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We’re watching a re-run of Baghdad ER, a documentary filmed in IZ earlier this year. It’s pretty graphic and Lisanne grabs my hand as they show a young soldier’s bloody arm being amputated. “Is that where you went to see the guy with the broken leg?” she whispers. “Yes.” “Don’t go there, Mark. Never go there.”

It is the only time during my leave that I watch or read anything having to do with Iraq. And I won’t go there, Lisanne. I promise.

George on leave

George gets a taste of snow


And a taste of the local mall

Leave

Already it’s almost time to go back and it’s gone by in the blink of an eye. Literally in a blink. The first day I was back the kids were both supposed to stay home from school, but I guess we forgot to tell Anais and so she got up at the regular time, had breakfast, and caught the school bus before Lisanne or I even woke up. It was almost ten-thirty before we realized that she wasn’t just sleeping in!!! We all got a laugh out of that, because I am sure Anais would have taken advantage of an extra day off from school (we made it up to her later).

My little girl is so grown up now. She took me out for coffee downtown, and shopping, and to Fitz’s Root Beer Factory on the Loop and we had a great time. We walked through the Delmar neighborhood and talked about things and she tried on some skirts but didn’t buy anything. It may be the only time that I have spent more on clothing than she did.



Jack and I built a pulse jet engine together. No, Mom, we didn’t blow up the garage this time - but it was touch and go for a while before I realized it wasn’t such a good idea to refuel the contraption while it was pulsing. We also put together a hand-held metal detector from a kit, and we have to finish up his pinewood derby racer today for scouts before I leave.



Lisanne has been great. She knows I don’t like parties, and especially parties for me, so she causally let it slip one day that a few folks might stop by on Friday night. Like an open house – nothing big. Three hundred dollars worth of food and fifty house guests later I realized that I was the only one who didn’t think this event was a party. But I had a great time, and even met some new people. We also went out to dinner and a movie, and I am now banned from picking which movie we see until 2019. At least this one wasn’t as much of a downer as The Downfall, so I must be getting better. I have missed being with her so much…

Three more days until I go back. I try not to think about it.

R & R

I won’t say it was all fucked up, but it was a typical Army operation. We arrived at the airfield at 0530 for a 0600 formation during which we were told to stand by for a 0900 formation. At 0900 they announced that the freedom flight – an Air Force C-130 from BIAP to Kuwait – would be delayed, but that we were to (you guessed it) stand by.

It was drizzling and getting colder outside, and most of us are huddling inside the one large tent. The electricity goes out so there are no lights, heat, or coffee, and by the time they announce our new boarding time of 1300 I am completely miserable. Literally shivering. I feel bad for the soldiers who didn’t bring a poncho or field jacket.

Finally, we hear the distinctive whine of four Pratt & Whitneys cutting through the air. Everyone files outside as the dirty gray workhorse rolls by and is marshaled into a parking spot on the tarmac. And for about the billionth time, I am reminded of an Oliver Stone movie as fifty fresh-faced replacements file off the aircraft and pass by our dirty, tired, and occasionally bandaged group, as we march out to take their seats. We load from the rear ramp with the engines running to minimize the aircraft’s time on the ground – I remember that I got in trouble once for authorizing a hot onload such as this in Rota, but, well, this is a combat zone and stationary aircraft make good targets. The less time spent on the ground the better. And finally, miraculously, it seems, we’re airborne. Cold, cramped as sardines with all of our muddy gear, and happier than we have been in a long, long time.

And hour and 20 minutes later we cross into Kuwaiti airspace and land at our first stop, Ali Al Salem air station. Here we are sorted by destination, go through the most rigorous customs inspection I have ever had to endure (can you say “bend over?” Okay, not that bad…), and are provided our individual itineraries for the rest of the trip. There are about 300 of us going to the Atlanta APOD (Aerial Port of Debarkation) before we split up, and, as the senior officer present, I am designated flight commander for the trip. This is mostly a babysitting job, but I am also in charge of organizing the bus convoy from Al Salem to Kuwait City International (from where we depart), enroute provisions (food and water), and the baggage details. It’s more folks than I have ever had to keep track of before so I select two senior NCOs to be my counters – as long as we have the same number of people present for every muster and formation, I figure we can forgo the tedious and time consuming roll calls. After all, who is going to purposely not show up for R & R?

