Route Irish

Less than an hour to go and I find myself getting nervous. Last time I was too busy to be nervous - this time I came in early to take care of things ahead of time. I won't do that again.

I find myself twisting my wedding ring around on my finger over & over again. Sort of like that feeling when you're on the field but before the kick off - tingly and weak. You know once that cleated foot touches the ball and you are chugging down that field everything will be okay, but it doesn't take away the jitters now.

---------------------------------------------


The Gunner getting his weapon ready before the Route Recce.


Convoy Briefing: “Okay guys, listen up! The convoy will be on frequency ----; the Sheriff’s on ----, so if you get into any trouble just call for help in the open. They’ll know where we are because we’ll have the Blue Force Tracker on. If we take casualties, we continue to roll. Clear the kill zone and report on frequency ----. If we need a Medevac use the 9 paragraph Medevac Request format.

“If the vehicle is disabled, passengers jump out and climb into the other humvee. ‘Gunner’s the last one down. If the other vehicle is disabled, we swing around to pick them up – just make sure the doors are open and you’re out of the way ‘cause they’ll be moving quick. Cpl ----, pop a smoke if you have time, but don’t let up on the 240.

“Major, you’ll sit in the back, so if the gunner gets hit, you take over. Don’t worry about the gunner being hurt, just keep firing, okay? Have you fired the 240 before? Everyone lock and load before we take off. Alright, we’ll roll at 1025 – don’t forget to hydrate. We’ve got water and Gator aid in back of the second Humvee.”

There are a couple of check points before you actually hit the red zone. Lots of Jersey barriers to slow down suicide car bombers. We pass Ugandan, American, and Iraqi troops; all seem to be exceedingly bored. Some waves, as you would wave to someone you don’t know going somewhere you don’t want to go - sort of a “better you than me” kind of wave. “ECM on!” As we turn onto Route Irish we pass a very large patch of scorched earth and the Sgt Major turns back and asks me if I’m scared. I give a little smile but don’t reply. It’s not yet 1100 but the sun is searing, and I feel little rivulets of sweat rolling down my chest underneath my body armor.

Suddenly we’re off. Well, not so suddenly, because these armored humvees weigh quite a bit and handle more like a boat than a car, but you can tell that we’re through the gates and on the road by the whine of the engine. It must really be sucking down the JP-8 now. The turrets swivel to opposite sides, gunner’s scanning the buildings along the road. “Two up front and a white sedan approaching from the right!” “Rog, got ’em.” “Two more coming up on the left!” Traffic is light, and every vehicle is called out by the gunner. We’re going pretty fast, weaving back and forth and in and out of traffic so as not to make an easy target. The rear vehicle has a large sign that reads “Extreme Danger! Stay back 100 Meters” in both English and Arabic, and I see the gunner point his machine gun menacingly at an Iraqi car that gets a bit too close. The car backs off fast, almost coming to a stop on the highway,

“OVERPASS!!” the gunner shouts out as he ducks down below the armored shield. The Muj like to string wire across the concrete abutments of an overpass at just about the height of a gunner’s head. I’ve never heard of the tactic working, but the gunners take it seriously. Although there is no wire, I notice two hearts spay painted on the concrete, a sign the Muj had been there.

We pass a burnt out vehicle on the left, and a couple of Soviet-era armored personnel carriers with Iraqi flags painted on their sides. It’s pretty junky along the sides of the road, but it’s hard to tell damage caused by the war from regular junk or trash. There are observation posts and check points manned by Iraqi troops every couple of miles, which makes me feel better. One check point even has a huge American Abrams tank in the middle of the road. Although I have gotten used to having machine guns pointed at me as you approach a checkpoint, it still gives me the creeps to stare into the business end of a 120mm smoothbore. “One on the left. OVERPASS!” The gunner squats down and gives me a thumbs up sign.

At one point we pass four pick up trucks with dark blue clad police in the back. Two of the trucks have Russian machine guns mounted rat patrol-style. They don’t smile or wave the way the Iraqi Army troops do. A while ago a couple of police were convicted of killing their American advisors while in a fire fight in Baghdad. Even the Iraqi Army doesn’t get along with the IPs – they remind me of a street gang from Detroit. I don’t like them, but we’re soon past.

