Dirt

Standing in line, waiting for the PX to open. I need toothpaste. There is something hard under my boot – I almost don’t even look because there are so many rocks about. What crappy land, it’s so dry and rocky. But I am bored, so I bend down - it’s the broken stock of an AK-47, covered in dirt. It’s been there a long time, and it looks almost as if the wood is becoming a part of the earth. Like dirt with a shape. I scoop up a handful of the fine dry silt and let it drip from between my fingers…

The dirt in Iraq is different than the dirt back home. At least different from Michigan dirt. Maybe it’s more like dust bowl dirt. When you first walk in it has a hard shell, but this is deceiving as it rapidly crumbles into dust. Listen to this – Iraqi dirt is so fine that we import sand to fill the sandbags, because the indigenous soil seeps through the weave of the bags. I don’t know if that’s an urban myth. As you step, this dust just envelopes your feet, poofing up little clouds of dust-smoke. And some of the dust-dirt always slops over the lip of the sole of your boot so that when you actually take a step you end up throwing a little bit of dirt in front of you – rather like pig pen walking. .

The color of dirt here is what I call dirty-dirt-tan. Sort of a light grey, scorched desert-looking color. It looks soft and dead, at the same time. Dusty dead like very old crinkly paper. And you know how Michigan dirt can turn almost black when you get it wet? Well, this stuff stays exactly the same color wet or dry, only the tone gets darker. It’s nasty when it’s wet, sort of like thick grey soup. Very sticky. The have large, hard-bristled brushes hanging on a string next to many of the doorways, so you can clean the glue off of your boots before you go in. I can’t wait for the rainy season.

Some dirt smells good, like when you’re working in the garden or potting plants. I remember the rich earth smell of Spain mixed with the fragrance of spring lilacs. The smell here is just like opening a real old book in John King’s Bookstore; old and dusty. The dirt just smells ancient here, as if it is older than dirt in any other part of the world. Each time I have had the opportunity to put my mouth and nose near the ground (don’t ask) I have hitched slightly at the smell, which of course sucks the dust-dirt into your mouth and nostrils in copious quantities. And no matter how much you wash out your mouth, the next drink will taste like mud going down your throat.

The Blue Car

Two weeks ago we were downtown and we received a radio call that the route was blocked. I forget why we didn't try the alternate routes but we turned around to abort the mission when the gunner noticed a broken down blue Toyota in the intersection - he didn't think it had been there when we came by the first time. Well, I didn't want to chance that it was a bomb, especially since we'd just been turned back. It sounded too much like a set up.

In the end, we started to take fire and it got pretty scary. I was afraid because people were shooting at me, because the dammed the quick reaction force was already out somewhere else (why weren’t they here?), and, to tell the truth, because I didn't know what to do. Eventually, we did have to get by that car. Finally we literally raced by doing what seemed like 45 or 50 MPH, all in slow motion. That blue car was the center of my whole universe. It didn't explode.

For Anais

You gave me lyrics to a song to let me know how you feel. In return, I am sending you this poem…

I’d like to sing someone to sleep (you),
By someone sit, and be still.
I’d like to rock you and murmur a song
Be with you on the fringes of sleep
Be the one and only awake in the house
Who would know that the night is cold.
I’d like to listen both inside and out,
Into you, and the world, and the woods.
The clocks call out with their toiling bells,
And you can see to the bottom of time.
Down in the street a stranger goes by
And bothers a passing dog.
Behind comes silence, I’ve laid my eyes
On you like an open hand,
And they hold you lightly and let you go,
When something moves in the night.

To be said while falling asleep - Rilke

I remember watching you while you slept as a child, protecting you from the night’s dangers. I was your hero and you were my princess. You are still my princess, Anais.

Sweet dreams,

Dad

We Must be Winning

They extended the 172nd Stryker Brigade over here and even recalled some of their troops who’d already rotated home. And yesterday I heard that not only is the 1st Armored being extended, but the 1st Cav is deploying early. Despite these ominous indications, I know we must be winning because the MPs now have time to set up speed limit signs in most areas of the base. They even have one of those portable trailers that tell you how fast you are going. Then they sit in their little speed traps and issue tickets to any unsuspecting miscreants they can get their paws on.