We are disappointed to find out that our next flight will not depart until the next evening, but hey, a night in Kuwait is another night not in Iraq, so it’s all good. I hardly slept at all that last night though - besides the fact that I thought the tent was going to blow down, I was just too excited. Bouncy bouncy bouncy. Like a kid at Christmas, really, which isn’t a bad analogy since Lisanne had purposely kept the tree and all the Christmas decorations up until after I returned.

And finally, finally, finally, we were at the airport waiting to board that magnificent, gleaming white Omni Air DC-10 chartered to take us home. The baggage detail is hefting duffles and rucks onto the conveyor, and I stop to think how odd it is to be in charge of 300 men and women going through KCIA – this is the very airfield where I was posted as Director of Operations just before the war. Funny now, being on the other side.

The flight to Germany and then over the pond lasted about several hours longer than forever. I swear to God that time slowed down on this flight. My ass actually fell asleep, but the rest of me couldn’t. Finally after several days in the air, we arrive in Atlanta for my final layover. Luckily, I was able to go to the American counter and move up my flight and a gentleman loaned me his cell to call Lisanne and let her know. When they finally boarded the little puddle jumper for St Louis the gate attendant announced that there were three soldiers coming home on leave from Iraq (all that were left of the original group of 300) and that she knew the other passengers wouldn’t mind if we boarded first. It was actually very gratifying that not only didn’t they mind, but the whole waiting area stood up and applauded.

At last I am in St Louis! Down the jetway and around the familiar corners of Lambert’s Main Terminal. I am so excited! There they are!! Jack and Anais run up to me and it’s all I can do to let them go even after several minutes of hugs and tears. I cannot even explain the feeling of just holding them – it’s almost like waking up from a nightmare and realizing that it’s okay, or being given an unexpected reprieve by the governor. Lisanne, of course, allows them their time, but I can see that she is bursting inside too and it’s good to know and it’s a good day and it’s good to be loved everything is good and I am home. I am home.

Mark is back in Iraq

Mark arrived back in Baghdad last night and should be back at work today. he sent a quick message from Kuwait yesterday:

"I arrived in Kuwait last night just after midnight. Hardly any sleep on the planes. I hate this trip. I am doing okay though, and expect to be able to fly in to BIAP later today".

"It's funny how after the first day I didn't even think about this place for the entire two weeks unless someone asked me about it. Now here I am and nothing's changed. But it was a GREAT two weeks and I want to thank everyone for that".

Mark is on Leave

Mark will be on leave in Swansea Illinois until he returns to Camp Slayer on February 1st, when his posts to the blog will resume.

Short note from Mark on Monday the 8th:
"I am stuck in Kuwait. Tired and bored. Will probably fly out Wed morning.
I wanted you to know that I wasn't one of the three airmen killed in Baghdad yesterday.
I love you guys."

Robokowski

I caught a Sgt of mine working on this on his computer. He now has a lot more to keep him busy.

But I thought it was cute... I mean manly.

Leaving tomorrow

BOUNCY BOUNCY BOUNCY!!!

I feel like such a kid. Like a kid at Christmas!! I can hardly wait for tomorrow. The truck picks us up at 0450 for the ride to BIAP, then on to Kuwait, Germany, Ireland, Maine, Atlanta, and (finally) St Louis. My leave doesn't actually start until I get to Atlanta and switch to a commercial flight, so I won't be wasting my leave time flying. Not much of it, anyway. No more loud noises, no more firefights, no more chicken and rice - at least not for three weeks!!!

Boy the kids will be so surprised! We haven't told them the exact day I am coming home so it'll be a big surprise. I gotta go to unpack and re-pack my stuff for about the fifth time! Bye.

How many degrees was that?

It’s funny how different people and things can be related. It occurred to me today that I have some outside connection to almost every officer that I work with on a daily basis. Chris S. (Intel), the XO and probably my best friend here, went to high school with a friend I hung around with in Biloxie and still email occasionally. John H. (also Intel), went to post grad school with - and was a member of the same martial arts club as - my previous supervisor at Scott, although he wisely claims no personal attachment to the man. Dan B. (Signals), was previously stationed at Scott, and, in fact, several years ago I had reviewed his resume for a database manager position we were trying to get funded. Then there is Juliette P. (Intel), a reservist who lives in Auroria, Colorado, less than a mile from where Lisanne and I lived when I was training at Lowry Air Force Base in Denver – okay, that one’s not such a close relationship, but it’s something. And finally, my roommate, Brent C. (a Cryptographer), grew up in Warren, Michigan, which is only a couple of miles and yet a whole world away from where we grew up in Detroit. I once told him that even his name sounded suburban. Just about the only one that I have absolutly no connection with is Stupid-Lady (my boss).

