Mark's Job

A lot of my job is to understand Intel and to be able to translate the needs of the analyst (even if they cannot articulate them) into a technical solution that lets them do their job better or faster. The difficult part is understanding the difference between the art and science of intelligence analysis, the importance of well designed processes or procedures, and the capabilities and limits of technology. If any project is too dependent upon one at the expense of another, it ultimately limits that project’s usefulness. Unfortunately, too many times technology is employed for technology’s sake (i.e., because it’s new & “sexy”), rather than because it’s the best way to accomplish a specific ends. This sets up unrealistic expectations and inevitably results in the customer being disappointed, and comm. Looking bad. Sometimes though, you just can’t reason with people (I refer you back to the note at the bottom of the Idiot Test).

A note from Anais…

“wow....the reason i haven’t been writing you is that i guess i was thinking that if i ignored the fact that you were gone, it would be like you were just at work, like nothing had changed. but that’s childish , and i have to face the fact that everything has changed, because the more i tried to forget that you are a bazillion miles away, the harder it got. every time i made a wish on an eye lash, or threw a coin in to a fountain, my wish was always the same: give me back my daddy safe and sound."

Honey, everything may seem to have changed, but not the most important thing. You mean so much more to me than you could ever know - I’ll always save the last dance for you.

Idiot Test

I keep this on my whiteboard in the office. Every techie guy has to have a whiteboard – who else would he draw complicated network diagrams to show everyone how smart he was?). Anyway, this is the one thing that never gets erased.

1) Can we do it any easier?
2) Can we do it cheaper?
3) Does it make sense?

NOTE: The General’s desires trump numbers one through three.

Map of Baghdad with Slayer

Mark is in Camp Slayer, just West of the Baghdad Red Zone.

SVBIEDs burning

Smoke from the two SVBIED's (Suicide Vehicle-borne Improvised Explosive Device) outside camp Slayer

Tracers viewed from Camp Victory

Late night in Baghdad

Fuck!! My ears are still ringing and the tips of them burn from the heat of the exhaust. ‘just finished loading two blacked out helos by hand in the pitch black dark It’s darker here than in the States, I swear to God. In spite of the fact that I twice told G3 Air that we would require two EMPTY helos, one came in half full and we ended up breaking down several pallets and just shoving individual boxes and crates in wherever we could. To tell the truth I am lucky no one was hurt. Two of our PAX got lost & ended up on the wrong LZ, but we sent someone to find them and they arrived just in time.

They had the main road closed coming back so our little convoy of four had to travel down Sniper Alley, but they say there hasn’t been any trouble along that stretch of road since we threatened to bull doze any apartment building we took fire from. It’s 0136 and I have to shower and get to sleep.

For Dad (a Father’s Day Posting, 2 days late)

When I was a little boy, I always wanted to be like you.
You made tearing out the old furnace into an adventure….
You taught me to swing a baseball bat in the back yard…
You built me an ice rink, and a fort….
You took me running with you at Macomb…
You cried when I went away…
You were the first one I told when my daughter was born.

And now I know how much you loved me.

Some thoughts about Father’s Day

Sunday was Father’s Day. Jack and Anais sent a wonderful package, with homemade cards from everyone. It was the bright spot of a very long day - I worked until 12:30 am Monday morning.

I think this year I have more to be thankful for than any other year. My own father is alive and healthy, currently somewhere in the Atlantic on the QEII (spending my inheritance). And I have two great kids of my own. Having kids was the best thing I have ever done, even if I did have to be [gently] nudged into it. I can’t even imagine Jack or Anais not being in my life. They bring me so much more joy than they realize, even from 2000 miles away.

A picture in my pocket

I have a picture of Lisanne from Spain that I really like. I’ve had it in a little frame on my desk at work for about 5 years now, and I brought it with me over here. Three days ago I decided that I spend more time at work that I do at the trailer, so I thought I’d bring the picture in and set it on my desk again. So I put it in my cargo pocket to walk to work, but when I got to work, I decided that I sort of liked having it with me. So I’ve been carrying this framed picture around for three and a half days now. I even took it out of my dirty trousers and put it in the same pocket of my clean trousers this morning. I really should put it on the desk, so I don’t break the glass – maybe tomorrow.

Handyman

I built a hanging shelf in my room this morning, so that I don’t have to unlock my wall locker just to get at toiletries such as deodorant, razors, etc. I am happy with it, although I forgot to bring home the saw from work so I couldn’t put together the desk I’d planned on building. I salvaged the wood from a couple of pallets. I’ll send a picture of it after it’s done.