I suppose this is natural, as the Army settles in for the long haul. In fact, I am surprised that it took this long. What is slightly disconcerting tough, is that the highest speed limit on base (60 KPM) is for sniper alley. Maybe instead of enforcing a 60 KPM speed limit along sniper ally, someone should be out there patrolling the apartment complex just outside the wall. I’m just saying.

A note from the doctor

Fuck!! That is some serious shit you're in man! I have an idea. I will right you a note. I am a board certified physician so they have to accept that. I would write: Mark Binkowski is far too important to this world by being a loving father and husband and a great friend and you may no longer risk his life for this fruitless, immoral, and un-winnable war!

Anatomy of a Firefight

URGENT ADVISORY: BE ADVISED THERE IS A FIRE FIGHT GOING ON OUTSIDE OF THE EAST WALL. THERE ARE CURRENTLY ROUNDS IMPACTING THE WALL AND THE AREAS IMMEDIATELY ADJACENT. IN ADDITION, SEVERAL DETONATIONS HAVE OCCURRED ON BASE. AT THIS TIME ALL PERSONNEL ARE TO BE WEARING INDIVIDUAL BODY ARMOR AND HELMETS. GO OUTSIDE ONLY WHEN ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY AND USE EXTREME CAUTION. WILL KEEP ALCON UPDATED AS SOON AS WE RECIEVE SAME FROM ADOC. PLEASE PASS UP AND DOWN CHAIN OF COMMAND [sent by the camp commandant]

Last time it was a raid the IPs made on a house and everyone from blocks around just seemed to materialize with guns. Ever see Blackhawk Down, where all those guys just come out of the woodwork? That’s what one of the Quick Reaction Force guys said it was like. They had to send a QRF for the QRF.

We’re locked in the Palace and it’s dinner time. I don’t know what’s going on, nor do I know if they will save chow – they’ll probably hand out MREs if a lot of folks can’t get to chow. But I think it’s calming down out there. One of the defining characteristics of this place is that you never know what’s going on. And when you do see a plan or an after action report and think you have a clue, then someone comes along and tells you that’s not what happened at all. Or you know first hand that the AAR doesn’t match what you saw.

It usually starts with a big bang. Or maybe two, one right after the other - I guess they like to open up with the RPGs. There will be a quick flurry of firing, mostly on their side, and one or two pop pop pops from our side. Smoke starts to rise and the flares pop up: whoooosh! Then, the Muj run out of ammo and all have to reload so there’s a pause. In the mean time we’ve usually brought a SAW to bear by now and are hosing the place, brrratatatatatt!

Now there’s the yelling, and often sirens. Especially if the firing is off base, which it usually is. After a while it always tapers off, or it may pick up again after the ragheads reload, but it’s not like Saving Private Ryan, one big constant battle. People go about their business – TCNs cutting the lawn, people walking… Then BANG it starts again. Brrratatatat pop pop. Brratatat. You rarely hear those high pitched ricochets – I think I have heard only two ricochets the entire time I have been here. Occasionally though you do hear the baritone “thud” of a round actually impacting. It comes and goes in waves. Sometimes you think it’s over, and then it kicks up again. If it goes long enough, the fifties add their tattoo, which usually heralds the arrival of the quick reaction force. Occasionally gun ships will circle overhead, but they are pretty leery of engaging in the city unless American lives are actually at stake. And then it’s over – you listen for more, but there isn’t any more. And you are grateful not to hear the whoop whoop whoop of the dust off.

By the way, Bush, thanks for the whopping 2.2% pay increase. The consumer price index only rose 4.6% during the first six months this year.

Fractured Nation

Kit

Keith,

This is my kit. It includes helmet, ballistic goggles, backpack, ground sheet, first aid kit with sterile plastic wrap for sucking chest wounds, an M-16A2 rifle, combat ear plugs, 45 rounds of 9mm ammo, 90 rounds of 5.56mm ammo, my flak jacket, plus clean socks, underwear, and a tee shirt. Not pictured: My pistol, my notepad, and an additional 15 rounds of 9mm. When you say we will weigh in “with kit,” I just want you to know that this is NOT what I’m wearing to weigh in.

Mark M.M.K. Binkowski, Major, USAF

Iraqi Laws of Physics

1) For every thing you try to do in Iraq, there is an opposite and equally compelling reason why it absolutely cannot be done within the time allotted.

