with numbers,” Radar said. It was true. But really, the menu said twenty-nine for the mashed potatoes. The bar tender laughed.

And then I woke up; it was morning.

En-Mic-Pees

2008-08-01T10:27:00.004-07:00

According to my desktop tracker, I have less than 80 days left! Since getting to less than 100 days in mid-July I've been obsessed with tracking the time. It's not good for me; I have plenty to get done. Yet, seeing the numbers steadily decline on my tracking spreadsheet is a kind of guilty pleasure for me. It provides a framework to fit my remaining tasks around. Early in my tour, work was a giant, amorphous amoeba relentlessly filling all my time. Now, I can see how the story arc will finish, at least for me. I know what I'll be able to get done before I leave.

That is, when I actually leave. After getting below 100 days left in theater, we are supposed to start checking an online system, the Navy & Marine Corps Mobilization Processing System (NMCMPS, or, en-mic-pees), to see if demobilization orders have been cut. After logging in today I found out that 1) I don't have de-mob orders, 2) I don't have a de-mob detach date, and, most surprising, 3) I am not currently filling a requirement (see screen shot). Huh?

Another field mysteriously claims my Sourcing History End Date was yesterday, 31 July. I've since been told that date is a "glitch" in the system and that my billet's actual End Date is in 2009. (That means the system is supposed to replace me with another lucky reservist when my tour is up.) It further was explained to me that once my billet's end date was renewed to 2009, NMCMPS doesn't bother to update the field online. Hey, Ideamatics (the contractor who makes NMCMPS), that sounds like a bug to me.

About a month ago, the Navy informed me my replacement was chosen and that he would be arriving in Baghdad in early October. It was great news and put a spring in my step. However a few weeks ago, the Navy informed me that my replacement was found to be medically unqualified and that his mobilization was cancelled. Technically, it shouldn't matter; when my orders say de-mob, I de-mob, at least that's the theory.

It's too soon to start stressing about this but I'm watching it anyway. Hell hath no fury like an Individual Augmentee left twitching in the wind.

Oh, the weather is back to being hot, dusty, and generally crappy.

Back in Baghdad ...

2008-07-30T10:21:00.003-07:00

Readers, I arrived back in Baghdad last Monday. The trip back was remarkably trouble free and, dare I say, efficient. Why is it always so smooth coming back? I've jumped back into the work routine here and haven't had time to post a proper update. More to come when I get a chance. Thanks for your patience.

Music I bought on iTunes this TDY

2008-07-25T13:59:00.005-07:00

Motion Picture Soundtracks:

The Dark Knight (Hans Zimmer)
Crash (Mark Isham)
Pan's Labyrinth (Javier Navarrette)

Songs:

Maybe Tomorrow - Stereophonics (part of Crash soundtrack) <-- insanely good
In the Deep - Bird York (part of Crash soundtrack)
Feeling This - Blink 182
Are You Gonna Be My Girl - JET
Too Hot - Kool and the Gang
Silly Love Songs - Paul McCartney & Wings
Baby Come Back - Player
Cool Places - Sparks with Jane Weidlin
Dance With Me - Orleans
Just Remember I Love You - Firefall
Steal Away - Bobby Dupree

Instrumental:

Big Thing in the Sky - William Ackerman (Guitar)
Slow Dance - Philip Aaberg (Piano)

Things I enjoyed on this TDY

2008-07-25T13:49:00.005-07:00

Seeing and spending 48 hours with my attractive wife
Not being in Iraq
Beer (mmm, beer)
Seeing the color green
Seeing friends and colleagues I met back in March in Qatar.
Sleeping soundly and without worrying about hearing an "incoming" alarm
A comfortable bed
Driving a car
Fewer people walking around with weapons
Sweet, sweet Internet bandwidth
Rain in the Summertime (also a great song by The Alarm)

Kaboom War Jornal Kaput

2008-07-24T16:46:00.005-07:00

I had enjoyed reading the exploits of LT G (in real life, Army Lieutenant Matthew Gallagher) whose blog, Kaboom War Journal, with its gritty posts from duty on the streets in Iraq made him quite famous in the blogosphere. Not having checked his blog since leaving Iraq on this TDY, I was surprised to read in the news that the army had ordered him to stop blogging and delete all content.

The decision, it seems, stemmed from a post he uploaded in a fit of frustration and which was critical of a superior officer's decision to force a promotion on Gallagher which would take him out of a combat role, a role he relished and joined the army for. The army claimed Gallagher's blog was a threat to the "good order and discipline" of his unit.

An archive of his blog is here. Read it and judge for yourself. Personally, I'm sorry to hear this important view and voice from the war has been administratively silenced.

Appreciation Day

2008-07-24T16:24:00.004-07:00

The conference is winding down. I had a lot of computer work after today's session. When I got back to the on-base hotel I started a load of laundry. I thought about going for a run (today was even cooler than yesterday) but I opted instead to get dinner on base at the cafeteria before it closed at 6pm. I had been getting a hot lunch there during the conference on the cheap (the average meal is less than $4) and figured it would be convenient with getting laundry done.

The cafeteria has two food serving areas separated by a salad bar. There are grills on either side. I usually do a reconnaissance of what's on the short order side but this time a Filipina waved me away, "Other side, sir," she said. Nonplussed, I went over to the hot meal side and got a selection of skirt steak, corn and rice. The cashier, a Filipino who was obviously gay, rang up my order. I asked why the other side was closed off. He said it was airman appreciation day. Recognizing me as being the in the navy from my lunch time visits, he smiled and added, "don't they have seaman appreciation day in the Navy?"

800 lbs Gorilla

2008-07-23T20:02:00.005-07:00

Many of the same people are here at this conference that I first met back in Qatar last March. In the middle of that conference, news first broke that then CENTCOM commander, Admiral William Fallon, resigned. Speculation was rife as to who would be nominated as the next CENTCOM commander. A leading contender, at least around our water cooler, was Multi-National Force Iraq commanding general, General David Petraeus, technically, my boss' boss' boss' boss. This of course, eventually came to pass; General Petraeus since has been nominated and confirmed as the next CENTCOM commander. He likely will take command sometime in the fall.

Because of this, everyone from CENTCOM at this conference treats me with kid gloves as I now indirectly represent their future boss. Several times during the conference they've referred to the 800 pound gorrilla in the room -- by extension, me. "What do you think he'll think of this?" I get asked. I tell them. When ever his name is mentioned, people in the room (unconsciously?) glance at me.

I've had the honor of briefing him once already, in a surprisingly intimate setting across a coffee table in his office, and he's just as intense and personable as he appears on television. He has an immensely difficult job and I am in awe of how much detail the man can keep track of day in and day out. I have no doubt he'll make a fine CENTCOM commander.

But it won't change the fact that I'll get to snicker a lot at this conference.

Perfect Weather

2008-07-23T19:52:00.003-07:00

The first week here at Scott AFB was very hot. Not as hot as Baghdad, or generally as crappy, but pretty damn hot and humid. Parts of the conference I'm attending are held in different buildings on base with a five minute walk in between. Just walking around last week resulted in a pretty good sweat.

Two nights ago, I awoke to the sound of thunder and the occasional flash bulb of lightening. The thunder was LOUD. Growing up in California, I didn't see much of thunderstorms and I remain fascinated by them. Although half asleep I found myself counting, "one one thousand, two one thousand..." and so on to gauge how far away the lightening was.

In the wake of the storm, the temperature cooled. Today, it was positively wonderful with highs in the mid-70s F. Colbalt blue skies with no clouds. A gentle wind embraced everything. In fact, it was the best weather I've experienced since, well, last year before I left on deployment. I was rejuvenated.

Relaxing

2008-07-21T17:28:00.004-07:00

My attractive wife and I dined well during her brief visit. On Friday night we ate at an Italian trattoria very near the hotel. On Saturday night we walked several long blocks to dine at Oceano, a sea food restaurant. After our dinner we relaxed in the hotel lounge. On Saturday night, there was a wedding at the hotel and a number of the guests were in the main lounge where a jazz quartet played standards. A couple sat next to us on the couch and asked if I would take their picture. They reciprocated by taking the attached photo. I drank a twenty-year Port; it was very civilized. My brief visit with my attractive wife makes me miss her all that more.

Gateway Arch

2008-07-21T16:59:00.008-07:00

The past weekend my attractive wife came to visit me! She flew out from California on Friday, 18 July and I met her at the Ritz Carlton Hotel in the St. Louis suburb of Clayton. Over my regularly scheduled leave last May, we spent one kid-free weekend at the San Francisco Ritz Carlton and really enjoyed it. All told, we had just under 48 hours together. It’s very unusual to get to see your family more than once on a deployment such as mine and I was especially thankful to see and spend time with her.