I put the war on hold last night

We have an all-ranks club here, set up in what I think is an old Iraqi house. It’s typical upper class Iraqi, cement on the outside and lots of marble on the interior. Inside they have a pool table (one), a popcorn machine (never used), a couple of decks of cards (well worn), and the largest wide-screen TV that I have ever seen.

I was walking by this club last night around 2110 and wondered whether anyone was watching TV in there? Well, it turned out, there wasn’t, so I went in and flipped the AFN TV channel until I found something I thought I’d like. It was a romantic comedy called She’s the One with Jennifer Aniston and some other actress whom I like (I know, they’re actors!!!). And it was really good just to relax for two hours and pretend that I wasn’t here. I didn’t realize how much I missed having kids and old people in my life, or just being able to go out to a restaurant, or call someone on the phone. A very nice way to end my evening. I even smiled all the way back to my trailor.

Google

Hey!!! If you google “brother year Iraq” this blog is the second result returned. Cool! Why anyone would google those three words is beyond me though…

Also, for those keeping track: 9.43% of my tour is now behind me.

Mess Halls

The mess areas are interesting – it’s an open mess (meaning you eat with whomever you want), but officers don’t eat with enlisted unless they are in the field, and never with contractors.

There are three dining rooms in the chow hall. There is a room wired with cable that they keep tuned to CNN, a second room wired for cable that they keep tuned to sports, and a third room that doesn’t have TV and very few people except newbies eat in. The first two rooms are a part of the original structure, which, after the incident where 17 Americans got blown up in a chow hall, had a second roof added on in order to pre-detonate rockets or mortars. Sort of like the spaced armor siding on a German tank. There are two armed guards out front, and one in the back – we don’t want to take any chances in places where large numbers of troops gather. But, the third room was built on later, and doesn’t have that second roof. There is a sign as you walk in instructing you that helmets and flak vests are required in order to eat in there.

Someone got hurt today

I was up near the log base north of BIAP this afternoon. It was a nice change of pace, and I was enjoying the trip while listening to the BBC on the radio. In fact everything was going fine until I noticed the smoke - the log base had apparently been hit hard sometime earlier. Despite the wind, a greasy grey smoke seemed to hover all around as we got closer… finally we came to a check point where the MPs turned us around. When I asked what had happened, they said that couldn’t say - but I could see smoke roiling up from a building and two other locations, even though I couldn’t tell what else was burning.

On the way back I got stuck behind a convoy of flatbeds carrying brand new Humvees. Fodder for the fight. The tractor trailers have to go very slowly due to the condition of the roads, so it took a long time. I kept glancing back, but the smoke just kept billowing.

Mail from Home

Damn it. Anais made me cry again. I received a box from home for Father’s Day, and on the bottom of it was a little scrapbook she’d made called “Do you Remember?” And I was fine until I got to the last page, where there was a picture of us at my brother’s wedding. I am in my mess dress dancing with Anais in her beautiful gown. She wrote “I’ll always save a dance for you.” And now my baby’s going off to high school without me. Shit.

Neecy, if you read this, do you know that I still have those third-place ribbons from the race we ran together at McGuire? The one that started over near the kiddy play ground where I carried you half of the way? They are taped onto the wall next to my desk, just like they were at Scott, and before that in Spain, and before that at Fort Dix. I look at them and think of you every single day.

FOBBITS and HAJI-BAIT

You can tell the combat troops. First, they tend to be dirtier than the rest of us, whether it’s the raccoon-eyed look that results from wearing goggles in the air turret of a humvee, or the general sweat and grim resulting from a dusty foot patrol. And, although everyone here carries a weapon, it’s usually only the infantry (or troops serving as infantry) that carry anything other than the standard M16. Combat troops seem to prefer the shorter M4 carbine, often adorned with add-on lights, lasers, etc. Usually there is also someone in the group with the M249 automatic rifle slung over their shoulder (22.08 lbs loaded!), or the even new M240B medium machine gun (weighing in at a hefty 28 lbs!). And - a key point here - unlike the new airman who is deployed for the first time, combat troops tend to handle their weapons with an ease born of long familiarity.

Generally, the Infantry may usually be found on Forward Operating Bases, or FOBs, the name of which reminds me of those old triangular Fire Support Bases from Viet Nam. A FOB, however, might actually be quite large, and can include headquarters up to the division level. Less often, the grunts may occupy a Patrol Base, or PB, which can consist of as little as some abandoned building occupied by a single platoon (that is, about 30 guys). PBs are usually supported by FOBs, and the troops in a PB rotate back and forth from the main base. The idea is that to win the hearts and minds, you have to get out there and interact with the locals.