2) An immobile Iraqi object will remain immobile, until such time as the American shows it what to do.

3) Within a closed system, temperature will increase proportional to the pressure applied by those of a higher rank than you.

4) For any given project involving power, either the voltage, amperage, or phase will be wrong.

5) Shipping times for equipment from the States are an exponential function based upon the total distance to be traveled measured in inches, and the total time to receipt will therefore always be at least twice that estimated.

6) “Documentation” is not a known word or concept within Middle Eastern cultures.

7) Regardless of the date selected for the start of a project involving either local nationals or TCNs, it will be a Muslim holy day

8) “Good enough” is an acceptable quality rating.

9) The weight of one’s helmet and body armor always increases proportionally to the length of time it is worn.

10) And last but not least, regardless of what’s on the menu, it’s always chicken and rice.

Another Sign

What Bush Should Have Said

An alternative speech for a president seeking support on Iraq By JOE KLEIN

My fellow members of the American Legion, I have made some serious mistakes and miscalculations in our struggle against Islamic extremism over the past five years. Some of these were made out of anger and impatience in the months after we were so viciously attacked on Sept. 11, 2001. Others were made out of my heartfelt belief that our American values-freedom, democracy, market economics-are the surest path away from the fury and despair that have plagued the nations at the heart of
the Islamic world. I still believe deeply in those values.

I am still convinced that we are facing a long-term campaign against Islamic extremists who have the means to bring unimaginable horrors to our streets. But events in Lebanon and Iraq this summer have convinced me that our Freedom Agenda must be modified.

I was going to deliver a speech today in which I said, "The war we fight today is more than a military conflict. It is the decisive ideological struggle of the 21st century." But then I thought about a conversation I had recently with a young U.S. military officer, a combat veteran of the Iraq war who remains on active duty, committed to our mission. "Mr. President," he said. "If this struggle is so important, why is this the only war in American history where we haven't increased the size of the Army and raised taxes to pay for it? Why haven't you mobilized the
nation?"

In the speech I planned to deliver, I would have spoken-too easily, too dismissively about how previous Presidents pursued a mistaken policy of seeking "stability" in the Middle East, which resulted in the terrorist attacks against us. I would have implied that my aggressive promotion of democracy was the only alternative to the failed policies of the past. But that would have posed a false choice. Stability is, after all, our goal for the region. And we have learned, sadly, in recent years that
the mere act of holding an election does not create a democracy. Indeed, in many countries of the region-in the Palestinian territories, Iran and, yes, Iraq-elections have brought the forces of instability to power.

Which brings me to Iraq. I want to tell you something I've never acknowledged: the U.N. inspection regime that was forced on Saddam Hussein in 2002 was working. We should have had more patience with it and supported it more fully. In the end, it would have revealed what we now know: that Saddam had no weapons of mass destruction. That revelation would have destroyed the dictator's credibility. His brutal regime might have toppled from within. At the very least, his power would have been severely compromised. But-impatient again-we rushed to war, without sufficient preparation and sufficient allies. Today we face a very difficult situation in Iraq. The government of Prime Minister Nouri al-Maliki is riddled with Islamic radicals. This week elements of the Iraqi army were attacked and defeated in Diwaniyah by a sectarian militia led by the radical Shi'ite Muqtada al-Sadr. This is the same al-Sadr who attacked U.S. forces in 2004, the same al-Sadr who controls 30 seats in the Iraqi parliament-and who is the linchpin of al-Maliki's governing coalition. I say this to Prime Minister al-Maliki: The U.S. cannot support a government that includes Muqtada al-Sadr. You must build a new coalition, one that includes the secular political parties and Sunnis and guarantees the Sunni minority the rights and the share of Iraqi oil revenues it deserves. We have not sacrificed 2,600 Americans to create a radical Shi'ite government in Iraq.