On Saturday, I cajoled my wife into going downtown to see the famous St. Louis Gateway Arch. My wife told me that some of the steel used in the construction of the arch came from a mill owned by her grandfather in Pittsburgh. She said the steel was floated down the Ohio River on its eventual way to St. Louis by rail. We took the convenient St. Louis MetroRail link from Clayton to downtown and walked a short distance to the arch. It is simply magnificent. We bought tickets for the internal tram that takes people to the top of the arch where there is a viewing lounge.

The tram reservation was for roughly and hour and a half so we strolled the old river front neighborhood complete with cobblestone streets. We ended up at the Four Seasons Hotel with an adjacent modern casino. We grabbed a surprisingly good sushi lunch inside and then walked back to the arch.

Aside from the crush of people (it was, after all, summer and a Saturday), the trip up was very cool. The tram is a combination elevator and and rail car that slowly climbs to the apex of the 600 foot arch. Climbing one set of stairs take you to the viewing lounge which is not very big. It wasn’t for the claustrophobic. The view was amazing.

Edited to Add: After reading this post, my father-in-law emailed to add that my attractive wife's grandfather didn't actually own the mill. He went on to explain, "He was a machinist who rose through the ranks to the position of Superintendent of the Heavy Assembly Shop at Pittsburgh-Des Moines Steel Company near Pittsburgh. They fabricated the steel sections [for the Arch] and I can remember seeing them laid out on the shop floor. My memory is that [the steel] was loaded onto barges (the shop was on Neville Island in the middle of the Ohio River) and floated down to St. Louis, but when I did a bit of research it looks like they may have been loaded on to flat cars and transported via rail."

Dinosaur roams halls of LA Natural History Museum

2008-07-21T16:38:00.004-07:00

Holy freakin' crap. This is so cool. My two year old son loves dinosaurs (as do I) but I'm pretty sure if he saw this, his head would spin. The kid in the stroller holding his ears is a reaction I've seen from my niece when she's scared. The costume is incredibly cool.

Video courtesy of my friend Henschel

Extinct, my ASS! from The Original Joe Fisher on Vimeo.

Dead Guy Quotes

2008-07-20T08:35:00.002-07:00

"The constitution supposes, what the History of all Governments demonstrates, that the Executive is the branch of power most interested in war, and most prone to it. It has accordingly with studied care vested the question of war in the Legislature."

-- James Madison to Thomas Jefferson as quoted in this article I read this morning at breakfast.

Transit

2008-07-17T10:12:00.002-07:00

On 13 July, I finally left Gateway aboard a bus that took me, and an assortment of soldiers and civilians, to Kuwait International Airport. We all were dressed in civilian clothes by this point in an attempt to blend in (we still stood out from the crowd, believe me).

From Kuwait, I boarded a commercial flight to Frankfurt, and then to Chicago, and then to St. Louis and my ultimate destination, Scott Air Force Base. It was a long and uneventful journey. At the end of it, I found myself back on US soil.

There is a lot of truth to the saying that nothing makes you appreciate your country more than spending time away from it. I believe that truism is magnified even more if one serves in a war abroad. I marveled at the sheer normality of people moving to and fro at O’Hare International Airport in Chicago. You don’t know what you have here, I thought to myself, watching those around me. At my gate, I heard people grumbling about a flight that was delayed a whole half hour! Remembering my experience at BIAP, I chuckled to myself quietly. You have no idea, I thought to myself, listening to them.

It’s good be in the United States for the next ten days. Home.

Relevancy

2008-07-13T10:54:00.004-07:00

The weather at Gateway, and by extension Kuwait, was awful. Highs in the 115 F with a constant north wind/hair dryer finely mixed with sand. It made walking around the camp quite uncomfortable. To make matters worse, today was air conditioner maintenance for the row of tents I stayed in. This meant turning it off for an hour plus while technicians cleaned the filters and hosed everything down.

I left my tent and walked over to the MWR building. The only Internet access I had was on my Blackberry. Concerned about leaving Kuwait, I decided to look up the weather on Google. I searched for the terms “kuwait kcia weather” and the second most relevant link was a post from this blog back in November. Weird but that’s the power of Google for you.

Gateway

2008-07-13T09:17:00.003-07:00

Last May, I made the same trip here when I went on leave so I knew what to expect: a twenty minute bus ride to Gateway Station and in-processing. Upon arrival, our group was separated into those who were going on leave and those, like me, where going TDY. I checked with the Navy LNO and presented my orders. He looked at them and said they were issued by the army (MNF-I) and that I had to go to the army LNO desk. I presented the orders once again to an army sergeant who pronounced them valid and started making phone calls to SATO, the government travel agent. I had hoped to get ticketed on that evening’s midnight flight to Washington from Kuwait City International Airport (KCIA) but it was too late. In a way, I was relieved; I didn’t relish more travel at that point. I was assigned a VIP tent as rank actually means something down here in Kuwait. I grabbed dinner and a much needed shower. I slept well.

The next morning, I checked in with the Army LNO who said I had an approved travel itinerary. I picked it up, got it stamped and had a lot of time to kill before my late afternoon bus to KCIA. I went to the MWR tent where I typed up the last few blog entries. Unfortunately, a loud movie was playing projected onto a very large screen. Between the size of the screen and volume it was impossible not to be aware of it.

(The movie was called “The Ruins” and was a variant of the teen age horror flick genre involving two young couples vacationing in Mexico who visit a remote Mayan pyramid. They are tormented and slowly killed by some kind of semi-intelligent carnivorous plant which covers the entire pyramid. If someone ever says, “Hey, let’s watch ‘The Ruins’, run, don’t walk away. I think I actually lost a few IQ points watching it while I typed.)

C-130 to Kuwait

2008-07-13T09:16:00.002-07:00

After 28 hours at BIAP I finally got manifested on a standby flight to Ali as Salem aboard a C-130. I’d flown on them before and knew it was not the acme of comfort but it was leaving before my scheduled flight later in the day and represented my best chance of staying on schedule. We placed our checked luggage on a cargo pallet and then lined up to board the aircraft. I tried to stay at the end of the line since that would place me at the rear of the aircraft (last on, first off). From experience, I wanted to avoid sitting in the narrow portion of the middle of the aircraft. The nylon web seats are arranged longitudinally facing each other. Unfortunately, I misjudged and ended up sitting towards the end of the narrow middle portion. I was squeezed in across from a female army enlisted sergeant carrying a pack that should have been palletized; it was bigger than her. I’m not claustrophobic but it was very crowded and well over 100 F while we waited to take off. Once aloft, the air conditioners kicked in and the temperature came down. I actually managed to doze a bit. After a bumpy descent, which made a few people look queazy, we landed an hour later at Ali as Salem AB in Kuwait.

Waiting for Space A

2008-07-13T09:07:00.003-07:00

Waiting to travel Space Available (“Space A”) involves registering at the Passenger Terminal at BIAP. They record where you want to go, your personal details, print out a sheet of paper and hand it to you. As flights get ready to leave, the pax terminal people (all Air Force enlisted types) announce a Space A roll call. You hand the attendant your sheet, which lists the date and time you registered. The attendant arranges them chronologically. The person who registered first, regardless of rank, gets de facto priority on whatever seats are available. Depending on the destination, time between roll calls can be as little as a couple of hours or as much as eight.

The pax terminal offers stainless steel chairs, a wall refrigerator filled with water and several flat screen TVs playing a random assortment of movies. When I arrived last November, the immediate area surrounding the terminal was uneven ground strewn with rocks. Ever adaptive, waiting personnel found nooks and crannies to rest on. When I was here in March, the entire area was closed off and I saw engineers were busy leveling the ground and pouring large concrete slaps. Now, the entire area was neatly covered in concrete (see photo). The only downside was that the concrete slabs reflected the Iraqi summer sunlight making the area mostly inhospitable. Add twenty-foot concrete T-Walls and it gives it a vaguely Stonehenge-ish feeling. Waiting soldiers now rested either inside concrete bunkers which offered shade or inside the now more crowded terminal.

Nearby the terminal is an air conditioned trailer with two Navy enlisted LNOs. They share the trailer with United Nations and Department of State LNOs who coordinate flights for their respective people to and from Iraq. I actually found the trailer last March when I flew out to the last conference I attended in Qatar. The trailer offers a relatively secure place to stash luggage and sit in while waiting for a flight.