“Broken down vehicle on the right! OVERPASS!!” “Fuck! Was it there yesterday?” “I don’t think so.” Wait… okay, guns outboard, we’ll go in right after this blue Renault on the left (meaning, we’ll drive right behind the Renault hoping that if the broken down car is a bomb, whoever is going to detonate it will hesitate if we’re next to a car full of Iraqis). “Gunner, man the turret, don’t duck – this is too perfect (i.e., too perfect an ambush site). “Roger, convoy leader” “Let number two know” As we speed up to catch the Renault, so does the Renault, until finally, engine straining, we’re just behind it. Three kids are looking out of the back window. Behind us number two backs off as we finally pass the abandoned car. Everyone is holding their breath and… no explosion. “Okay Guns, keep the overpass covered until number two is clear.” Rog” Two clears the overpass and we all breath easier. “White sedan on the right.” We drive on.

The Americans pretty much own the road. When we need to go through a cross street one humvee pulls out to block traffic while the others make the crossing. Anyone that comes too close risks being shot – most know this and give the humvees a very wide berth. Some people wave, but more just stare, as if we didn’t belong here. On and on and on. It’s not really that far, but concentrating so hard can actually give you a head ache. We finally pull into the IZ, past the check points and past metal tower with what looks like miniature chain link fence surrounding the top where a lookout might be posted. It looks a little bit funny because the fence is held about two feet out from the tower itself by metal poles, in order to detonate incoming RPGs before they actually hit the tower. It’s hard not to notice that Baghdad is a city at war. Several mortar rounds impact in the IZ while were there, but they are not close. We only hear about it later.


The ride back is mostly the same. I switch humvees so that I can sit up front – I am tired of burning my damned leg against the hot transmission case that takes up most the back seat not being used by the gunner. Baghdad is a dirty city – I wonder how people can live like this? “Passing on the right! We’re turning – does two know we’re turning?” “Roger.”

Finally, we’re getting close to the base. “Mama bird over head (there’s an observation helicopter above), and there’s the gate! Come on in.” “Slayer One we’re about three mikes east of your pos.” We swerve across traffic as the gunner leans out of the turret signaling “stop” with his outstretched hands. Now we’re in the shoot, with a long row of 8 foot high concrete barriers on either side of us. The gate ahead swings up as the driver punches it and we’re in. “Yeah BABY! Wooo whoo!” “That was something!” The driver turns around and gives me a high five while the gunner slumps in his sling for the fist time since we left the gate four and a half hours ago. Someone turns on a Combat Rap CD as we approach the second check point, drained. My uniform is drenched from the collar to the waist. It is what it is.


Mark in the IZ after the first half of the Route Recce

And the band played on…

It’s about 2225 (10:25 pm) and I’ve decided that I have done all that I can do for today. So I tidy up my desk, shut down my computers (4 of them, connected to dual monitors – it’s a neat set up), and head toward the door. As usual, I stop in to let the watch know that I am leaving, and wave to the guard.

It’s dark outside and the camp is half blacked out so I am careful to watch where I am BAAM!!! A huge white flash lights up the East Wall, followed by a hollow cracking sound, like when a kid breaks a wooden bat in little league. BAM!! Another crack, but no flash this time. Small arms fire is rattling, but it’s so fast I can’t tell if there are Americans involved. A Sergeant and I are ducking behind some type of electrical power panel when we hear splashes in the reservoir – we can’t see the firing because it’s going on behind the wall, but it’s not letting up. Most firefights are really short – just a couple of bursts, really, before whichever side that was surprised decides to run away. But these guys are still fightin’. Although I consider drawing my 9 mil, we’re on the wrong side of the wall and we can’t really help the situation, so I leave it in the holster.

In the end we decide that the best thing to do is to place a lot more room between our position and the occasional “plink” of an errant round impacting near by. Now a siren is wailing - the humvees are racing so we stay off the roads so we’re not run over by our own guys. It’s almost pitch black out, remember. Another humvee comes by, more slowly now. The tinny voice emanating from the loudspeaker on its roof tells everyone to take cover inside. We make it to the club, where the MPs are herding everyone they can find inside - every time they open the thick wooden door I can hear loud music, which just seems to add to the confusion outside.

I am the last one in except for the guards. For some reason the heavy wooden doors closing behind me reminds me of when John Wayne and his Tennesseans join the men at the Alamo by sneaking through the mission gate after the siege had started. My adrenaline is really pumping as I take it all in. In front of me are about a hundred kids, crowded on the dance floor, the bodies gyrating to the Salsa beat. They are mostly in uniform, although many have taken their camouflage blouses off. BAAM! The impact shakes the building. Music is still blaring. Another explosion. WhoooshBAAM!! This is so unlike I expected war to be.