One of the many books I've read this summer was Fiasco, by Tom Ricks of the Washington Post. It is a careful summation of the military mistakes we've made in Iraq. It ends with a series of scenarios for what might happen if we withdraw now. All have terrible implications for the region and the world. So we must stay in Iraq, but we must stay smarter. To that end, I announce the following initiatives. I call on President
Mahmoud Ahmadinejad of Iran to meet with me one on one to discuss the stabilization of Iraq. In time I hope we can also discuss other issues, like his government's nuclear program and support for Hizballah, and the resumption of normal diplomatic relations between our countries. But, President Ahmadinejad, as a veteran of the Iran-Iraq war, you must appreciate the disastrous potential of the chaos on your western border.
Surely you don't want to risk the possibility of a regional Sunni reaction that would bring fire to your oil fields and death, once again, to the streets of Tehran.

Here at home, I call on Democrats to join with me in building an alternative energy strategy to limit our dependence on foreign oil. Everything is on the table, including a tax on carbon-based fuels. Finally, to achieve stability in Baghdad during the creation of the new governing coalition, I am temporarily sending two divisions-30,000 more troops-to pacify that troubled city. If a stable, moderate, inclusive Iraqi government is not created, we may be forced to reassess our military posture in the region. These initiatives may not succeed. But the time for fancy words and grand theories about changing the world has passed. We need to take action now.

My Tattoo

I have decided to get another tattoo, probably when I go home on leave. I’ve already picked out the design and think it would look good on my right pec. Except that I want people to see it, and I very rarely go shirtless. So maybe on my right shin. This is what it will look like.

It means “Peace” in Arabic.

[And to any who may accuse me of being anti-war, I can’t imagine why anyone who has seen even the small slice of war that I have would not be anti-war. I prefer to view it my stance as “pro-people,” anyway]

[Note: Mark has a small "USMC" on his right upper arm]

A Typical Day at Camp Slayer

Despite the impression some may have, my average day is quite ordinary. I wake to the alarm at about 0630, which gives me enough time to actually get up and start the day slowly. Some of you may know that I am not very sociable the first thing in the AM. Often I will grab the book I was reading last night and read a couple of pages or a chapter before actually getting up and pulling on (in this order): a tan tee-shirt, new tidy whities, my camouflage trousers with the large-buckled rigger’s belt I prefer, and my socks. It’s a good day if I have a clean pair of padded hiking socks available, but if not, any old pair plus my size ten-and-a-half boots will do.

The shit-shower-and-shave routine is the same as anywhere else, except I usually have 10 or so close neighbors in the bathroom with me. Back to the hootch to grab my pistol belt and camouflage blouse, and then to the Chow Hall for breakfast, which I rarely miss. The cook knows how I like my omelets so I usually just wave to him while I go to get my potatoes and English muffin. No bacon for me, because many of the staff are Muslim and I know they do not like dishing it out. By choice, I always eat breakfast alone and do not talk to anyone.

I have two options for walking to work, and I always make a very considered decision as to which one I will take. Route one I call “Lakeside,” where the road parallels a large catch basin to the west. It’s actually very pretty, and you can’t even see that the old Ba’ath Party Headquarters building is completely gutted from this angle. Route two I call the “Riverwalk” as it follows a small canal leading to Pirate’s Cove, the body of water off of which the palace is located. Usually, I end up taking the Riverwalk because you can almost always spot fish in the canal and it reminds me of going fishing with Jack, even though we have never caught anything except tadpoles. Often you can hear explosions or small arms fire early in the morning, but they are usually only EOD doing controlled detonations or range fire.

After checking in with the palace guard and the off-going shift, I normally attend to email. It’s ALWAYS good to come in and have a couple emails from home, and yes, I know that I am not always so good at answering them. Consider it your contribution to the war effort. I also check the blog for new postings or comments. I really enjoy the comments.

Unless there was some type of emergency the night before (power outage, server failure, whatever), I usually have time in the mornings to plan the rest of my day. I used to make a long list of things that I’d get done, but considering the fact that most of my day consists of responding to last-minute requests, fixing small emergencies, and making sure my guys (and girls) have what they need to actually do the work, I had to cut this list down to two things. For example, one might be to finish up a report that was due the next day, and another night be to diagram out the required circuits for a new unit moving in. I usually also try to fit in something more physical so the guys can see me out there working and also for the break from paperwork it affords. Yesterday the Facilities Manager and I crawled through the service spaces and over the roof to try and find the origin of a leak in my third floor server room (no luck). This afternoon I think we’re scheduled to stack sandbags.