While waiting inside I met four other Navy people (two enlisted petty officers, one chief petty officer and one officer, a former enlisted man and now a commissioned limited duty officer). All four were redeploying home after year-long tours. I listened to their stories about their deployment. Two two enlisted were interrogators, and the chief and lieutenant were master-at-arms men, Navy police. While the interrogators actually performed their duties under assignment with army units, the two master-at-arms men explained they were supposed to train Iraqi police but ended up performing non training duties.

It’s a typical story I hear from Navy personnel: their orders say one thing and they end up doing something substantially different. When I was at Fort Jackson we were told to report back if we were “re-missioned” once we got to Iraq. However, the definition of “re-missioning” is somewhat slippery. For example, if you are a master-at-arms and are assigned to a joint unit whose purpose is to train Iraqi police but you are not specifically doing training you are not re-missioned. However, if you are a Navy lawyer and are told you need to run convoy duties full time that’s re-missioning.

The experience of the two master-at-arms men obviously left a bad taste in their mouths. They clearly were experienced and professional (both of them had nearly twenty years experience) yet neither of them really applied their trade craft while in Iraq.

The two petty officers had been at BIAP for four days waiting for their flight. They spent the first night outside sleeping on picnic tables before they found the Navy LNO trailer. Normally, Navy personnel need to request a flight home from Navy Forces Central Command (NAVCENT) forty-five days before their orders expire. Unfortunately, these two petty officers were assigned to a remote army unit and didn’t get the word. As a result, they had to wait for a Space A flight just to get home. They did say they had informed their first sergeant (E-8), the senior army enlisted non-commissioned officer in their chain of command, thirty days before the end of their orders but he had not done anything about it. They told me that when it became clear he had not done anything, the army unit’s command sergeant major (E-9), the most senior non-commissioned officer in their unit, appropriately “counseled” the first sergeant -- a procedure that involved having the first sergeant stand at attention and be yelled at for a period of time. It didn’t improve the two petty officers’ situation but it did make them feel a little better.

Rocks

2008-07-13T09:04:00.006-07:00

As I type this, I’ve been stuck at Baghdad International Airpot (BIAP) for over 24 hours waiting to fly to Ali as Salem in Kuwait. I tried, unsuccessfully, to fly Space Available (standby) on four separate flights. I do have an actual reservation for later this afternoon but my scheduled arrival likely will not give me enough time to get SATO to give me a commercial ticket and fly out of Kuwait City International Airport (KCIA). Am impending dust storm here in Baghdad is only adding icing the cake; if it gets worse, I’ll be stuck here another day.

Being stuck here gave me another opportunity to visit Camp Stryker Stables, a transient area near BIAP. There is a bus that runs every hour between BIAP and the Stables. Yesterday afternoon, I took the bus over to the stables since there would a five hour delay between potential flights. The accommodations are well enough (air conditioned tents with cots and pillows). The problem is just getting to them. They are a long walk from where the bus drops you off and sit on large lots covered with small rocks. While the rocks keep the dust from blowing they are particularly annoying to walk on, especially if you are wearing body armor and lugging a suitcase.

I hate walking on rocks. Hate it hate it hate it. It’s like walking through wet sand only bigger and dryer. You have little traction and it seems you expending more energy to move forward. In many ways, it’s a metaphor for my entire experience here.

Travel, Again

2008-07-13T09:00:00.002-07:00

I’m going on another conference which means more travel. Unlike the last conference, this time I am going all the way back to the United States. Getting there and back will of course require moving through the Theater of Pain that is intra-theater travel. I heard about this conference a while ago and didn’t think MNF-I needed to go. Further meetings and video teleconferences proved otherwise. Still, upper management hemmed and hawed about whether or not to send me. It wasn’t until some very senior people got involved that the decision was made. Unfortunately for me, the late decision meant being behind the eight ball with respect to travel plans.

After getting my orders approved, I attempted to get someone to purchase my commercial airline tickets. I was on the phone for several hours talking to a series of Liaison Officers, which are referred colloquially here as LNOs. LNOs are supposed to act as representatives of their units while embedded with another. They rarely are useful; metaphorically, they are given a top hat and cane and dance their way through the day with just enough information to be dangerous while exercising little or no true authority. SATO, the official government travel agency, kept telling me I had to submit my travel request via my Navy LNO but they didn’t know who that might be. I got a number and called that. The person who answered referred me to another and that person to another. Tap dancing. Finally one just suggested I get down to Ali as Salem Air Base, the base I previously travelled through in May to go on R&R, and meet in person with the SATO reps there.

For my last TDY, I stuffed everything into a large backpack but for this one I need a suitcase. I have a venerable (read, old) rolling suitcase I bought for my initial post-9/11 deployment. I figured it would be easier to roll than carry on this trip. Of course, walking anywhere in Iraq involves traversing large areas of unpaved ground, usually strewn with rocks. The first patch I encountered was just 100 meters from my trailer in the IZ. Just this once, I decided to slog through it and wouldn’t you know, the damn right wheel came off its axel. For the rest of the walk to the helicopter pad near the Embassy, the right wheel locked and slowly ground down from the friction of being dragged across pavement. Not an auspicious start to the trip.

At least the brief helicopter trip to BIAP was pleasant; along the way, the two helicopters paused at the famous Crossed Swords monument and hovered facing each other to take pictures. I leaned my camera across to the far window and got the attached photo.

Things I Learned About My Father

2008-07-08T13:08:00.006-07:00

Since writing this blog, I’ve learned two new things about my father. When I wrote about one of our popular metaphors for working here -- rowing in a slave ship -- my father emailed me to say he had been in Los Angeles in 1959 and saw Ben Hur at the Egyptian Theater.

He wrote, “Ben Hur was one of the best and most beautiful movies I ever saw, you were not even born. I saw it in the Egyptian Theatre in the early 60's and I don't think I will ever forget that rowing scene. In reading your post, I could hear the rhythmical sounds of the drums. However you are not condemned for life, only for one year, so keep on rowing and very soon, like Prince Juda Ben-Hur, you will return home victoriously.”

I was so touched by what he wrote. He knew exactly what I meant by evoking that scene from Ben Hur. Here, we often say, “row well,” to each other as a way of commiserating our long work hours. More importantly, he reminded that my experience here isn’t permanent although it seemed so when I first arrived. I had no idea he had seen the movie and I hope that when I get home we can see it together.

When I wrote about going to church in the International Zone and that we recited the prayer to Saint Michael at the end of every mass, my father emailed me to tell me he recited the same prayer in Spanish while growing up in the small city of Cananea.

He wrote, “I was touched by what you wrote on St. Michael The Archangel. This, as far as I can remember, was one of the first prayers I learned when I was a little boy in Cananea, and of course it was in Spanish:

San Miguel Arcangel, defiéndenos en la lucha. Se nuestro amparo contra las acechanzas y perversidades del demonio. Que Dios manifieste sobre el Su poder, es nuestra humilde súplica; y tú o Principe Celestial, con el poder que Dios te ha concedido, arroja a Satanás y a los demás espiritus malignos que vagan por el mundo para las perdición de las almas.

He also told me this prayer was recited, also at the end of mass and in English, when we used to go to church as a young family in Downey, California. He found it interesting that this prayer from his childhood was recited at this church in the United States. He also told me that when he visited hist long time friend, who is also my God Father, in a remote village in Mexico, the local parish was called Saint Michael the Archangel. Lastly, he told me that on a recent trip to Hawaii with my mother, the local Catholic Church was called Saint Michael by the Sea.

I had no idea Saint Michael would play such an important role -- in both our lives.

7/7/77

2008-07-07T13:01:00.003-07:00

As my work day ended (roughly 2200, Baghdad time) it suddenly hit me that today was 7 July and that I could remember most of what I did thirty-one years ago today on 7/7/77. About the only reason I remember was the unusual confluence of sevens in the date which, at the time, I marked as auspicious. I was in-between the fifth and sixth grade attending summer school at Suva Intermediate in Bell Gardens, California. Two months earlier on Memorial Day, Star Wars had premiered and I had already seen it in nearby Cerritos, California with my family and my school friend Mike T. I was fascinated with the movie and it was all I could talk about with my friends.

Attending summer school with me that year was my friend Eddie M. Among some of the elective classes we attended were Mr. Lightholder’s art class. I remember that Mr. Lightholder would make custom t-shirts for us using stencils and spray paint. All we needed to do was bring in a white t-shirt and he would spray paint it. Every time he made a new stencil I wanted one which perplexed my mother. That summer, he made a Star Wars themed stencil and we all were mad about getting our own. I don’t think I actually got it that day but it was pretty close.