The DJ makes an announcement that all Bravo Company are to report to their unit - BAAM – but everyone else has to stay inside until the fighting’s over. The popular girls (and they are all popular over here) are back on the dance floor in no time, dancing to the beat.

Proud

Two things that people said to me recently that made me proud:

“You’re a good man, Major Binkowski" (from an old Chief whom I respect greatly, upon the occasion of my staying until past midnight to work out a problem we were having).


“Major Binkowski, you’re the only Air Force officer I know that I would trust in a firefight” (from a convoy gunner).

George gets dusty

George with all of Baghdad behind him


Commando George


George in the driver's seat

Route Recce

It was very hot, surprisingly dusty, and cramped. We went right down the entire length of Route Irish (Maxim’s most dangerous road in the world). One radio crapped out, one explosion in the distance (not aimed at us). Otherwise uneventful. I am going to shower.

I was somewhat surprised that we only had two humvees instead of three. And no fifty, but I guess anything higher than 7.62 is overkill in a city. We didn’t fire any weapons though.


Looking through the gunner's hatch


In Downtown Baghdad


Observation Post on top of Baghdad building

Guard Towers at Slayer

The guard tower


Stairs to the tower


Inside the tower

Mark on a Rout Recce

Route Recce is a Route Reconnaissance, where we make sure the route is clear and/or try to draw the muj out so we can clear it. Most route recces are uneventful.

“Can they tell somehow if there are IEDs around?"

That's what a route recce is for. Actually, there are lots of tell-tale signs, but if the bad guys have enough time they can usually conceal them. The roads here are so bad
that it's really hard to notice a disturbance or a patch of turned dirt. As the Capt in charge of the Headquarters and Services (H&S) Company said "you're just damned lucky if you find an IED before one finds you." But comparative imagery does help.

The Hill: Explained

The picture of the hill I run up has apparently generated quite a bit of conversation, so let me put this to rest

Yes, the hill is considered to be on Camp Slayer, and is therefore inside the perimeter. The camp itself has a “mainside” area, consisting of the HQ, plus most messing & berthing facilities, and several outlying areas, such as the hill, the motor pool, etc. These outlying areas are contagious to the base, but just not grouped immediately adjacent to what might be considered its “downtown” areas. Most, if not all, of the camp is protected by one of more cinderblock walls with guard towers.

The east side of the camp abuts the city of Baghdad, the north side Route Irish (across which lies Camp Victory), the air field is to the east, and you can sometimes see sheep grazing in the field to the south. The hill itself, which is really the spoilage from when they dug out the artificial lakes, is garrisoned by some signals troops and a guard detachment in a watch tower. Because the whole area is pretty much flat, the view is magnificent on a clear day, and I like to go there to view the city of watch the aircraft come in to BIAP.

Nice pics

Closeup


Almost a smile - well maybe not.

At HQ

The entrance to the HQ palace


Near HQ

This is where Mark lives and runs. Mark says "the field to the right of the wall is
still a part of the base. It goes about 200m and then there is another wall just like the one you see except with guard towers, so there is an inner and an outer wall.


Notice running rock and bullet casing on Mark's desk


Protective soldier on shelf

Mark in Tikrit

Over Baghdad with the side gunner


Mark in Tikrit


Also in Tikrit

I swear to you that these conversations really happened

(between the Iraqi electrician supposedly supervising the install crew and myself)


“So when do think you will be finished?”
“The time iz one hour.”
“One hour?”
“Yez, one hour tomorrow.”
One hour tomorrow?? Oh no, not tomorrow! Today.”
“It iz okay. Tomorrow iz okay.”
“We need it finished today so that we can connect the second floor tomorrow.”
“Today, okay. We weel be finished tomorrow, okay? How about I guarantee it? I weel guarantee it for one hour.”
“Do you speak English??”

“Is the equipment here?”
“Yez.”
“The panels?”
“Yez?”
“The breakers?”
“No.”
“You said the equipment was here!”
“Yes. Here in Baghdad. Not here.”
“Okay, okay – how about the cost?”
“Eighty-seven hundreds.”
“That’s the total additional cost?”
“More?”
“More the cost. Yes, for us.”
“For you, yes. But Hussain says the volts are metric.”
“What?”

“Did they measure the cable so that it’ll reach the new transformers?”
“Yez, it was not measured.”
“It was not measured? How do we know it will reach?”
“It weel reach, inshala (trans: God willing)”
“But shouldn’t you measure it to be sure?”
“Okay, it weel reach. We measure.”
“Good, do you have the schematic?”
“What is ‘schematic?’”
[me pulling hair out]


“Can you move those cables – they are a trip hazard.”
“No hazard, sir. You lift your knees. Like this”

George (the lizard)

Mark doesn't think his new pet lizard is poisonous. He also hopes its a vegetarian since he isn't catching any bugs.