I often skip lunch and go for a run. I prefer to run outside, but will refrain from doing so if it’s hotter than 110 F. Thankfully, the temperatures have been a little less than scorching lately. I prefer running the hill because it’s a great view of Baghdad, but running the lakes is a nice change of pace. I have a map in the office marked out with the different routes and the distance to the half-way point. After I get back, the rest of my afternoon is usually filled with meetings… staff meetings, projects meeting, VTCs for this or that – I usually don’t get much done. If we need to transport equipment somewhere I will check the convoy schedule or request space in a helo. And every Monday I dry-clean my pistol – because there’s so much dust in the air here, you only oil your weapon before you go outside the wire.

The chow hall opens for dinner opens at 1730 and it always seems to come sooner rather than later (meaning that most days I still haven’t completed my 2-item To-Do list). Since I skip lunch, I usually go to early chow. Because it is so hot, I try to time my visits to other buildings on base around this time because it’s starting to cool down just a bit. If I have business of at one of the nearby camps I usually end up eating over there just for a change of pace. I was hoping to find a chow hall that used real silver ware instead of plastic ware, but that hasn’t happened yet). Often smoke from the fires in Baghdad drifts across the sky.

By the time I return from evening chow there are sometimes emails from home waiting for me. This puts me in a good mood. Sometimes the Colonel stops in late in the day, which tends to have the opposite effect. But most of the evening is reserved for finishing up things started during the day or deciding what might be put off until tomorrow.

The walk home – that is, back to the hootch – is always accomplished in the pitch dark so I take the Riverwalk because there are less steps and other obstructions. It would be easy to put out your eye just because you walked into a low-hanging date palm frond (they are very sharp). Imagine telling the grandkids about how you were wounded in the war by an enemy palm tree. If I remember, I stop in at the club to grab a bottle of water to go. Very occasionally, I will take in a movie at the improvised “base theater,” where they project films against the wall in a darkened room with chairs. The last one I saw was Must Love Dogs, a corny romantic comedy that I really liked. It’s an escape.

If we take any fire on the base it’s usually between 2000 (8:00 pm) and 2400 (midnight). Sometimes I’ll hear the fifties let loose, but mostly it’s quiet. I won’t even usually take notice any more unless there’s a really loud explosion. I might sweep out the hootch, or eat an apple or pear if I have one. I have the bottom bunk and every night I read in bed by the light of the lamp I have duck-taped up-side down to the bottom of the bed above me (it’s very convenient). I am reading Imperial Life in the Emerald City (sent by Keith), The Cremator (a translation from Czech), and Wanderings, by Chaim Potok (remember him, Mom?). Before I fall asleep I tell Lisanne, Anais, and Jack that I love them, and I may play the recorded message in Our George the teddy bear one or ten times. A couple times I have been awakened by noises or helos flying too low, but usually I am out until the next day.

So now my secret is out. My job isn’t all that heroic, and most of it takes place within the confines of the safest building on base. Only occasionally do I go off base, or ride in helicopters that get shot at, or any of that stuff you see on TV. But I do my best, try to look out for my boss and the guys (and girls) that work for us, and try to keep my eye on the big picture. And every day I tell myself that I am one day closer to going home. I love you guys.

NOTE TO THE KOKOs: I’ll try to look up your neighbor’s son as soon as I get his name.

To Lisanne

Lisanne,

I’d marry you a thousand times over. Happy twenty-third wedding anniversary. May it be our last one apart.

WHTS

Some Things

Things that I am tired of:

-The pitch-black night-
-Over-cooked rice-
-Body armor that never seems to fit right and makes my back ache-
-Shaving in the morning with 15 other guys-
-The ubiquitous roar of the generators every time you step outside-
-Narrow streets filled with trash-
-Not having a bathroom in the same building as I sleep.-
-My roommate’s TV (AFN Sports Channel, constantly)-
-Online order forms that do not allow for APOs as a valid shipping address-
-Twisting my ankle on broken sidewalks-
-Not being able go for runs while listening to music-
-Stores and government buildings stinking of stale cigarette smoke-
-Upbeat unit newspapers telling us how the Iraqis are winning the war-
-Not having a plan for where we want to be in 6 months or a year-
-Clothing or plastic bags caught in concertina, flapping in the wind-
-Having to constantly watch the sides of the roads, or scan the windows and rooftops for possible firing positions-
-Being suspicious of every dark-haired person I see, just because they are
driving slowly, their car is beat-up, or they made the same last turn
that I did.-
-Wondering who it was every time that you hear someone has been hurt.-
-Thinking “there but for the grace of God” every time someone dies-
-This place-