I also remember going to “Nutrition” which was a sort of recess and combination light meal before lunch. I purchased a piece of cinnamon toast and a milk for twenty-five or thirty cents and remember talking with Eddie M about Star Wars (what else) as well as which teacher/homeroom we would have next year for the sixth grade. We loved our previous fifth grade homeroom teacher, Mr. Mike A. Brooks (I remember the middle initial because he always initialed our papers “MAB”). We were sure the sixth grade would be a disappointment after Mr. Brooks’ especially cool homeroom (it wasn’t; I had an equally impressive sixth grade teacher, Mrs. Dawn Favilla). As I perused Suva's website, I found a reference to last year's winter concert that was led by Mr. Tom Axworthy, the same band teacher that was there when I was a student!

I remember thinking, what a lucky day that was being so full of sevens. I don’t remember being especially lucky that day but I did ponder what life would be like eleven years later for 8/8/88 and twenty-two years later on 9/9/99. It seemed like an eternity away. One thing I could never had predicted: I would be in a far away country at war thirty-one years later.

The Weather

2008-07-04T23:18:00.004-07:00

The weather has gotten better. That is to say, we've received a respite from the all encroaching dust. Everyone is in a better mood.

We also had a blessedly quiet fourth of July (no "rockets red glare" in the International Zone).

My Wife is a Rock Star

2008-07-04T12:57:00.001-07:00

Let me tell you why my attractive wife is a rock star. She has a full time job and, for the past eight months, has been a single mother caring for our two year old son. Our son increasingly has been expressing his will, as two-year olds are wont to do and things have been challenging to say the least.

She wakes up in the morning and either takes him to our neighbors, who take him to Day Care, or takes him herself. She works a full day, then comes home and picks him up, playing with him, feeding him and putting him to bed only to start the cycle again the next morning. In addition, she is managing a two bathroom remodel of our house, working with our contractor, picking vanities, paint colors, faucet fixtures, and marble samples. When I call I can hear the stress in her voice but she continues to put her shoulder into the wheel and keeps going. She doesn’t get a brake.

Although we are blessed with good neighbors and friends who are helping, it’s my wife who ultimately takes on the entire share of keeping our lives at home moving forward. She is tough, smart, and I’m very proud of her. I wish I could do more, aside from offering lame words of encouragement transmitted via satellite. Although life and work remain challenging for me here in Baghdad, the real war is being fought by someone tougher than me on the home front.

Still sucks

2008-07-01T13:23:00.004-07:00

If you can believe it, today was even dustier and more orange than yesterday. The whole orange thing peaked in the late afternoon. The morning was pleasant enough and we even saw some sunshine during a promotion ceremony for one of my co-workers held on an inner embassy patio.

Unfortunately, today involved a lot time walking outside in the orange-ness. We had three new arrivals in my office: two short term visitors from Victory Base who are here for a series of meetings and a new team member who will be here for a year. Unfortunately, they all arrived at different times which required going to out to the Rhino staging area to meet them. Even a short walk resulted in lots of dust inhaled. Third state smog alerts in Los Angeles during the early 1980s weren't this bad.

I live on Mars

2008-06-30T12:54:00.004-07:00

When I was kid, the Viking 1 and 2 landers landed on Mars and transmitted the first color pictures of that planet back to earth. Being a geek, a obtained a poster of one of the Martian views and put it up in my bedroom. I marveled at the rust colored rocks and orange sky in the picture which looked so alien. The vista was suitably exotic given my suburban existence at the time.

Now I live on Mars, or so it seems given the color of the sky over the last few days -- orange. The choking dust is back with a vengeance. It was clear enough in the morning but by mid-morning the dust covered the sky making everything sand colored (which is about the only color here). In the late afternoon, I went to the gym. While seated on the rowing machine, I saw the color of the sky gradually turn orange through a window on a nearby door as I made my way through the 5000 virtual meters I was rowing.

All I could think of when I left the gym was, “I’m on Mars.” It’s a lot hotter than Mars, sure, but it looks like Mars. I even saw dust devils swirling around the pavement augmented by the blowing sand. In these conditions even the slightest breeze is a hair dryer and I was surprised how much dust gets into your eyes.

The Peruvian security guards, who patrol the inner International Zone, have neck gators pulled up over their nostrils and wear sun glasses with wide brim hats. They look like Sand People, the deadly nomads who live on Luke Skywalker’s home planet of Tatooine from “Star Wars.”

This really sucks.

Solstice

2008-06-25T13:35:00.001-07:00

June 21 came and went without me noticing it was summer solstice. In the northern hemisphere, this is the longest day of the year and heralds the arrival of summer. What reminded me that the solstice had come and gone was the thermometer pictured here. Although in the shade, it read over 115F (I think the actual high today was 117F). Summer in Iraq. Welcome to the party, beyotch!

Church

2008-06-22T11:30:00.001-07:00

It’s been written that many people find religion during arduous periods. In a war it’s no different, I imagine. I remember attending my first mass in theater at a modest, wooden chapel in Camp Virginia, Kuwait last November. I went there in the company of a Navy commander who was part of my group that went through training at Fort Jackson. We made our way through the dusty walkways to the chapel on a Saturday evening.

The inside of the chapel was much nicer that the outside. It boasted proper wooden pews and even a few stain glass windows. The Catholic priest, an Army major, was stout man with white hair, kind face, and quiet voice. He came forward, before the start of the mass, and urged us all to sit closer to the front of the chapel. As we did so, he said there was shortage of Catholic priests in theater and that he had been in another part of Kuwait that morning. There was a quiet, intimacy in the way to spoke to us (we numbered scarcely more than twenty). He said something I’ve never heard another Catholic priest say. He urged us to look up during the preparation of the sacrament and watch what was happening. Although something that is done during every mass, he said people rarely look up to see what the priest does. It is simple ceremony, for those who many not be familiar with it, a series of blessings on bread and wine that become, symbolically something more. He spoke quietly, almost conspiratorially.

Maybe it was because of his suggestions or our small number but it this was one of the most special and intimate masses I ever attended. As soon as it began, it hit me that I was very far from home and about to embark on an uncertain and possibly dangerous tour. In that moment of realization, I felt terribly small and during the opening prayer, I felt tears welling up as I thought of my attractive wife and infant son back home. What would the coming year bring? How dangerous would it be? Would they be okay? What if I didn’t come back? The priest went on with the mass, his voice still very quiet. I had to strain to hear him properly. Was he tired? Or did the weight of his tour bear down on him?

Later, it was the same for the first few masses I attended after I arrived in the International Zone. Being so busy, it was only when mass began that I realized I was in Iraq and separated from my family. I found comfort in the prayers and the ceremony of the mass.

It helped that we had a wonderfully charismatic Franciscan priest, Father Kerry, an Air Force major, who converted to Catholicism and who grew up as an evangelical Baptist in the south. This winning combination made for fantastic and energetic homilies. Yet he also had a calmness that showed itself during several tense moments last April. Beginning on Easter Sunday, and for four weeks in a row in April during Sunday mass, the International Zone was hit by rockets. During one mass, a particularly heavy barrage occurred while we were singing the closing hymn. Father Kerry usually was the first person to leave mass so he could say goodbye to everyone as they exited the chapel. In the second verse of the hymn, he walked back into the chapel and said over our singing, “I need everyone to duck and cover now…” which we did. As we did so only then did we hear the warning alarms of an incoming attack. Everyone lay prone in the chapel, the only sounds from outside were the alarm and the periodic explosions of impacting rockets. It went on this way for an interminably long time. After a particularly close impact, someone began whispering the Hail Mary prayer which we all began to recite.

Our parish is called the Roman Catholic Community of Saint Michael, The Archangel, of Baghdad, Iraq. As patron saints go, St. Michael is particularly apropos for this place; he is mentioned in both the Bible and the Qu’ran. At the close of each mass, we say the following prayer which was penned by Pope Leo XIII in the late 1800s:

“Saint Michael, the Archangel, defend us in battle, be our defense against the wickedness and snares of the devil. May God rebuke him, we humbly pray; and do thou, O prince of the heavenly host by the power of God, thrust into Hell Satan and the other evil spirits who prowl about the world seeking the ruin of souls.”

During those four weekly rocket attacks I can say with some surety that St. Michael took care of his parish here in Baghdad.

Hot & Dusty

2008-06-18T02:44:00.002-07:00

Growing up in southern California, I am accustomed to hot, dry summers and smog (these were the days before catalytic converters on automobiles). Although we had some hot days here in Baghdad before I went on leave, those don’t compare to the consistent 109F heat we are experiencing now. And it’s not even summer yet. I’ve heard the horror stories of the 130F heat of the high summer here. Interestingly, I was told by someone who has been year two years (!) -- a linguist contractor -- that there is not much difference between 110F and 130F; both are equally uncomfortable. And, with the daily, inexorable increase of temperature, people here adjust accordingly. If you’ve ever heard the term, “boiling frog,” you’ll know what I mean. Since my return from leave, the daily high as hovered consistently around 109F with one or two days hitting as high as 111F.