Trailers hit

Trailers are hit inside Camp Victory (next to Camp Slayer)


The trailers burning

Last Night I was Scared for the First Time

Well, for the first time since I’ve been in Iraq, anyway. I went to sleep about 2200 last night. I was reading the Stars and Stripes and just got bored reading about the war so I fell asleep early. After about an hour or an hour and a half, I awoke to gun fire outside. Pop pop pop. This isn’t that unusual – in fact, the normal reaction is to just rollover and go to sleep. Usually it’s just the Muj shooting at themselves in Baghdad somewhere, but this sounded close. And although it’s a fact that the three hootches in my row are the closest to the East wall, they are protected on the sides by about six inches of concrete.

So I laid there listening for a sec. I am not trying to make this sound dramatic or anything, but it really seemed that the gunfire was getting close. Then the 50’s opened up, and they were really close. In fact, I thought they were on this side of the wall. Images of those mutilated soldiers flashed into my head for a sec, so I grabbed my trousers and my pistol belt and ran outside. It wasn’t bravery, and I certainly didn’t want to be a part of this if I didn’t need to be, but if the fifty’s were on our side of the wall then that meant so were the bad guys - and I didn’t want to be caught in my room with bad guys running around.

So in tee-shirt & trousers, untied boots, and with my pistol belt over my shoulder I ran outside, only to turn the corner and literally run into someone else running in the opposite direction. This scared the absolute shit out of me! Worse, his damn rifle slammed against my leg right where the stitches were. Now imagine this, there’s firing all around, and I’m imagining Muj inside the wall again, and I run smack into this guy who almost bolls me over – luckily, I think I scared him just as much as he scared me.

Just as it was registering that this guy was too big to be an Iraqi, the fifties opened up again, over the wall. They were firing from on top of a humvee and you couldn’t see the vehicle, but you could sure see the flash when they fired. Like lots of very loud, very bright little explosions. Occasionally a tracer ricocheted up. Actually, I was mesmerized for just a second, but then the humvee started driving, with the fifty still firing short bursts. There must have been another gun truck near by, because when the humvee wasn’t firing I could still hear the whump whump whump of fifties off in the distance. You can’t mistake it for any other weapon, and I have been told the Muj fear them.

So the battle moved off and after listening for a while I went back to my hootch, adrenalin still pumping. I finally got back to sleep sometime after 0330. The next morning everyone was talking about it, and I noticed nicks in the concrete wall in back of my hootch. They definitely looked like ballistic strikes, but I couldn’t tell if they were new or not.

George hits the sand, sees the sights

George with Baghdad in the background.


George tuckered.

Snapshots

Things in my front left pocket right now: 1 quarter, 3 pennies, a laundry receipt, three dollar bills, a 100 dinar bill, the combination to the server room lock upstairs, a miniature red flash light, and a small cast heart shape that Lisanne gave me before I left, and a key ring with keys to my room, the office, my wall locker, and the transformer vault (with my tool ID tag from McDonnell Douglas attached as a bonus).

Things in my front right pocket: Nothing. The holster blocks access.

Things on my nightstand: 11 paperback books in a cardboard box turned sideways like a shelf, 2 Readers Digest (“America in your pocket!”), a Canadian Geographic magazine, five 9mm bullets, an alarm clock, 2 cans of diet coke, the cut off bottom-third of an empty plastic water bottle that I use as a change cup, pictures of my family, and my running rock.

Things I need to do today: Get a haircut, rewrite the order directing Corps to facilitate providing network connectivity to a unit in Basra, counsel Staff Seargent M----, and come up with a technical solution to broadcast CNN-World over SIPRNet.

(editors note: Things I actually got done that were on this list: Counsel SSgt M----.)

Things on my desk at work: 3 phones, 2 computer monitors, a half cup of yesterday’s coffee, a small plastic squeeze bottle of rifle lubricant, a mouse pad with a picture Anais drew on it, my Management Decision Support System (a magic eight ball Jack made), a ceramic fairy Jack sent, a picture of Lisanne, a rock with lips painted on it, copies of two Memoranda of Understanding, and 4 or 5 piles of papers on issues that I swear I’ll get to today.

Last time I skipped a rock: Camping with Jack two weeks before I left. Also the last time I caught tadpoles and had a pillow fight.