Things that I don’t even notice any more:

-Helicopters overhead (unless they’re firing or popping flares)-
-Checkpoints – they are just a part of going places-
-Booms in the distance-
-Grey smoke rising -
-Twelve or fourteen hour work-days-
-Not being able to drink the tap water-
-The strange habit of using cardboard tokens for small change-
-Having to have my mail inspected by strangers before it is sealed-
-News reports on Iraq-

Things that I really, really miss:

-Eating a home-cooked dinner with my family-
-Watching TV together-
-Feeding the ducks (Jack chasing them)-
-Reading the paper with Lisanne-
-Doughnuts and coffee on Sunday morning-

-Lazy Saturdays consisting of garage sales, bookstores, and long bike rides
Building things with Jack-
-Talking to Anais while driving her to meet her friends-
-The smell of Downy-fresh linen-
-Going to the mall with $45.00 in my pocket and nothing particular to spend it on-
-Having two-way conversations about the meaning of art or literature
Not feeling constrained by people who cannot fathom the fact that
being in favor of socialized medicine, gays in the military, and
keeping religion out of both science and government is not
inherently unpatriotic or anti-American [off soapbox now]-
-My family, my brothers (and their families), and my parents-
-Spring showers-
-Flowers-
-Kissing goodbye-
-Cuddling-

Dateline: Western Baghdad

We could see the explosion from the base yesterday. Smoke in the distance usually rates hardly a passing comment, but the plume was much larger than normal… slowly spreading in the heat. The Medevacs came in low and fast – that’s good. When they come in slow you know the guys are already dead. Later we heard that 27 Americans had been killed or wounded, all from the 4th Infantry Division. Those are the guys who garrison our base and most of Baghdad. I’ve talked to them and even taken pictures with them. Bastards. God damned bastards….

To My Wife

You are not my “scatter brain;” you are my first true love, the one person more responsible for who I am as an adult than anyone else, and the wonderful, sensitive, talented, beautiful woman I want to grow old with. You are the one who cooks me special meals just because “I deserve it,” who makes me smile (even now) when you send me a depth gauge instead of a pin vise; and who even occasionally lets me pick a movie at the video store (lets not bring that up again). You are my smiling young woman in sunglasses and a black rubber slicker at Niagara Falls, my sexy wife who doesn’t know I am watching her while eating tapas in Spain, and the mother of my children. You are the map of my world and your love is the armor I wrap about me every single day. I love you.

WHTS.

Your MISA

Strikes

“Strikes” (Stryker Combat Vehicle) on the side of the road in Baghdad. The steel grating is supposed to explode RPGs and shaped charges before they hit the actual vehicle.

Baghdad Security

The 172nd rolled into Sadr City yesterday. They’ve been having a rough time of it since they came down from up north, and I think it’s about to get rougher for them. We don’t have any friends in Sadr City, but Baghdad can’t be secured without it. Muqtada al-Sadr runs his own little government over there, and I am sure that doesn’t sit too well with the Prime Minister. My only question is, are we prepared to garrison the city for the remainder of the war?

Keith’s Comment on Death (in an email to me)

“I believe that no one who has love in his life ever dies alone. And that's important. It's the life lived before the death that should be honored and remembered.

Sometimes I wish I prayed. Sometimes I wish I had faith in a master, inexplicable plan. But I can't. All I can say is that I have faith in you.”

Thanks, brother. I feel exactly the same way.

September 11th

Inscription on a cement pillar at Ground Zero:

“You ran into hell without regard...
And now you walk with Angels.”