But there is no escaping the dust. In addition to the heat, we are beset by nearly daily periods of heavy dust in the air accompanied by a strong, hot wind. When outside, the result is a new twist on the familiar Hair Dryer phenomena: a Hair Dryer blowing very fine sand particles into your eyes. There is no respite, even indoors: the long hallways of the Embassy have a fine cloud of dust hanging in the air that is more visceral and visible. You can see it if you look far down the hall but it’s not immediately visible around you.

The dust, we are told, is a result of Baghdad’s dry and colder than average winter. With not enough rain to irrigate farm land, the summer winds regularly lift fine Iraqi sand into the air where it stays for hours on end. There is sometimes relief from it in the evening when the winds eventually die down. Back in April, such days were looked on with dread as insurgents used the low visibility to launch rocket attacks on the International Zone. However, in a testament to the steadily improving security situation, we have not experienced any rocket attacks since my return.

Pick Up Game

2008-06-10T10:43:00.002-07:00

I've been back now for about two weeks and have gotten back into a routine. I'm convinced, after seven months here, that it is the key to maintaining sanity. Having a routine makes the time go faster, or at least it seems that way. However, for the first few days being back, time absolutely crawled, my routine wrecked. The pleasant and all too recent memories of being with my attractive wife and precocious, talking two-year old son for fifteen short days were bittersweet.

Complicating getting back into a routine was the degree of change that occurred while I was away. Many billets here turnover this time of year, more so than in the winter when I first arrived. For example, both my teammates – my team chief and my co-worker -- went home while I was on leave. Two additional co-workers on other teams also redeployed. And shortly after I returned, our Australian coalition teammate went home. This meant the office was full of newly arrived people. With all the new people, the entire office dynamic, in fact, had changed.

One would think this would be bad but here is the amazing thing about this place: everyone who walks in the office here is top notch. At Multi-National Force-Iraq (MNF-I), General Petraeus’ staff, we are somewhat jealous of the divisions and units at Multi-National Corps-Iraq (MNC-I), our subordinate unit. They largely deploy as a cohesive whole; that is, they were all serving together to begin with in the same unit before coming here. At the staff, we are assembled from all the services (army, navy, air force, marines) and across all commands. The result is a large pick up game; we need to learn to be effective teammates with each other while simultaneously learning a new skill set. Sometimes it works very well, other times less so.

I’m happy to say, the new guys all appear great and already I have a new team dynamic. It’s very different from the first team when I arrived. For example, I have had four team chiefs and three teammates since arriving here. For the most part, every iteration was great. The good news is that this is the team that I will finish with here four and half months from now.

Back to the IZ

2008-06-04T02:51:00.001-07:00

Of course, arriving at Baghdad International Airport (BIAP) doesn't mean arriving at the International Zone (IZ) which lies some 17 kilometers east. Getting to the IZ usually means either a ground convoy, such as the Rhino, or a short helicopter ride. Getting manifested for either is the real trick. I was traveling with an Army lieutenant colonel named Pete, who also is a co-worker of mine from an adjacent office in the Embassy. He is quite affable but, at times, can produce the sort of inverse stress that only the perpetually cheery can induce.

We arrived in the full heat of early-morning. While away on leave, the typical late May high temperature had risen to 106 F. Similar to my first arrival back in November, the first thing that hit me was that smell. It was all the more pungent in the heat. To make matters a little more chaotic, the waiting area in front of the passenger terminals, which to date consisted of bare earth liberally strewn with small rocks, was fenced off for construction. Future passengers will be able to recline on concrete slabs while waiting for news of their flights.

After having our ID cards electronically swiped, which memorialized our arrival back in Iraq, Pete and I lugged our gear and bags to a nearby Navy Liaison Trailer. I discovered this little air conditioned piece of heaven when I left Baghdad for Qatar last March. It’s a place where Navy personnel can wait for flights and keep their gear (semi) secure. Like everything here, it is not well-marked or advertised. Being an army officer, Pete was unaware of it and when I led him there he was that much more cheery.

Leaving our bags and body armor, we walked to the nearby Dining Facility (DFAC) to catch the last of breakfast. It was good to sit down and eat a hot meal after the previously night’s nocturnal traveling. Next, we walked across the street and visited the all powerful Green Beans trailer for coffee. While we finished our coffee, the barber shop opened and we both got hair cuts. Between our breakfast, coffee, and hair cut, we felt like new men.

Back at the terminal, I called to see about getting us manifested on either a Rhino convoy or a space available helicopter flight. The Rhinos were all booked until after mid-night but we were able to get a space on helicopter flight leaving in the early evening. That gave us a few precious hours to get some rest. We took a bus from the passenger terminal to the Stryker Stables, a transient camp about ten minutes away. We reserved spaces in a tent and promptly fell asleep.

We awoke for lunch at the Stryker DFAC and then returned to the tent for more rest. Despite having several small air conditioners running, the interior of the tent was well over 90 F. No one complained though; everyone realizes that the amenities here are the best in Iraq.

In the late afternoon, we took the bus back to the terminal and began waiting for our helicopter flight. Upon arriving we were informed that our original flight had been cancelled. We next would need to check in at 2030. We once again dumped our gear and bags in the Navy trailer and went to the DFAC for dinner. We returned to the terminal and began the Long Wait.

At 2030 we were told to gear up and walk to the flight line where two helicopters awaited, engines running. As we boarded the first, we noticed the second helicopter stopped its engines. As we strapped in, our engines also stopped. A crewman told us over the din of the dying engine that the second helicopter was “down,” meaning it had some kind of engine problem. We un-strapped ourselves from the seats and walked back to the terminal.

To make a long story short, we walked out to the flight line two more times and were turned away. Either the helicopters in question were full or were not flying to the IZ. The third time was the charm. By this time, it was well after 2200. Our helicopter took off and made the short flight to the IZ. Despite the long wait, it was well worth it. We arrived well before the midnight Rhino would. I walked from the landing zone and caught site of the imposing girth of the Republican Palace. Back … home. Yeah, that’s a weird thought.

I passed through the Embassy and walked to my trailer where I found my air force roommate, Bill, still awake. I was thankful as trying to unpack in the dark would have been problematic and noisy. Despite the jet lag, I went to sleep right away.

Sand Spider

2008-05-27T13:06:00.003-07:00

While home, a fellow Navy officer asked if I had seen sand spiders. I replied that I had not but that I had seen some pictures of some of the more larger specimens. And they can grow to be pretty large.

While at Ali al Salem, I was waiting to assist in the offload of some of our checked baggage. It was around 0130 local time. An Air Force lieutenant colonel I was speaking with said, “Hey, what’s that?” pointing the ground. We saw something that at first looked like a mid-sized brown scorpion scurrying along the ground at a pretty good clip. As I got closer, I saw it was a legendary sand spider. It seemed fearless and changed course to come in my direction. “Are they poisonous?” I asked while weaving to avoid its charge. “No, but their bite is quite painful, so I’m told.” I got out my camera and attempted to take a picture documenting this encounter. As I got closer to it, it would change course to come at me. I would back away and then again attempt to get closer. Eventually, I snapped a somewhat X-Files-like picture. It was much bigger than it appears. Really.

Back to the Future

2008-05-27T12:49:00.005-07:00

The time passed too quickly. Shortly after getting home for leave I thought, fifteen days surely is a long time. But here I sit in Atlanta on 24 May already, waiting to catch the chartered flight to Kuwait, via Leipzig, Germany, my leave all but over. I awoke at 0315 this morning in order to catch a 0600 commercial flight from San Francisco International to Dallas. At SFO, I bid my attractive wife farewell once again with the mutual understanding that more than half of my tour already was over: only four and a half months to go. It was still hard to say goodbye.

Following the instructions given to me when I arrived in Dallas, I sought out an adjacent ticket counter at the USO where I would officially report back. The ticket counter was a sea of military members wearing Army Combat and Desert Camouflage Uniforms (ACUs and DCUs), the sight of which actually was shocking. During my short leave, my eyes quickly readjusted to civilian clothes.

The same Texan hospitality I encountered on the inbound flight once again was waiting for us. The USO provided snacks, water, batteries, and other sundry items after we made our way from the check in area to the gate. We boarded the chartered jet for a short flight to Atlanta where we picked up the rest of our group -- some 355 people all together.

We arrived in Atlanta a few hours later where we deplaned briefly and met up with more people in uniform. We re-boarded, this time taking up every seat in the chartered MD-11, and took off for Kuwait via a brief stop in Leipzig, Germany.