Things in the truck: A plastic water bottle, an aerial photo of the area (for when I get lost), a florescent orange cloth recognition panel (folded), and one leather glove (Iknow the other one will show up…)

Last movie I saw: Man on Fire, last night at the club. Good movie.

Radio station presets: BBC (the other four buttons aren’t set)

Books I am Reading: Sharpe’s Trafalgar, The Logic of Subjectivity, Best Science Fiction of 1986 (I find that hard to believe), and The Roots of Victory: Soviet Operational Art on the Eastern Front

Last meal: Ham, cheese, and tomato omelet made with egg whites, English muffin with peanut butter, and too-strong coffee (while watching CNN at the chow hall).

Last workout: Ran up and back down Commo Hill twice yesterday.

Temperature during last workout:109 degrees F. (I took my Camelbak).

Last time I had chicken and/or rice: yesterday (twice). That makes approximately 90-odd times since I have been here, for those of you counting.

Last time I had French Fries: Cannot remember. May or April?

Last time I had my heart broken: 10:50 am, May 10th, 2006

Baghdad Pictures

Going into the IZ.

check point 2-137 set up.

Action in Baghdad

Fire department responding to the call. I tried to get the ambulance too, but my camera was full.


A wounded “insurgent” just outside of the IZ (He was only grazed, and he may not have even done anything more than have not heard the cop when he shouted).

Flurry of bombs

I was just writing Keith an email when another bomb blew up. This is the fourth one in eight days. It’s dark, and you can see the glow from the fire just outside the fence, and now the flares go up. RPGs have little red fire trails as they streak by. Several come into the base, but they are not close. Smoke streaks the sky – by now the black smudge across the horizon has become almost normal. People congregate outside and point, watching the war. My shift ended almost twenty minutes ago, so I’ll walk home as soon as it calms down a bit. So surreal.

Mark's new Knife

The knife is from Oman and is dated to the late 19th - early 20th century. It's at least older than WWII, as that's when they started to use cheaper pressed metal blades, and this one is forged. It's in pretty good shape.

Dateline FOB Slayer, Friday 1348:

BOOOM!!!! Huge plumb of smoke, not grey like normal, but black.
Scattered small arms fire, uh oh, now it's a lot louder. The gunships
are soon circling overhead, just outside of the East wall. It still
amazes me, how low they fly. Baghdad is burning again.

Things you don’t want to try in the hooch (or anywhere else)

Homemade Gazpacho: I took canned Campbell’s tomato soup, and added ice, cut up tomatoes, French fry vinegar, and artificial sour cream (out of a squeeze pack - no refrigeration required!). The ice cubes kept getting in the way so I had to use a straw. It tasted absolutely horrible. Not at all like Lisanne’s.

Fizzy Energy Drink: We have this carbonated, vitamin C+, super energy drink powder that you are supposed to add to water for a “delicious and refreshing energy boost,” as the label says. Well, I thought if it was good in water, it would be even better in Coke. It took me twenty minutes to clean up the hooch after the resulting explosion of coke-a-cola foam.

Homemade Potato Chips from Fried Potato Breakfast Patties: First, I got my pocket all greasy sneaking the patties out of the damned chow hall. Then I mashed them up, added salt, mushed them down on a piece of flat steel, cut them into potato chip shapes with my knife, and set them to dry in front of the air conditioner. I guess I thought this would “cook” them somehow. This was probably my worst-ever culinary experience. Wet, they tasted like cold cardboard. No difference dry. My God, even extra salt and hot sauce didn’t help.

Helo ride back from the IZ

Yeah, they shot at the helo. I could see the tracers as we banked (I was falling out of my seat at the time, held in only by the damn harness which was chafing my neck). We immediately went dark and both door gunners opened up for a long, long time. We went down to the deck (that is, flying nape of the earth) and the pilot had to reach back and tap the one gunner to get him to stop. They were just hosing the place. I don't think we were hit, but it was scary afterwards.

Baghdad is a modern city, sort of. Not many high rise buildings, but large parts are prosperous middle class with lawns and a couple of SUVs in the drive. Saw a couple of guys in black uniforms on one roof going in - they were probably the assholes shooting at us as we left. Well, I guess not, since it was three days later. But just seeing those guys gave me the creeps.

On the High Court Building, Baghdad

 

Standing on the top of the High Court Building where the trial of S. H. is being held. You can see the huge crossed swords Saddam used to have his tanks drive under in the background. The circular structure is the old Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, dedicated after the Iran-Iraq War. 

Hard hat: lighter than a helmet, but required for construction areas (I
am in charge of the comms going into the building).