In contrast, the rear area support guys with pressed uniforms (like Public Affairs, or Finance) can usually be found at a larger Logistics Support Activity, such as LSA Anaconda, at Balad. Or with the cool State-Department-types in sun glasses that you see in the International Zone. That leaves us in the middle, the guys (and girls) who live on the FOBs with the grunts, but do not accompany the combat troops when they go to work They call us FOBBITs.

There is some degree of implied derision here, as every front line troop wants to think that the guy even one echelon back has it so much easier than he does, but it is for the most part a friendly rivalry. Although they would be loath to admit it, FOBBITs are a necessary accoutrement to this war, providing the Intel, communications, and fire support the modern grunt needs to survive. In fact, I’d venture that without FOBBITs, the infantry would be much less secure, and much less likely to accomplish their mission, when they did venture out into the red zone. But of course, that’s just another FOBBIT talking.

And when they really get on our nerves, we call the grunts Haji Bait (but usually not to their faces).

Storeroom damage

Damage to our storeroom. Luckily, two soldiers had vacated the space only a couple of minutes before hand.

Natural Fauna

The higher order fauna here in Iraq is quite varied. On top of the heap is the American military, mostly because we pay for everything. And, much like our Commander in Chief, we usually end up getting what we want. The American is a very functional animal, and may often be seen building, blowing up, and building again. He is very task oriented, which sometimes puts him at odds with the native species, and even the TCNs (see below), who tend to do exactly as they are told, but not a sliver more.

Under us, but still fairly high up in the pecking order are our allies the Brits and the Aussies. I lump them together because most Americans do, not being able to tell the two countries apart except for the fact that Foster’s Beer comes from Australia.

Contractors, although in imported species, contractors have become integral to the local food cycle, performing many jobs that would otherwise require more military personnel on the ground, which, of course, is not politically possible. Although they are sometimes territorial, for the most part, contractors and the military have each adapted to the others presence. It’s a symbiotic relationship.

Next are the Iraqis, who are included on this list only because they’ve been here the longest. This is a point of irritation for some Americans, who seem to think we might do better in the war without our erstwhile brethren in the Iraqi Army [note: this is not a personal opinion]. Also, it seems the civilians get in the way a lot, but I suppose they probably think the same thing about us.

Then come our much touted “other allies,” such as Poland, Bulgaria, or Fiji, notable mostly by their absence. Not that they don’t do a good job, there’s just not a lot of them over here, although I actually did see an Estonian soldier last week (perhaps he was lost?). In defense of our “other allies,” I do have to mention that our gates are guarded by Ugandans, who do seem both diligent and steadfast. As was explained to me, troops from third world nations are good for jobs where an American would get bored, mostly because they’re just glad not to have to worry about where their next meal is coming from [again, not my personal opinion]. The Ugandans also deploy with their families, which probably works wonders for their morale.

And finally, while in a better position socially than they would be in some countries (read: Saudi Arabia), at the very bottom of the food chain are the TCNs, or Third Country Nationals. These are the Indians who serve us dinner, the Pakistanis who fill our sandbags, and the Filipina women who work the laundry. By and by they are a very hardworking lot, and, although the mid east is not their natural habitat, they seem to have adapted very well, much like our own illegal Mexicans.

Oh, there are also small numbers ducks, pigeons, sparrows, lizards, and - I am told - rats, spiders and scorpions, although I have not seen any of the latter.

Disturbing Debris

I just returned from a little road trip to the International Airport, which everyone here refers to as BIAP (pronounced Buy-Yap). Sather Air Base is located on the far (Western) side of the air port, and, I have to admit, it was good to be back on AF territory again. Anyway, it’s only about 25-30 minutes away, all the way through “secure” territory.

The trip is always an adventure because of the state of the roads. Although you have to travel both paved and dirt roads, sometimes you cannot tell the difference. About 10 minutes into the return trip I saw some junk in the road. We slowed down and it was the armored turret from a Humvee, and a mangled Humvee door. I don’t know what had happened in the hour between when we’d passed this point going in the opposite direction, but it was a poignant moment for all of us.