On the plane, I sat next to a Army staff sergeant who I learned had served previously in Afghanistan and was now in Tikrit, Iraq. Like me, he was returning from leave. When he learned I was stationed in the International Zone, he asked about the period in April where we received almost daily rocket attacks from Shiite insurgents in Sadr City. “I’ve heard several swish by,” I said. “I’m told if you can hear them, they aren’t necessarily headed your way.” “Not true,” he replied, “and I have the Purple Heart to prove it.” He explained he had been in a guard tower in Afghanistan one night when he heard the familiar swoosh of an incoming rocket. He initially thought he was safe because he could hear the rocket. Nevertheless, it slammed into the guard tower injuring him. “Were you hit by shrapnel?” I asked. He said he didn’t think so; it was likely a piece of the tower which broke loose during the explosion. So, swoosh doesn’t necessarily mean safe. Noted.

We landed in Kuwait City around 1900 local on 25 May, some ten hours in the future as far California and my family was concerned. We stepped out of the plane into a 104F Hair Dryer. Thankfully, we walked immediately into waiting air conditioned buses. Unlike our outbound leg, a Kuwaiti Police escort already was waiting for the trip to Camp Ali al Salem. There, the same Gateway crew as before processed us back in from leave and began separating us into to different groups, depending on our final destinations whether they be in Iraq, Afghanistan or the Horn of Africa.

I had hoped the flight to Baghdad would be leave later in the day, affording us some respite but at a briefing at 2200 we were told to return at 0200. At 0200 we were told that we were to be manifested on a flight leaving later that day. At 0245 we were put again in “lockdown” which you will recall is military speak for “don’t go anywhere.” At 0400 we were told to “stand by” and at 0430 we began boarding buses to go meet our flight. Out on the flight-line we boarded a huge, passenger configured C-17 at 0500 and took off for Baghdad around 0600. Although packed in again like sardines, the advantage of the C-17 is that it’s much quicker than a C-130; we arrived in Baghdad only an hour later. All told getting back to Iraq was much more efficient than leaving, the irony of which was not lost on those of us returning from leave.

Home

2008-05-15T13:03:00.002-07:00

Dear readers: I got home last week and have another week to go. I'm so happy to be home and be spending time with my family. I'll start posting again when I return to Baghdad.

Southern Comfort - Part Two

2008-05-10T12:03:00.003-07:00

I wrote earlier of the wonderful and unexpected hospitality we received in Columbia, South Carolina the night before we flew to Kuwait six months ago. After a brief refueling stop in Leipzig, Germany, our chartered flight landed in Atlanta, Roughly half our group deplaned here to catch commercial flights to points on the eastern half of the US. The rest of us flew on to Dallas, Texas.

We were greeted in Dallas by an Army master sergeant accompanied by a major. I turned over the Dallas manifest given to me by the team at Gateway and signed several papers recording our flight’s arrival. In the company of the major, myself and an army colonel flying with us, walked off the plane ahead of the rest of the group. We stepped into the terminal and received several thank yous and glances of admiration from people walking around. The major led us down a flight of steps to an unused customs area where he officially stamped our leave slips, recording our entry back to the US. The major told me I could exit as the colonel had checked baggage to claim. I thanked him, especially now that my official duties as flight commander were through.

I made my way to the exit not sure of where I would end up. Two closed doors opened automatically and I found myself in a long hallway. As I turned the corridor I found myself looking at close to fifty people including school children with balloons, flags and confetti. All of sudden people were shaking my hand, giving me a small gift bag, a bottle of cold water and smiles all around. Off to my left, someone played a patriotic song from a stereo loudspeaker. I looked into the eyes of the kids and shook as many hands as I could thanking every one of them. I was overcome, especially as I was caught so off guard. I apologized in fact because the rest of my group was behind me some minutes off. They all said that was okay; I was just as import walking through alone. Truly amazing.

I found myself on the street and in the bright Dallas sunshine. I turned and walked to the next set of double doors and entered the United Terminal where I would be catching my next flight to San Francisco via Denver. I passed through security again and made a call to my attractive wife to update her on my arrival time home. As I finished, an elderly man came up to me to shake my hand and to thank me for my service. I explained I was mid-way through my tour and that I was looking forward to seeing my family. After our chat, I made my way to a bathroom. As I was shaving, a tall young man came in and slapped a $20 bill on the basin and said, “Thank you for my freedom.” I was aghast, picked up the bill and said, “Sir, that’s not necessary...” but he said, “yes, it is. Thank you,” and was gone. I finished shaving, once again surprised by the genuine nature of appreciation. As I finished, a young army specialist (E-4) walked in and began repacking his back across from me. I took the $20 and said to him, “a complete stranger just gave me this $20 thanking for me my service. I’m an O-5 and you’re a E-4; you take it.” The specialist wore the same expression I had just moments earlier and said, “Thank you, sir.” I smiled and left. Pay it forward.

Thank you, good people of Dallas. This Dirt Sailor won’t forget your gestures of hospitality.

Checkpoint

2008-05-10T12:02:00.002-07:00

We drove for about ten or fifteen minutes when we pulled over into what appeared to be a check point. Sitting in the front of the lead bus I could see Kuwaiti police vehicles parked next to a few ramshackle buildings. Several Kuwaitis, police I assumed, walked out of the building and made their way to the lead HUMVEE escort. This, I was told, would be our police escort to KCIA, still some twenty or so minutes away. We waited. And waited.

One of the soldiers on our bus had a radio which I periodically asked him to use to find out what was going on. Every time he radioed the HUMVEE they replied that the Kuwaitis were told they would be escorting two convoys, not one. All I could think of was the other group of soldiers from Afghanistan we had spent the entire day behind in customs. I knew for a fact that we had left before them, presumably because our flight left before theirs.

After an hour went by, new civilian vehicles arrived. Uniformed personnel got out and joined the growing conference of Kuwaitis and US military at the head of our convoy. I asked my Marine Corps master sergeant, who was my assistant flight commander, to accompany me out of the bus to see what was going on. As we approached the outdoor conference, I saw that one of the recent arrivals was a Kuwaiti police colonel. The other Kuwaitis were paying him much deference. The US military personnel involved in the conference were senior enlisted. One of them saw our approach and asked what he could do for us. He looked stressed and our arrival likely was adding to the stress. Nevertheless, I owed it to the 348 personnel in the buses behind me to find out what was going on.

“Can I help you, sir?” he asked. “Yeah,” I replied, “we’re less than two hours from our scheduled departure. Why are we still stuck here?” “Sir,” he said moving slightly between me and the ensuing discussion not far away, “we’re just about to get moving, don’t worry.”
Right.

I knew the flight was chartered, and we were the only passengers, so it’s not like the plane was going anywhere without us. We walked back to the bus. Not long after, another convoy of four buses plus a baggage truck arrived and positioned themselves in front of us. This was the second convoy the Kuwaitis were waiting for. Slowly, the Kuwaitis and the US military personnel previously engaged in the discussions got back in their vehicles and we started moving.

After some twenty to thirty minutes, we arrived at KCIA and vectored off to a closed section of the airport. We went through some more check points and were told we would be driven directly to the flight line. The convoy that was ahead of us drove off to a parking lot. As we passed by, we saw them getting off their buses to smoke.

We drove on for a minute or two and found ourselves on the flight line. A large chartered plane was waiting for us. Our volunteer baggage handlers, where were on the first bus with me, got off and started to load our bags on the plane. I got off the bus and presented our official manifest to the plane’s crew. Some more signatures were made and our group got onto the plane. Every seat was taken.

Bus Ride to KCIA

2008-05-10T12:01:00.003-07:00

I left the loading dock, with the last of my group and found ourselves in Yet Another Line. This one led through a causeway to another building where, we were told by those ahead of us, we would go through another X ray machine. Once again, we emptied our pockets, walked through the metal detectors, had our carry one bags X-rayed and were admonished once again that we could take such things as hand grenades, war trophies, or switch blades home. Right.

We exited into a court yard where we were instructed to wait in a tent, depending on our intermediate destinations (Atlanta or Dallas). I went to the Dallas tent and found half my group waiting seated on chairs and watching a movie. A stocked refrigerator held water, sodas and sports drinks, along with snacks on the wall. I grabbed a Coke and some potato chips. Shortly, we were instructed to walk to another building where we would pick up our commercial airline tickets and itineraries. We did so, and then gathered once more as an entire group under a wooden roofed structure. We received a blessing from an Air Force Chaplain who gave a gift to one of our soldiers. He gave it to the youngest soldier with a child (the solider was nineteen).