And that’s a good thing.

Late one moon-lit night

In the hooch, listening to an on-again, off-again firefight outside the walls. There goes the heavy machine gun, so it’ll probably be over soon. Of course, now is when I have to pee. So I walk outside and notice a gun truck parked at the end of the trailers. A soldier is manning a fifty pointed towards the east wall, and I’m hopin’ he doesn’t know something that I don’t know. I’m not liking this at all.

But the trip to the latrine is fairly uneventful. On my way back I note the truck is still there. Maybe I’ll be awake for a while.

Mai (Water)

According to the Army, fresh water is a Class I supply item. Class I items are sustenance items, like rations and fodder. If we still had horses, I mean. We used to import all of our water from Kuwait, but the roads got too dangerous, so they built a water factory on Camp Liberty, near the Liberty Main helopad. I’m not kidding, it’s a water factory – I don’t know what goes in, but pallets and pallets of plastic bottled water comes out. Every unit has a water detail that has to go twice a week to pick up whatever that unit’s allotment of water is.

I remember a couple of years ago in Oman I was in charge of the water detail. We had to go out to the check point that served as a gate to the compound and transload every case of water off of the commercial trucks that brought them from the city of Salala, and onto the military five ton that would bring it out to the airfield. Well, rather than wait around and watch the guys do all of the work, I always pitched in. Towards the end of that deployment I sat down and figured out that I had personally moved something like 85,000 liters of water.

Anyway, there are stacks of bottled water everywhere here, inside almost every building, next to the motor pool, even out near the Aha, or Ammo Holding Area, which is a ways away from everything (they have a tendency to blow up and burn all night). It’s considered bad form not to offer a visitor a cold bottle of water before settling down to business. Guys don’t even carry canteens on their belts most of the time any more, usually they’ll just throw a case or two of water into the back of the humvee.

There are other types of water here too. KBR (Kellogg, Brown, and Root) has set up large plastic holding tanks for the stuff all over. Those tanks connected to the Baghdad water supply hold water considered non-potable, but okay to wash in and brush your teeth with, so long as you spit it out. The latrines and the showers use Baghdad water. The trailers that Colonels live in are also plumbed with Baghdad water – lucky them.

Then there is gray water, which is what Baghdad water becomes after you spit it out. Worse is the black water, which is what they call the stuff you flush down the toilet.
The tanks holding gray and black water are emptied out every night by huge shit sucker trucks (SSTs). They are very loud, and they usually start the pumps about, oh, say, midnight. Just when you’d be drifting off to sleep. And it’s worse now too, because we’re not running the AC so there is no white noise to drown out the trucks.

At the bottom of the list – even worse than black water (according to some), is the water in the canals and catch basins we have around here. We call it swamp water because of its green tinge, and it’s also pretty muddy. But I have seen several different types of fish, and eels, and snakes, and even turtles and crabs living in there, so it can’t be that bad. The locals sometimes fish from the banks using a safety pin, a string, and some bread. Well, maybe that’s not a stellar endorsement, but I still think the swamp water got a bad rap. We tend to occasionally drop humvees into it and they seem to be no worse for the wear.

Close call

It was closer than all the rest. Much closer than when we went out with EOD that time. It just came out of nowhere – fast. Just a flash, no sound. No whoosh or anything to let you know it was coming, just a silent white flash. It was very bright, more so even by the fact that it was dark out. Spots of color in my eyes, like when you look right at the light bulb too long. I suppose that just added to my confusion, that, and the silence. Where was the sound?

Then it came, slowly building. KAAAA-WRRRUUMPPPP!!!!. Loud, maybe even the loudest sound I have ever heard. My ears hurt. Louder than any other noise in the world. I could feel it wash over me, through me. It sounded just like those really, really, loud fire works right at the end of the show, but louder. I even thought it then, just like a firework, but without the colorful starburst because by then the flash had been gone for seconds, minutes, years. Detroit, Spain, Jack… It all came so fast. I wasn’t afraid, now, but moving in water, running in slow motion. I remember thinking, how ironic, with only three days to go before my leave starts.