Lakeside Run

I ran the lake today. Actually, it’s a series of connected ponds fed by the Tigris, and I am not sure how far around it is, but it sure seemed like a long way. It was at least as long as the 3.75 mile run I did two days ago. I was trying for 4 miles, but was so hot and tired at the turn around point that I decided to just continue around, which I thought would be shorter. Usually if it’s 110 degrees or less I can run outside during the day, but I think that I am going to have to start getting up earlier and running before work, or running with my camelback. According to the gym scale, I have lost eleven pounds since I have been here.

George and I

This is George. He was sent to me by my family as a birthday present. When you squeeze his hand he plays a recording of Jack, Anais, and Lisanne. He’s the best birthday present I ever had.

Cass Tech to Iraq

Mark in his 1979 Cass Tech High School yearbook photo as a Junior (courtesy of Jen) and as a Major in Iraq, 2006.

Humvees and living quarters

A couple of folks have asked how we live out here, which I interpret to mean where we sleep. So here are a couple of photos of the trailers we call home. As you can see, they are surrounded by concrete barriers that are taller than the trailers, so there isn’t a whole lot to see. The barriers that appear out of alignment in this photo are where the trailer doors are.

Humvee with IED protection + Walls around living trailers

The black, semi-horizontal thing behind the soldier is a device attached to the front of the lead humvee in a convoy. It’s in the stowed position now, but when outside of the wire its lowered so that it will trip an infrared beam coming from an IED – although dangerous sounding, the theory is that an IED exploding 18 inches in front of a vehicle is going to do less damage than one going off exactly broadside.




You can just see the edge of the trailer between the concrete barriers.

Birthday candy and nuts

Damage to walls at Slayer

This picture shows the damage to the building that occurred during the battles along the east wall. Now you see why I say I work in the safest place on base.

Last Birthday in Iraq

"At least you know this will be your last birthday in Iraq" (written to Mark 6-5-06)

Yes, that's how my boss looks at it - the only Memorial day in Iraq... the only birthday in Iraq.... the only fourth of July... the problem is that no day is any different than any other. It's ground hog day here every day. I mean, yeah, I go to Camp Liberty, or to the IZ, or even some other places, but it's all the same.

I have a little program that calculates how many seconds you have to go (29,650,949), how many meals you've had in Iraq (71 down, 1029 to go), how many craps you have taken in Iraq (12), etc. It tells me that as of now I have completed 6.49% of my time here. Twenty-four days down and 343 to go. It's hard not to get the feeling of just doing time, you know. And I haven't even been here a month yet!!

On love and death

I went running. I ran for a long, long, time, hoping to chase it out of my mind. What if it were Jack? What if something happened to Anais? But maybe you can’t run away from it – maybe you have to face it.

But how does a man face someone else’s death? Or more specifically, how do I face the possibility of someone I love dying? I don’t know if I can – you know, it’s actually easier to think about yourself dying, something Lisanne and I did several times before I left.

I wish I knew what death was. I wish that I could at least know that there was a heaven, and that it was good. Jack asked about heaven and I told him it was a place where whatever you wanted was there, and everyone you wanted to be there was with you. It’s hard, trying to describe a place you don’t believe in. But I didn’t want him to be afraid, especially with me leaving.

Lisanne is taking both kids to the funeral. I think that’s good. They’re old enough. I think I was 7 when my cousin Shawn died. Or eight. He was hit by a car right in front of his mother… I remember that his hair didn’t quite look natural in the casket. How did Uncle Alvin and Aunt Marilyn cope?? They didn’t, I think. Maybe you can’t.

So… so how do you face it? Do you say it out loud? Like I wish my children good night out loud every night before I fall asleep? Do you think it? Even if it hurts? Or are there just some areas of existence that you pretend don’t exist. I don’t want to think of my children’s death, and I don’t want to think of Ella dying in her mother’s arms. But I can’t get it out of my head. I want to run, and I want to go to sleep and for it to be some other day. Just not today.

Lisanne wrote last week that Ella had taken a serious turn for the worse. I didn’t reply. What do you say? “I hope she has a nice death?” It’s not funny - I feel that I am often awkward in social situations, but perhaps more so when dealing with death. It’s the kids especially; kids shouldn’t die, and kids especially shouldn’t die before their parents.

It’s funny, just yesterday I was telling myself that I am here and I need to stop feeling sorry for myself. And I do, but this doesn’t help. Well, I don’t know if I’ve faced anything, but I do have things to finish up at the office. I will keep busy, and hope for email from home towards the end of the day. And then I’ll walk back to my hooch and go to sleep. I really am pretty lucky – I have people in Swansea and Ferndale and Connecticut who love me. And I love them - I don’t know the purpose of life, and I really don’t understand death, but if living has any meaning at all, it must be to love, in spite of everything. And tomorrow will be another day.