Our push time for the busses was set back one hour to accommodate our Dantean travel through Customs. I was informed by the movement coordinator that we would be okay. Under Gateway personnel supervision we slowly filed onto nine large buses and, under armed escort, proceeded out into the dark Kuwaiti desert.

Leaving Gateway

2008-05-09T10:37:00.002-07:00

The next morning we re-assembled and went into “lockdown” which is a military term for “don’t go anywhere,” while we waited to clear customs. We were herded into a large, air conditioned tent, while we waited to be called to a building next door to go through the customs. We waited and waited. Finally, some two hours later, a Navy customs petty officer introduced himself to me and said we would be starting. Apparently, another unit redeploying home from Afghanistan had been two hours late starting their customs and now my group was behind schedule. We were scheduled to leave together on a bus later that afternoon in order to make trip to Kuwait City International Airport (KCIA).

As the flight commander, I went with the first group of people called to go through customs. We were ushered to the next building, told to remove our covers (hats) and empty our pockets into them. We filed by an X-ray machine, were wanded and then proceeded to a series of desks where t-shirted Navy customs enlisted petty officers went through our bags. It was hot and dark in the cavernous building.

“Why is it so dark in here?” I asked the Hispanic guy going through my back pack. “Oh, the power went out about two hours ago. We also had a small fire but it was put out.” That’s great. I took my now unpacked belongings and dumped them into a plastic bin. Moving everything over to a series of wooden tables, I repacked and went outside.

Two trucks waited on a loading dock where volunteer baggage handlers from my group and the unit from Afghanistan were loaded checked baggage. I placed my bags to the side and re-entered the customs building to see if I could get a better sense of what was going on.

“Are you the flight commander?” a Navy customs official asked me while I was still outside. “That’s me,” I answered. “We’re going to have to hurry your people up if you guys want to make your flight tonight.” “Well we’d love to,” I answered, “but we got stuck behind this other unit redeploying from Afghanistan.” “There’s no way around that,” he answered, “just tell your people to re-pack their belongings faster.” Well, thanks for that advice, I thought. I passed the word to our baggage handlers and some of them started circulating in the customs building cajoling their fellow soldiers to repack faster.

While inside, I was approached by a young army sergeant who asked if I could sign form authorizing him to take a piece of shrapnel home. Technically, this is classified as a war trophy but there are regulations allowing soldiers to take them home under certain circumstances. Gingerly, he unwrapped a towel to reveal an ugly six inch piece of twisted steel. “How did you come across this?” I asked. “My trucked was IED’d and this piece of shrapnel came flying into my truck where it bounded around. Luckily, no one was hurt.” I held the jagged pieces of steel, which was very sharp, and wondered how anyone couldn’t be hurt by having it bounce around in a vehicle. “You certainly deserve this,” I said and signed his form.

As the last of our group cleared customs, the power returned.

Gateway

2008-05-09T10:33:00.004-07:00

Ah, Kuwait: land of sand, diesel generators spaced twenty meters apart, port-o-lets, and tents. I found myself the next day at Camp Ali al Salem in Kuwait. Like Camp Virginia, this is a sprawling, multi-purpose base. Gateway is the area of the camp dedicated to processing people coming in and going out of theater, either on leave or redeployment back home. I got here via a crowded flight on a venerable Air Force C-130 Hercules. We were packed in like sardines. Coincidentally, I spent the flight sitting next to my friend Vinny, a civilian friend of mine who works law enforcement and who was in Iraq for a 120 day temporary assignment. Vinny was redeploying home. We had ran into the each other at the BIAP passenger terminal. As we like to say, it’s a medium-sized country.

Upon landing at Ali al Salem, we boarded a bus for a fifteen minute ride to Gateway. Vinny, along with other civilians, got off before us to be processed separately. I bid him good bye and good luck. The rest of us got off just down the road and filed into a processing tent. We gave them our signed leave forms, which they stamped and made copies of. We also requested commercial airline tickets to our respective final leave destinations. The entire group, some 350 of us, would fly on a chartered plane to Atlanta. Roughly half the group would leave at Atlanta to catch commercial flights to their final destinations on the eastern portion of the country. The rest of us would fly onto Dallas where we would catch commercial flights to points west. Since I was headed back to the Bay Area, I would be flying to Dallas.

After processing, we were assigned tents to sleep in as we wouldn’t be leaving until the following day. Before leaving the tent, I was appointed Flight Commander, which is a military term for “cat herder” for the 350 of us flying back to the U.S. This meant I was would be responsible for the “military discipline and good order” for the group as we made our way from Gateway to Kuwait International Airport (KCIA) and then onto to Atlanta and Dallas.

I walked around the camp and found it a lot like Camp Virginia, where I spent nearly week processing into theater six months ago. There were the ubiquitous noisy power generators, a sizable Dining Facility (DFAC), a McDonalds, Barber Shop, Base Exchange, plus other sundry shops, and two Morale, Welfare and Recreation (MWR) tents which featured TVs, videos games, and Internet terminals. I went to bed early figuring I would need the rest for the journey to come.

Going on Leave

2008-05-09T10:23:00.006-07:00

Last month, I traveled to Qatar for a conference and I wrote of the Hell That is Travel in theater. That trip turned out to be quite smooth, actually. On both legs, our group flew in style aboard Air Force C-17s instead of the more quotidian, prop-driven, C-130 Hercules. The key to our success was traveling on official business or, in military parlance, Temporary Duty (TDY). Under the aegis of TDY orders, we were able to space block ourselves (military for making a reservation) on an outbound flight.

Tonight, I left the International Zone on the first step of my mid-tour leave. While I am traveling on orders, they are leave orders, not technically TDY. In fact, leave orders are lower priority than cargo. After all, it’s not like there is some kind of mission essential reason why you need to get out of country to go on leave.

Step one was a routine ride on the Rhino Runner from the IZ to Victory Base. I said good bye to my two teammates, both of whom will redeploy home while I am away. Upon arrival at Victory Base, I was dropped off at the Al Faw palace, headquarters of MNF-I. I needed to get to Baghdad Int’l Airport (BIAP). I walked about a quarter mile, wearing body armor and toting my backpack, to a bus stop to figure out a way to BIAP. To my dismay, there wasn’t a way to get there from where I was. However, I could take a bus to Camp Stryker, specifically the Stryker Stables where I spent time six months ago just after my arrival in country. I knew there was an hourly bus that left for BIAP from the stables. A quick look at the schedule showed I had nearly fifty minutes to wait. I spied a local DFAC and figured I would follow the advice given to me by an Air Force pilot I knew (“Eat when you can.”). I dropped off my gear at the Mayor Cell, an office that administers housing on Victory Base, and ate a quick, Mexican-styled dinner in honor of Cinco de Mayo.

As I approached the Mayor Cell building I heard an incoming alarm warning of indirect fire. Now an expert at this particular drill, I opted to sprint into the office which appeared pretty sturdy. As I walked in, the alarm abruptly stopped. Previous experience suggested this was a false alarm. I walked into the office to find all the army personnel prone on the floor. I said, “I think they’re trying to mess with you,” trying to be funny which got no reaction. Shortly, an army lieutenant appeared and verified it was a false alarm. I grabbed my gear and walked back to the bus stop.

Another long and bumpy bus ride ensued. Darkness fell and the environs of Victory Base turned into harshly outlined scraggly trees and desert brush flanking the roadside lit by the bus’ headlights. Having spent so little time here, I kept forgetting how big Victory is. At one point, the road detoured onto a dirt path, complete with impressive potholes. The driver, an Indian national, expertly wove the teetering Toyota minibus around the potholes and uneven earth. Squished into my too small seat, wearing body armor, and cradling my too big back pack, I felt quite the third world traveler. How would noted travel writer Paul Theroux describe it I wondered? Better.

As luck would have it, we arrived at the Stryker stables ten minutes before eight in the evening. I walked from the Toyota Jeep-nee to a more sizable bus waiting to take other soldiers to BIAP. Another bus ride, this time solely confined to paved road, brought us to BIAP.

I checked in the R&R desk and was told to come back at 2200 for a formation. This is the army’s way of addressing a large crowd. I found the Navy liaison trailer, air conditioned, and watched the first episode of the sitcom, “Chuck” that my friend Chris from back home sent along with the rest of the show’s season. At 2200 I formed up, along with a plethora of army bubbas. A sergeant came out and told us to pass our ID cards to the right. Providing we were on the list of people authorized to go on leave, we would be manifested onto a flight that would leave “sometime in the future.” It would take one hour to manifest us on whatever flight we would take. Come back in one hour.

2315 hours. We huddle around the same sergeant. Over the din of air force cargo planes taxiing on nearby runways, they begin announcing who is going on what flight by using the last four digits of our social security numbers. Everyone is used to hearing their last name but try listening for a unique four digit string among a sea of numbers. It’s harder than you think.

