Mechanical Graveyard

The white SUV was hot, in spite of the fact that it was a fairly pleasant spring day outside. We were just about to crest a small hill, and the driver sped up a little – no one likes being silhouetted in Iraq. As we reached the top my eyes automatically scanned the terrain ahead.



To my amazement, the landscape ahead was filled with tanks, seemingly acres upon acres of them. There were Russian T-55s, lots of T-62s… even some newer T-72s, all lined up as if for parade, dress right dress, row upon row. Upon closer examination I noticed there were also trucks, artillery pieces, anti-aircraft guns, trailers, tires, engines, even pontoons… the detritus of modern war. Much of the equipment had obviously been blasted or burnt, but a good portion looked as if it had been abandoned rather than destroyed. In fact, some of the armored vehicles looked as if they were only waiting for the driver to return from his smoke break before he popped the clutch the behemoth lurched forward, as tanks always seem to do when they start off.





We stopped and I got out. This was Saddam’s Army, I thought. The Republican Guard, here, covering these fields - mere jetsam in a war that has passed them by. We’ve all seen the news clips of burning Iraqi armor, Saddam’s best destroyed by superior American guns with their gryo-stabalizers, stand-off digital range finders, and infrared sights. Enemy tanks with their hatches open, fire spewing, oily black smoke roiling. Often, Iraqi armor was taken under fire while the Americans were still out of range, a technique known a “plinking.” Many times the enemy literally did knot know what hit him. And now, here they were, like so much scrape iron piled up… all those plinked tanks.


Pontoon truck

I walked over and looked inside one with a small hole in the glacis, wondering if anyone had died in there. A bit further down were several old tracked chassis, with some type of home-made, open-topped gun tubs where the turret should have been. The barrel of an old style 37mm anti-aircraft gun protruded, too slow to be of any use against even the slowest jet (but probably very effective against Kurdish rebels armed with old rifles). Over there was an American 105mm artillery piece, like you see in the old photos from Vietnam. And further on was a… a… British 25 pounder? Yes, I think that’s what it is – they retired those in the 1950s! Kraig would love this place. It was like Aberdeen, except spookier.

CNN hilarity

It wasn’t really funny, but it was. We were in the mess hall watching the news when a bit came on about the new UN Secretary General visiting the “heavily fortified Green Zone,” as the journalists always call it. At the table with me were seven other soldiers, all of them wet, muddy, and looking as if they needed about two days of uninterrupted sleep.

So there was Secretary Ban Ki-moon, in his immaculate Italian suit and expensive silk tie, on television standing at the podium with Iraqi Prime Minister Maliki. Of course they were talking about how much progress had been made in Iraq - it’s almost a mantra over here - when, just then, the camera jerked and you could here the WHUMP of a nearby impact come right through the TV. It only lasted a second, and when the camera finished dancing around you could see the Secretary General emerging from where he’d ducked behind the podium. Judging by the startled expression on his face, it was pretty obvious that he had never experienced incoming before – in fact, I think the good Secretary may have wet his pants right there on the international news.

Now for some reason, this seemed to be the funniest thing we had seen in a long, long time - everyone at the table just burst out laughing. It was one of those beer-spewing, milk-coming-out-of-you-nose moments. And to make it worse, CNN re-ran the clip three times over, each time to increasingly louder levels of mirth. I can’t remember the last time I laughed like that, and to have everyone else laughing around you just seemed to make it that much more contagious. Thank you for making my day, CNN…

After having been here for eleven months it almost seemed natural. But it's not. Iraq is changing to daylight savings time tonight, and the Army actually issued an order on it. Not a reminder, a formal, written order. I am not kidding - it came across my desk this afternoon.

I guess in the Army it's not official until it comes down from the General - I wonder how I ever managed this every other year? It's laughable.

So where's the coalition now?

The Iranians nabbed a bunch of British sailors last week, claiming that they had encroached upon Iranian territorial waters. As if England was about to launch an invasion of Iran from two zodiac boats. Anyway, this is not the first provocation from the fundamentalist government (if it may be labeled so) of Iran, and I, for one, think they need to be taken down a notch or too. Of course you're dealing with fanatics, so I am not sure what good it would do.

But what I really want to know is this: where is the US on this issue? The UK was the first nation to stand by us after 9-11, and they have remained steadfast (if misguided) allies in both Afghanistan and Iraq. Heck, Tony Blair is even now in the midst if sacrificing his party's majority in Parliament for us. So why aren't we the first ones out there condemning Iraq for kidnapping our closest allie's citizens?

I am not saying that we need to bomb Tehran, but a little solidarity would be nice.

Iraqi troops

Interior Ministry Troops

Interior Ministry Troops in Baghdad. They mostly drive around with
machine guns on their pick ups and terrorize people. If this were a
public blog I would be violating orders to say that (i.e., to say
anything negative of denigrating concerning our Iraqi allies).