Ella died today – a sad note from the neighborhood

Ella is a little girl in our neighborhood in Swansea. She and her parents live across the street and two doors down – They have the corner lot and always host the annual block party. Their seven-year-old daughter died of cancer this morning.

As the email I received said; “she was in her parent's bed with them about 4:00 am. She woke them up, they cuddled her, they thought she was resettling to go back to sleep - but she took two slow breaths and died quietly in her mother's arms.” I am almost too horrified to even re-read the email. What if it was Jack? Or my precious Anais? Cancer scares me so much.

I guess it’s selfish, that what-if-it-happened-to-me feeling?.… but when it comes down to it, I thank God it was their kid, and not mine. I don’t know what I’d do. I don’t believe in a biblical heaven or hell - to me it’s more a state of mind. But I do know the hell Ella’s parents are going through. You don’t get over a loss like that – it just sucks a little bit of you out with it. And every time it happens, it sucks a little bit more, and more, until finally you too are gone. And this is God’s plan??? Can you honestly tell me there is some overarching reason for little girls to be in pain? For a daughter to die cuddleing in her mothers arms??? God I feel bad for Lori and Dave…

Some say that she’s in a better place. Well, all I know that she’s not in pain here in our world any more – I sure do hope she’s in a better place. I guess we knew this was coming, but the lack of a shock effect never seems to compensate for the overwhelming feeling of hopelessness. You know, for years, I couldn’t even say the word, it frightened me so much. That, and having one of my kids get hit by a car. I thought maybe writing about it would help me feel better. It doesn’t.

Another thing I learned in Iraq:

That truck tires going over stones and rubble sound like gunfire in the distance.

Why I like Iraq (another list)

>Lot’s of free helicopter rides!!!
>The camp laundry folks will fold your clothes for you
>You can have Chicken and rice two meals a day, seven days a week!!
>People send you packages. Everyone likes to get mail…
>Free entertainment – Toby Keith was playing at Camp Victory last night. I was able to drive by the crowd on my way back from HQ.
>It’s an adventure!! Travel to foreign lands and meet exotic people (all male)
>Impromptu air shows. The Apaches were just unleashing some hell on the Muj outside the east wall earlier this morning.
>Free room and board
>You never get cold waiting for the bus….

Uh… that’s about it. It sort of sucks here.

Take the time

A child arrived just the other day,
He came to the world in the usual way.
But there were planes to catch, and bills to pay.
He learned to walk while I was away.
And he was talking 'fore I knew it, and as he grew,
He'd say, "I'm gonna be like you, dad.
You know I'm gonna be like you."

And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon,
Little boy blue and the man in the moon.
"When you coming home, dad?" "I don't know when,
But we'll get together then.
You know we'll have a good time then."

My son turned ten just the other day.
He said, "Thanks for the ball, dad, come on let's play.
Can you teach me to throw?" I said, "Not today,
I got a lot to do." He said, "That's ok."
And he walked away, but his smile never dimmed,
Said, "I'm gonna be like him, yeah.
You know I'm gonna be like him."

And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon,
Little boy blue and the man in the moon.
"When you coming home, dad?" "I don't know when,
But we'll get together then.
You know we'll have a good time then."

Well, he came from college just the other day,
So much like a man I just had to say,
"Son, I'm proud of you. Can you sit for a while?"
He shook his head, and he said with a smile,
"What I'd really like, dad, is to borrow the car keys.
See you later. Can I have them please?"

And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon,
Little boy blue and the man in the moon.
"When you coming home, son?" "I don't know when,
But we'll get together then, dad.
You know we'll have a good time then."

I've long since retired and my son's moved away.
I called him up just the other day.
I said, "I'd like to see you if you don't mind."
He said, "I'd love to, dad, if I could find the time.
You see, my new job's a hassle, and the kid's got the flu,
But it's sure nice talking to you, dad.
It's been sure nice talking to you."
And as I hung up the phone, it occurred to me,
He'd grown up just like me.
My boy was just like me.

And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon,
Little boy blue and the man in the moon.
"When you coming home, son?" "I don't know when,
But we'll get together then, dad.
You know we'll have a good time then."

Read the words and act on how you feel – I wish I could. Anais and Jack, I love both you so much [little tear]. I promise you that this will be the last time.

Dad