I was assigned a flight for the next day. Show time was 0915 and estimated take off 1215. Given the vagaries of military air lift, I opted to stay overnight at the terminal instead of heading back to the Stryker stables. I went back to the relative comfort of the Navy trailer. I swept the dust out of a corner of the office/trailer and spread out a long kevlar blanket I found tucked under a desk. It made a fine ersatz mattress. The rhythmic thumping of taxiing helicopters not far away vibrated the trailer -- and me -- to sleep.

Halfway

2008-05-04T03:02:00.003-07:00

25 April was my half way mark of my one year tour here. In some ways, the time has flown; in other ways it’s crawled. April, in particular, has crawled which is a shame since spring is normally one of my favorite times of the year. Already the temperatures have soared well past the century mark for more than a week and half. The exceptional cold of Baghdad’s winter now is but a halcyon memory. The highest temperature I’ve experienced was 109F two weeks ago. This week, we’ve had a slight respite with temperatures in the mid-90s which actually feels cool, if you can believe that.

Over time, we have become used to the increased indirect fire attacks (IDF) which began in earnest last Easter. The complex machinations of Iraqi domestic politics, on which the IDF attacks partially are triggered, grinds slowly forward. From where I sit, it’s hard to grasp the complete story other than the Government of Iraq now is taking greater and greater responsibility for what happens here. In some ways, that’s important progress.

In the meantime, we here in the International Zone have come to adjust to the IDF attacks. What initially was scary is now routine, a peculiar truism of war that I had read about but now know firsthand. We know what to do when IDF occurs and we get on with our jobs. Maybe simple experience ultimately nullifies the negative effect of the IDF; the rounds are small and the damage is minimal. Slowly, the threat of the attacks have lost their effectiveness, at least for me. That is not to say we have become complacent; far from it, we respond in a way that only real life experience can hone. Anyone can tell you how to ride a bike but you don’t know how until you actually do it.

The IDF and my upcoming 15-day leave put an interesting coda on my experiences thus far. I do know that I am ready to get the Hell Out Of Here, at least for a while. But because I know that I’ll have to come back, I haven’t breathed that mental sigh of relief that I have seen on the faces of other people who are about to redeploy for good. I hope I will be able to relax at home. When I see my attractive wife and handsome two-year old son, I think I will...

Haiku

2008-04-26T02:29:00.006-07:00

My friend and co-worker, Huey, is getting ready to re-deploy (that is, go home) after a year here. It's his second full tour in Iraq. Aside from being a well squared away Army captain, he's also our shop's Information Management Officer (IMO), a thankless computer help job. The System Admins grant IMOs limited administrator access to take care of minor problems and install software on our computers. Unfortunately, being an IMO makes you the target of stupid questions like, "My monitor won't turn on," or "I can't receive any more email."

In honor of Huey's departure, below are some computer related Haiku that I came across on the blog of OpenDNS, a DNS service company based in San Franciso:

“Evening Reflection”
—————
Moon shines on water
Crickets chirp in the tall grass
Damn, it’s my pager

“Server Room”
————–
Summer clouds float by
No, it’s smoke from the Dell rack
Watch out for halon

“With No Power Comes Great Responsibility”
—————
A quiet peace comes
Beeps and fans fall silent now
Power supply fails

“On the Help Desk”
—————
The one true answer:
“Try turning it off and on”
Words of great wisdom

“The Last Day”
—————
Where is that backup?
I swear it worked yesterday!
Work on resume.

Change

2008-04-23T12:25:00.002-07:00

Postings to Iraq are cyclical by nature. Army Brigade Combat Teams are posted here for between fifteen to twelve months. Individual Augmentees, like myself, are here between six to twelve months. One colonel I know characterized our experience here by saying, “We haven’t been in Iraq for five years; we’ve been in Iraq one year five times over.” The exceptionally complex nature of both the conflict here and the organization of the US forces and diplomatic mission poised against it make short tours (ones of six months or less) nearly ineffective; it takes one almost three months just to figure out what’s going on and how one fits into the greater picture.

With cyclical postings come cyclical relationships. I arrived just as the guy I replaced, Jack, was leaving. We had nearly a week and half for a turnover which, by Navy standards is pretty good, but only served to hint at how much there was to know about this place. I spent nearly the first three months reacting to my environment and trying to learn what it was I didn’t know. It’s not unlike the five stages of grief: Denial (“What the Hell am I doing here?”); Anger (“Why the Hell am I here?”); Bargaining (“Just let me survive until mid-tour leave.”); Depression (“Man, it really sucks here.”); Acceptance (“What the Hell; it will be alright.”)

Jack was well liked and all of my then co-workers were sorry to see him go. Jack, of course, was ready to leave after being here a year. Since then, I have experienced a kind of special, wistful jealously watching other co-workers get within 30 days of redeployment back home.

This spring, many of my co-workers will redeploy. My roommate, an Air Force captain, was here for just a four month tour and will leave at the end of April. My immediate boss, a Marine Corps lieutenant colonel on his second tour in Iraq, arrived last December on a five month tour and already is getting ready to leave next month. My other teammate, an Army captain also on his second tour in Iraq, has been here a year and also will leave next month. Given the recent tempo of attacks by Shiite extremists on the International Zone, all are palpably relieved to be leaving soon. I envy them. But there is a small light in the tunnel: in early May I will take my mid-tour leave to see my attractive wife and precocious two-year old son. So I have my own countdown, of sorts, going just like those preparing to leave for good.

The departure of both my teammates leaves me as the continuity guy. It’s a sobering thought when I think of how especially well informed my army co-worker is about the nuances of this place; he knows where to go in both the virtual and physical realms in response to the most arcane operational questions. I wonder if I will get that smart eventually. I hope so.

I had thought of trying to go six or even seven months here before taking leave; I was told by many taking leave later makes coming back more psychologically palatable with less than half of the tour remaining. As it is, I’ll come back to five months remaining, technically less than half. I know everyone who has gone on leave tells me it’s hard to get back on the airplane coming back here.

Flies

2008-04-23T11:40:00.003-07:00

With the return of hot weather, a plague of flies has descended on Iraq or at least to every bit of outdoor space in the International Zone. This is a new phenomenon to me as one who arrived here last November when it was cold. Those who have been here longer fully expected it and were not surprised at their return.

“Where did they come from?” I ask. “The eggs are dormant during the winter. When the weather warms, they hatch. Just like the mosquitoes.” Oh, great.

Common house flies in North America are docile compared to these pests. They aggressively fly around your head, taking special pleasure to land on your cheek or neck. Back home, a simple wave of the hand is all that’s needed to dismiss them. Here, it is taken as a challenge. The flies here are oblivious to danger and bent on harassment. They seem smaller, more nimble, more evolved.

My torment reminds me of a seminal poem by Charles Bukowski entitled, “Two Flies.” My friend, and then co-worker, Bill first made me aware of this poem in 1996. It’s worth quoting in its entirety:

Two Flies

The flies are angry bits of
life;
why are they so angry?
it seems they want more,
it seems almost as if they
are angry
that they are flies;

it is not my fault;
I sit in the room
with them
and they taunt me
with their agony;

it is as if they were
loose chunks of soul
left out of somewhere;

I try to read a paper
but they will not let me
be;

one seems to go in half-circles
high along the wall,
throwing a miserable sound
upon my head;

the other one, the smaller one
stays near and teases my hand,
saying nothing,
rising, dropping
crawling near;

what god puts these
lost things upon me?
other men suffer dictates of
empire, tragic love...
I suffer
insects...

I wave at the little one
which only seems to revive
his impulse to challenge:
he circles swifter,
nearer, even making
a fly-sound,

and the one above
catching a sense of the new
whirling, he too, in excitement,
speeds his flight,
drops down suddenly
in a cuff of noise

and they join
in circling my hand,
strumming the base
of the lampshade
until some man-thing
in me
will take no more
unholiness
and I strike
with the rolled-up paper –
missing! –
striking,
striking,

they break in discord,
some message lost between them,

and I get the big one
first, and he kicks on his back
flicking his legs
like an angry whore,
and I come down again
with my paper club
and he is a smear
of fly-ugliness;

the little one circles high
now, quiet and swift,
almost invisible;
he does not come near
my hand again;
he is tamed and
inaccessible; I leave
him be, he leaves me be;
the paper, of course,
is ruined;

something has happened,
something has soiled my
day,
sometimes it does not
take a man
or a woman,
only something alive;

I sit and watch
the small one;
we are woven together
in the air
and the living;
it is late
for both of us.

--Charles Bukowski