Shock Troops

"Shock troops" is pretty sarcastic, although the Interior Ministry does
have "elite" commando brigades. I think "elite" means that they actually fire back in combat. There are also national and local police forces, Sunni, Shiite, Kurdish, and even neighborhood militias, Private contractors, mercenaries, Facilities Protection troops (over 90,000!), Customs & Boarder Patrol guys... You name it, it's out here. Not to mention all the collalition allies we have (Britain, Australia, Korea, Estonia, Latvia, Poland...).

Ugandan troops

There are some Ugandan troops on the base now, small, dark-skinned men in khaki. Very serious looking. Although they carry American weapons, they wear no insignia, and I think they are contract soldiers. Mercenaries.

We ran into a couple of them playing pool at the club last night. It is interesting to compare how an American shoots pool with how a Ugandan does. As might be expected if you ever stopped to think about it, the American shoots pool very efficiently, with a minimum of speech and motion. Not so the Ugandan. The Ugandan will take his time lining up the various shots with his eyes, estimating multiple angles with the cue, and possibly consulting with a friend or acquaintance. When the preliminaries are complete, he leans onto the table, draws back his stick, and - in one fluid motion - takes the shot, jumps back from the table as if the slate itself were too hot to touch, and immediately goes into a little celebratory dance, regardless of whether his efforts have actually resulted in a ball going into a pocket. This jig may or may not include holding the cue horizontally over the head with two hands and pumping it, much in the manner one would imagine holding a spear during a tribal dance of some sort. This is always accompanied by much pointing, back slapping, and high fiving.

I have to admit, as entertaining as they are, none of the histrionics seems to improve their game, and the only time I lost was when I scratched on the eight ball. But it was fascinating to watch! They must think we are so staid.

Later, at midnight chow, we heard three mortar rounds land close by, over near the ECP. Judging from the number of times they get hit, it’s the Haji’s favorite target. That’s where the Ugandan troops are.

Okay, that one was closer...

Yesterday after work I stopped in at the club to shoot some pool. The Ugandans were there, and it's always a good time playing against them.

About five minutes into the first game there was a tremendous explosion outside. KA-WRUMMMP!!! The club is an old converted stone building, so I am sure we were safe, but it shook so much that crap was falling from the ceiling. Like those First World War movies where everyone is in the bunker when a German shell lands near by and all this dirt and dust falls down. I didn't even really think stone shook before yesterday, but it seemed as if the whole building swayed. Or maybe it was just us.

It turns out a rather large rocket landed in the parking lot between the club and G-Row, which is where my hooch is. And I was just thinking the other day how it had actually been a while since we had taken any rocket or mortar hits on the FOB.

We brushed off the table and continued shooting pool.

Heartbreaker!

The Air Force has me scheduled to leave this place on May 5th! Ho-Yaa!! That's great, except that my replacement arrives on the second, assuming he even gets here on time. So that means he'll be sleeping for the rest of the day on the second, we'll do turn over on the third, and I'll check out on the Fourth.

One problem: that's not enough time to do turn over OR to check out. I will have to ask to be re-booked on to a later flight. Is this all some big conspiracy to make me go crazy???

Other than that everything is going okay.


PS Thanks for the Girl Scout cookies, Tasha!

On the Road to Combat Outpost Three (Taji)

The pressure is almost physical. My cheek twitches, the stomach knots - you can taste the bile, just below the surface. Time slows down so you can feel every heartbeat, every nerve ending, every tingle of electricity in your body. Some guys talk, some brood. One guy chain-smokes Marlboros. A good Patrol Leader knows it’s always the worst between show time and the start of the brief, and so they try to get things moving as quickly as possible, even if it means starting out a little early.

“Alright, guys - gather ‘round and listen up! You all know the routine so I’ll keep this short. The Two [S-2, Intel] says activity has been picking up, maybe to make up for what’s going down in the city. There have been a couple incidents along Tampa over the past couple of days, so keep your eyes on the sides of the road. The guns will ride red [locked and loaded]; everyone else goes amber [magazine in, chamber clear]. Gunners try to stay at nametape defilade [crouched low in the turret] as much as possible. There’s an extra can of ball behind the passenger seat, so keep everyone your ear cocked for when the 240 needs ammo. Sir, if we roll, you and me will reach up and pull my gunner down HARD – I don’t trust that flimsy belt and I don’t want him getting crushed. Tiger Three’s carrying extra water, so if you need some, go ahead and fill up now. Any questions?”