The gray smoke was billowing up and out, drifting into the darkened sky. Someone shouted “don’t just stand there, get under cover!” but by then it was over. Sometime the explosions come in threes, but there were no more blasts, just that one. For some reason I looked at my watch and it was just past 2000 - the most dangerous part of the night. Later I realized that that was the closest that I had ever been to something like that. Not quite what I’d call a real close call, but close enough.

Delicious

Steve Krim sent a whole bunch of meats to me before Christmas. Like, two whole boxes full! Expensive meats, too, like Elk jerky and smoked farmer's sausage and cured hams. Anyway, this was way too much for me to eat alone, so I decided to set out a meat and cheese tray and share everything with the whole crew on Christmas.

Well, everyone was running back and fourth to Camp Cropper on Christmas and things were a little tense and it just never happened. But we did set set out a table on New Years Day and it was very nice. Besides the meats we has peanuts, several different types of crackers, and a couple of cheeses cut into cubes (wine would have been the perfect compliment - maybe next time).

I had wondered how it would this would go over, but in the end we had to re-stock the table four times!! Everyone loved it!! Even the General came by and had a few bites. And although I did not tell anyone who actually set the whole thing up, I am still getting emails thanking me.

And so, Steve, I am passing that thanks on to you. I think it was a very generous thing you did and a very pleasant surprise for a lot of people out here. From all of us, thanks.

PS Thanks also to Jennifer Gustafson who sent a football as a Christmas gift. I meant to tell you that it works!

PPS I saved that thin Italian ham for myself. I can never spell the word - prosciutto?

Conversations with myself

Feeling helpless to influence the big picture is probably a part of why I feel the way I do. Reading about the fights in Baghdad is bad enough, but to actually hear them is sometimes hard. And sometimes I get lonely and depressed when I am tired, which I am a lot. Do not worry though, I would NEVER think of exposing my self or hurting myself. It's not that kind of depression. It's more tired. Just very, very, tired.

I am worried about repeating behaviors, and I am determined not to. Anger. It's as if I have hung all the meaning of these past 9 months on this, on being able to handle things and NOT get mad. There is no larger meaning to this experience, only what we give it. And I want so much make this worth while. Being a better person is how I assign meaning to my being here - does that make sense?

But I know that I have to treat this more like a diet, where there will be times or days where I do get angry, or fall off the wagon, so to speak. That's always been the hard part for me - I pass a certain point and just say "fuck it, it's all ruined anyway. But people's capacity for forgiveness, for grace, is as large as is their capacity for evil. And so, it's not ruined. It's not the end. I realize that falling off the wagon is not a good enough reason to give up.

I have been practicing over here, and can think of only one (or two) times where I actually got angry. Both times with my boss. But mostly, it's just stuff. Not something I need to be emotionally invested in, just stuff. And that's what everything is, so long as you are sure of the love of your family. And I am sure of that.

End of Another Year...

A wry take on a really serious situation from Baghdad Burning. Read the whole entry at http://riverbendblog.blogspot.com/. Although the author tends towards the extreme, more and more I find myself agreeing with her.

You know your country is in trouble when:

1) The UN has to open a special branch just to keep track of the chaos and bloodshed, UNAMI.
2)Above mentioned branch cannot be run from your country.
3)The politicians who worked to put your country in this sorry state can no longer be found inside of, or anywhere near, its borders.
4)The only thing the US and Iran can agree about is the deteriorating state of your nation.
5)An 8-year war and 13-year blockade are looking like the country's 'Golden Years'.
6)Your country is purportedly 'selling' 2 million barrels of oil a day, but you are standing in line for 4 hours for black market gasoline for the generator.
7)For every 5 hours of no electricity, you get one hour of public electricity and then the government announces it's going to cut back on providing that hour.
8)Politicians who supported the war spend tv time debating whether it is 'sectarian bloodshed' or 'civil war'.
9)People consider themselves lucky if they can actually identify the corpse of the relative that's been missing for two weeks.

HAPPY NEW YEAR, EVERYONE!!!

Sorry about those earlier posts. I was tired and feeling a little blue, as grandma used to say. I am fine and I'll be coming home in a couple of days.

One-word New Year's wish: Peace. Not a surge, not pulling out, but just peace.