The killing dream

I pick up the bottle, looking at the transparent liquid inside. It’s already half empty. Pour another shot, my friend. Another? Well, okay, maybe one more. Or two to dull the pain. The pain…

The men are running, running towards the wall. The wall will protect you. Ah… there’s the PK, singing its low dirge. Its dirge. Whumpta whumpta whumpta. Green flares out! Pop green so they know where we are for Christ’s sake!! Green means safe. The wall is safe. Why can’t I talk to these people? Why won’t they understand? Where’s the damn QRF? I see the impacts kicking up little explosions in the dirt. Run to the wall… run for your life…. These people aren’t like me… I shouldn’t be here because these people aren’t even like me…one more, maybe one more to dull the pain…

The click of the pistol going off of safe. I recall it very distinctly. CLICK!! It was loud and metallic, in slow motion, almost too loud. Until I fired. That was too loud. And I fired again. And again. One more for the pain… Maybe one more… “Do with them? We do nothing with them. They will come and get them after dark… drag them away.”

I remember living on Greene Street in Los Alamitos with Marc. We drove to visit Jeff and I talked about what had happened in the Marines. About friends in Beirut. How strange it is to see the Marines evacuating people from Beirut. I think Mom and Dad must have thought that I was on drugs then. One more, okay? one more. Is one enough? Is it ever enough? Signal Hill, the clubs in LA, Long Beach City College… Baghdad,… What was the name of that little bar around the corner? The one I went to with Anite Kitts? On my God what a Charlie Brown Christmas tree we had! Sitting around the living room exchanging presents. What times we had…. What times…

Crying. Crying times. Flowers. Once I tried to cause my own death. The flag, the casket – I touch it. I walk up and run my hand over the flag draped over the casket – it’s pulled taut. I touched Aunt Patty when she was dead. No one was looking, and I touched her just to make sure. The soldiers who carry it onto the aircraft are crying. They are crying. They must be the dead guy’s buddies…I don’t like crying. I hate crying. Don’t cry son. Don’t hurt son, don’t feel….don’t feel for me. You’re already better than I ever was, and you don’t even know it. Better than me… better than me. that’s okay Dad // I’m gonna be just like you – no Jack – not like me. Not like me, not ever like me // not dead like me.

Don’t even worry about it, they always throw stuff over the wall in the evening. You’d just have to be in the wrong place… at the wrong time… at that time, to actually get hit. Like the guy who sold me the coffee pot and those bootleg DVDs. Now he’s dead. They assassinated him for selling to the Americans… for selling to me. I’m sorry….so sorry… so very sorry…

Anais. I want to shout to you how much I love you, how much you made me who I am. I am better because of you. Why can’t you hear me?? Why can’t they understand?!! CLICK. Breath. Take a breath, exhale a little bit, hold… steady… focus on the target… Sometimes you take my breath away. You’ll be such a beautiful woman. But I haven’t been much of a role model for a husband, have I? Tough to be a model when you’re not there…not there ever….

Bravery? What a joke! There aren’t any heros here. Am I your hero? Your knight in shining armor? Would you do it again? Would you Would you Would you stand by me forever? Even after everything? Would you marry me all over again Lisanne? If you knew this is how it would be? Don’t cry honey, I’m sorry, I’m sorry… sorry, so sorry

I think I saw a man die. He dropped and didn’t move. Or maybe he did a little. Maybe later he was able to crawl off. Maybe he wasn’t really dead. Maybe he was in the wrong place, but only partly. I could only see between the concrete barriers, then. Maybe his daughter will visit him in the hospital. CLICK. I take my pistol off of safe. Who’s firing?? Shit. The body, his body, my body, twitches and jumps as the bullets hit it. There’s not much left for the hospital, for his wife or his daughter. A smudge on the ground. That’s all that is left.

Will they have bag pipes at my funeral? I’d like that. Yes. I used to think that I wanted to be buried in Marine Corps Class As, but now I thing civilian clothes would be fine. If they can, I mean, if it’s an open casket affair. I bet Uncle Bob could arrange for bag pipes. He’s like that. He used to be a Detroit cop. I bet he’s seen quite a few smudges.

When I woke up this morning I’d knocked the lamp next to my bed over. My dogtag chain was broken. I go out again tomorrow.

IED shell fragments

Appendix to Death

Did you ever receive my letters? We never did get to build that wooden model boat we were going to, did we grandpa? The one with cloth sails? If there is a heaven, I hope you have plenty of apples and coffee up there. I wish you could meet my family now – you would like them. I don’t have a photograph of you here, but I haven’t forgotten. Maybe I’ll see you again some day, but not too soon, please.