Five minutes later we pass the last guard tower. A dusty M1 tank marks the edge of friendly territory – I think of that old movie when John Wayne and the cavalry ride through the fort’s gate and out into Indian country, except this movie is in Technicolor. We drive on, pre-game nervousness transformed into something different now, something new and powerful. You surrender yourself over to it, every sensation is heightened, every color a ten on the vibrancy scale. We’re in the red zone and my entire being is concentrating on looking through the little square of inch-thick glass that serves as a side window, watching the side of the road ahead of us. It’s scary, but it’s good, to be alive like this. To be outside of the wall, free and overdosing on… what? On life.



The roads in Iraq are terrible. Bricks and broken pieces of curb and dirt piles and trash line both sides of every thoroughfare – it would be a God-dammed miracle if we could actually spot something with all this junk. “Tiger One, speed up a bit. We aren’t sightseeing here.” We pass a burnt out car near an overpass. None of us like overpasses, and I finger my pistol, looking for the reassurance it provides. The pistol is at once security and power. The power to take a life. Most might not admit it, but on some deep and forbidden level, it’s intoxicating, really, knowing that you have that power… that you’re in a time and a place where you might have to point your weapon at someone and actually pull the trigger. But there’s another part to it, even deeper, indescribable… the realization that there might also be someone on the other side thinking the same thing. It’s not something you talk about.

We pass through a small town. The road is so bad that we’re practically crashing about inside the truck. It would be fun, except that you can’t really keep an eye on what’s going on outside when you’re bouncing around like that. Huts made of cinderblock and mud, trash everywhere. Christ, how can people still live like this? Then I notice, on the roofs. Satellite TV. Escape. The radio squawks: “Tiger Base, we have contact.” It’s the patrol we’re going to debrief on their way back in. My whole being focuses on those few tinny words. Contact. Mortal danger heightens the senses, even if it is someone else’s mortal danger. “Roger, what’s your pos, Blue Leader?”

You don’t want to admit it, but war is exciting. In a routine kind of way, if that makes any sense. War is that anticipation where on any normal day you know something could happen to drastically and permanently change your plans. War is a different plane. It fulfils something, something primeval within the male psych. I’ve read that war is man’s first true love… That would sure explain a lot. Some men never grow past this love, this infatuation with destruction. I have met soldiers who have been over here three and four times. They go back to their wives and families and request transfers into units that will be deploying. When I asked why they do it, they say they don’t know. They love the darkness.

Can you explain it without sounding phony? Stereotypical? Like you were trying to portray yourself as some type of hero? Or playing the combat sympathy card? Hell, I haven’t even seen real combat, and I can’t explain it. War is like that onion of Keith’s, each layer a different part of you. Except the skin is peeled back so every nerve is exposed, screaming. Everything makes sense in its own way - there are no mistakes in combat, no wrong answers, except for one. Just go to work and come home alive, that’s all you gotta do. It’s almost like a video game where you are watching the action on some type of surround-sound IMAX screen. Remember those?

Somewhere on that IMAX not too far away another group of vehicles just like ours is engaging the enemy, and we strain to hear the details as they come across the radio. “Speed up! Jackson, watch the window!” “Got it - Whump whump whump!” Then, nothing. After a minute our driver asks the question we’re all thinking: “Are we going?” “Hold on, not yet.”

It seems like forever before Blue Leader comes back up: “Are they still firing? Can you see anyone?” “ Negative.” “You can’t see anyone?” “I think they stopped.” “Okay, stand down for a minute….” Silence… “Tiger, we’re just past the sugar factory, heading East. I think we’re past the shit now. See you back at the ranch.” Relief mixed with disappointment. “Roger Blue. We’ll be waiting.”



The blacktop ends and the road becomes dirt, filling the inside of the truck with thick, choking dust. We’re in the middle, and it seems all the crap thrown up by the humvee in front of us is scooped up and sucked down the open turret in some reverse chimney effect. The gunner laughs – he’s the only one wearing goggles, and has a scarf wrapped around his face. “Welcome to my world,” he says.



[Disclaimer: As usual, all names and call signs have been changed to protect the innocent]

Coward bombers

This war has had some sickening moments. In Baghdad, senseless death has become a way of life; you go grocery shopping, you get blown up. I have seen this happen.

But something came across the wire today that absolutely horrified me. Worse than the kidnappings, worse than the beheadings, worse than the chlorine gas burning your lungs until they fill with fluid and you drown. And I hate this feeling, this helpless feeling.

Two fuckers were driving a car and came up to an American check point. They had two kids in the back seat, a seven and a ten year old. So, after a cursory check, they were waved through - terrorists don’t drive around with kids in their car.

They proceeded to the next intersection, circled until they found a good spot, and parked the car in front of a busy market. The two men got out, locked the kids in, and calmly walked down the block. The car detonated three minutes later.