Love,

Your first grandson who you left too soon [crying now]

Death

Some fight it, struggling to live amidst the blackness. They drive their children to school because they are afraid to let them walk alone. They take the long way to avoid certain neighborhoods because their ID card shows they have a Shiite (or a Sunni) name. They shop at night because the bombs usually go off during the day. Sometimes they are stopped at a militia checkpoint, and they just disappear.

The artifacts surround us. City workers hosing down the streets. A soldier walking into the chow hall with a bandage covering his cheek. The broken rifle stock I kicked that was lying in the dirt just outside of the gate. I walked into the 101st division headquarters and stopped at the upturned rifle with a helmet on it. Usually the dogtags of the dead are suspended from the handgrip – in this case, there were eighty-five sets of dogtags hanging from the handgrip.

I hate death. I fear death. Shawn, Aunt Patty, Grandpa and Grandma, Aunt Keena and Uncle Frank. Franklin Brazier and Mike Nowak. I remember Mike showing me how to toenail perpendicular 2 X 4s when framing a wall. It doesn’t matter if you think you are ready for it or not, you never are. It creeps silently amongst the beds of the cancer ward, and it announces itself loudly when the market stalls and the body parts become missiles flying outward from a universe centered on one desperate man’s need to go to heaven. And now I have children myself – and so does Marc! Who would have thought? Who would have thought that our greatest joys could also encapsulate our greatest fears?

Death is nothingness - often dirty, usually messy, always cold. I was hurrying to a meeting yesterday when I saw three humvees returning from a mission. As they passed through the gate I noticed that the rear quarter panel of one vehicle had numerous jagged shrapnel holes in it, and that the spare tire they carried had been shredded. I had my camera with me and thought to myself what a good picture this would make. Unfortunately, I did not have time to stop.

After the meeting I hurried back, thinking that maybe I could still get a picture if they’d pulled onto the PX parking lot, a popular site for post-convoy de-briefings. I may have even smiled as I turned past the cinderblock wall and saw them there – this might be a photo Kraig would like. Something to go into that coffee table book about the war that Shell had suggested. Something to show what a real hero Jack’s Dad was in the war, even if only by association.

They were washing the humvee with a small hose. For some reason, all of the hoses in this country seem undersized. Fire hoses look like canvas garden hoses, and regular work-a-day rubber hoses seem able to produce barely a dribble. Maybe it’s a factor of existing in a country that has more oil than fresh water. Maybe it’s just the Baghdad water system - I don’t know. As I approached with my camera, I noticed that they weren’t actually washing the damaged humvee, they were rinsing the inside of it. And out of the rear passenger door slopped small rivulets of dingy pink water tinged with blood.

I never did get that picture.

Side of the Humvee and the Major

Twin detonations

Two detonations on the airfield near my position. I had to wait for the wizzz of the shrapnel to go by before I could take a picture. That’s why you only see smoke.

The watch

Keith,

Remember when we went back & forth to the same store in New Haven a couple of times because I bought a watch and then we went back to get one for your birthday? I am wearing that watch in Baghdad in the picture on the blog. It reminds me of you and Kraig and Dad and of the whole trip. I have it on right now. It says 8:54 pm.

How’d Joe’s first day at school go?

Your brother,

Mark

Baghdad pictures

Pics of the convoy


A nice September day

A Rough Day at the Office

Shit. I am absolutely filthy, smell like gunpowder and sweat, have a burn on my back where a hot cartridge case got into my collar, and scrapes on my elbows and knees from spending the past hour crawling around on the ground. Where in the hell did I put those knee pads? Plus, a have a fucking cut under my eye where the rear sight recoils into my face every time I fire the M16. This place really, really sucks. Didn’t get much work done this morning - I am going to take a shower.

Lack of posts lately

Sorry I have been so lame about writing, we’ve been pretty busy. Just to let everyone know, I am safe. They haven’t even been shelling the base very much lately, although Razorback seems to be under fire as I write. I have moved into a new (much nicer) office, my old boss has returned, and my old new boss has been reassigned. So now, instead of me doing two jobs, my new boss (who is the old boss that I liked) and I are splitting three jobs. Anyway, I should at least have time to stop and take a breath once in a while.

In addition, a new Staff Sergeant and a new Corporal reported in bringing my group up to about 75% of full strength. I am almost one third through this tour, and things are good. Still chicken and rice at the chow hall though…