I had to read it three times just to make sure I understood what I’d read. How could these people do this to KIDS??? What kind of God is this God of Peace that destroys seven-year olds? And where did they get these kids? Just snatch them off of the street? So some mother somewhere in the Sadr City is just wondering where her kids are?? I hope those two fucks burn in hell for this. No, I hope THEIR kids are blown up. Shit. Except that would just mean more innocent kids are killed. I don’t know what I hope.

I am so glad that my family isn’t here. I just want to go home now… not to think about seven-year olds…

155s

155 mm self-propelled guns at FOB Union. I didn't have anything to do
with them but I thought it would be cool to take their pictures. Not
sure what they are doing in the middle of the city though, as I have
never heard them fire.



FOB Union is known by the Iraqi's as Al-Tawheed Al-Thalith, and it used to be a Republican Guard garrison. It is now the location of the Iraqi High Court where Saddam was tried. There are a number of units that we support there.

On the ride to Taji

Quote

“The world is a comedy to those who think, but a tragedy to those who feel.”

Horace Walpole

Air Raid Siren

I wonder what’s going on over at Victory? The damn siren has been going off over there for at least 8 minutes. It catches your attention, wailing like a World War Two air raid siren. Even though we can barely hear it from where we are.

Those guys had it rough. In the Blitz, I mean, during World War Two. When they heard the sirens they knew TONS of shit was headed their way. At least we only get one, or two, or three rockets at a time. Ours is only a small war.

Mark in Baghdad

Spring is in the Air

It’s getting warmer – all the signs of Spring are here. Flocks of birds fly overhead. The locals are out fishing in the canals using lines baited with stale bread – they have old Bic lighters or magic markers tied to the line as bobbers. And most telling of all, when you go to shave in the morning, there is a fine film of dead flee-like insects on the sink and toiletry shelf.

Ass Map

In case you were wondering where Mark's unit is stationed - big picture wise.

NEWS FLASH - tracers over the wall

Not sure what's going on, but I just had to pull my guys off the roof (they were adjusting the satellite dish). Tracers are flying everywhere, especially over near the hill, but enough are heading in this direction to make it dangerous. Well, maybe not dangerous, but less safe than normal. Sometimes they seem to go so slowly through the air, you feel as if you could just step pout of the way at the last minute. But you only get that impression when they are traveling lengthwise to you- when they are headed towards you they all seem to travel pretty fast.

I tried to get some pictures, but, well, as I said: it got a little less safe than normal.

Shit - they just passed the word to put on full gear. And the fun begins...

Gunship kill zone

What a weird feeling. When gunships circle a target, their flight path forms the circumference of what is known on the ground as the kill zone. This morning for the first time, I found myself inside a gunship kill zone. Although I wasn’t technically in an area they were going to fire into - at least I hope I wasn’t - there was still that instant where I realized how utterly helpless I was. An ominous dread washed over me as I recalled seeing videos of those Gatling guns opening up, literally plowing the ground with lead.

I’d only felt that way once before, after stepping out of the helo at Taji when I noticed smoke plumes on all four sides. As if we were surrounded.

Has Gary Trudeau been to Iraq?

This is so like them I’d swear that Mr. Trudeau has been here.

Bronze Star?

Mark was put in for a bronze star, but the nomination was down-graded (see: "The Blue Car" in the September postings for a part of the story). Each service has their own medals, plus a separate series for the Department of Defense as a whole. You only qualify for whatever your service offers, or for the DoD series if you are in a joint billet (like the AF working with the Army). Mark is in a joint billet, and while the Army and Air Force both have Bronze Stars, there is no DoD Bronze Star.

"Oh well - save it for the Infantry" as Mark says.

Mark in Gear

Gear explained (click picture to read text)

Taking five

Mark takes a break against a T-62 destroyed in 2003, during the first weeks of the war.

Hi Mom

Trip to Taji

Spent the last several days working with the 1-7 Cavalry up at Taji. I was reviewing a tactical reporting system that they use to debrief patrols after they come in. Even the debriefs can be pretty intense, especially if the patrol has taken fire, or worse, had someone get hurt. I think they were suprised to see an Air Force officer doing that, but I have been here long enough to shrug it off.

They take a lot of fire up there, but I didn't see or hear anything close.

Our George at the airfield

VBIED

Vehicle Borne Improvised Explosive Device

Remember the Somme?

Oh fucking great. I knew it would come to this. The Haji's have detonated several home made clorine bombs in Baghdad over the past several weeks, and now it's been reported that a large amount of the stuff has been stolen from a local water treatment plant.

The Army's reaction? "Your NBC mask will not filter this type of gas. Do not run into a cloud of clorine except to save someone's life."

On another subject, I need to take a little trip to visit the Cavalry up at Taji, so I won't be in contact for a couple of days. Take care.

Mark