Christmas Eve in Kuna

Being a single dad, I usually end up being alone for at least part of any holiday, and this year was no exception. I got together with family early on Christmas Eve, but then after about 1600 I was alone. I sat around the house for a few hours, scanned some old family photos, a watched a little TV. I got antsy around 2000, and decided to see if the movie rental place was open.

It wasn’t, so made a pass through town to see if anything was happening. The only two places open were a gas station and Cowgirls saloon, so I figured “What the heck” and went in Cowgirls.

I was surprised to see about 30 other patrons in the bar. Who’d figure that in such a small town, 30 people would have nothing better to do on Christmas Eve than go to a bar. Kind of pathetic, in a way.

Inside the bar, the Tequilaria was open, I guess for those last minute Christmas gifts of t-shirts, cowboy hats, underwear and the like. The bar was having a promotion for the best Santa costume, but only a few women were participating. One of the waitresses, a shapely, statuesque six foot tall in two inch heels, was wearing a Santa hat, a small red bikini top lined with white fur, and chaps over jeans. Quite the festive outfit. Her top was apparently a bit small as she kept …. adjusting.

Another waitress was wearing a low cut red mini-dress, lined with white fur at the bottom. She wore a normal cowboy hat and knee high patent leather boots with 4 inch spike heels. A female patron wore a similar mini-dress but without the fur. A guy wore a cowboy hat with a Santa hat pulled over the crown.

The most interesting activity was on the dance floor. The DJ played music from a laptop computer, so he had time to leave it and dance. He was the only guy dancing, and he danced with a couple of different women. One had spiky blond hair and a black t-shirt with two arrows pointing up bracketing text that said “My eyes are up here.” She and the tall waitress ended up dancing on the bar later on.

The DJ had two flashy dance moves to liven up his usual country swing. For one, he somehow got his partner’s leg over the front of his shoulder with her foot hooked behind his neck. He held her hands, and with her head pointed down at the floor, he would swing the gal up and around.

For the other move, the woman would bend over and stick both hands out behind her between her legs. The guy approached her so the top of her head was against his legs. He grabbed her hands and yanked her up, and she flipped over and ended up sitting on his shoulders with his face pressed against her lower abdomen.

One of the soldiers I helped a few times in Iraq was working in Cowgirls as a bouncer. He was excited about having transferred to a Special Forces reserve unit in Utah. He was a Ground Surveillance Radar operator in Iraq, but got into a little trouble and had an unforgiving First Sergeant, so he was looking forward to a fresh start in a different unit.

So, that was Christmas even in Kuna.

Adjustments

I stopped by the armory today to pick up the form that will allow me to get National Guard plates for my car, and to pick up some shoulder patches. Now that I’m a combat zone veteran, I get to wear our unit patch on my right shoulder as well as my left. A snake sandwich, as it were.

A young female OIF veteran came into the Armory seeking tuition assistance, as she has enrolled in college part time. She also just started a new full-time job. And she just moved into a new apartment. And she just filed for divorce. She said that she was married about three months before being deployed. During the 18 month separation, she and her new husband grew apart, and now they’ve decided to call it quits. I guess you could say she’s putting her life back together after redeploying.

I came across another OIF vet, a middle-aged master sergeant. I understand that his wife went to Ft. Lewis to be with him upon deplaning. However, once back home in Boise, his wife also filed for divorce, which apparently took him by surprise.

After leaving Gowen Field, I went back to the mall for a bit more shopping, and ran into a full time soldier whom I’ve known since our ROTC days. We got to discussing all the changes that will occur now that we’re back. This soldier did not deploy, but stayed on the job here. He said that he’s already seen a difference in approach from the deployed soldiers toward the non-deployed. For one thing, email requesting support or assistance don’t really request it, they demand and expect it. I think this is more due to the way we did business in a war zone than it is due to resentment between deployed and non-deployeds, but the resentment is there with many soldiers and we will see it surface.

Readjusting takes many forms.

Where's Our Stuff?

A couple of weeks before we left Iraq, we packed up everything that we couldn’t carry on our backs, and shipped it home. We first laid it out for the MPs to do a customs inspection, which is what’s going on in the picture. After the inspection, we loaded the stuff into the 4 x 4 x 4 wooden boxes you can see. The boxes were then placed in a CONEX container for shipment. When I left the FOB, the CONEX with my stuff in it was still sitting there, baking in the sun.

The plan was to load the CONEXs on trucks, take them to Kuwait and load them on a ship, ship them to Beaumont Texas, put them on rail cars, and ship them to Boise. Truck them onto Gowen Field and then unload them, probably in February during our drill. If they’ve arrived by then.

All our section equipment, and most of my personal stuff, is supposedly floating somewhere right now.

Like most other Guard units, we lost a bunch of our equipment to our replacement unit. We left all the up-armored HMMWVs, of course, but also radios, machine guns and weapons, night vision devices, trucks, etc. We will not have equipment to train on when we start drilling again, and if we get called for a state mission, such as floods in the spring, we may not be able to do it, at least not well.

To my knowledge, we did not get much equipment from our predecessor unit, an active unit, but we did leave a bunch with our successor unit, an active unit. I was told that we tried for six months to get an ONS approved (Operational Needs Statement) but never got it approved. (I think we got one early with a few things, before arriving in country.) The 101st arrived, looked over our equipment list, selected what they wanted, and got an ONS approved in five days reassigning our equipment to them.

An ONS tells Dept of the Army what you need, in addition to your assigned equipment and manning, to do a current assignment. Surprisingly, the 101st, a light infantry unit, asked for our Bradleys. They don’t have trained drivers, operators, or mechanics for the Bradleys, but they got the request approved. I understand a political fight ensued, and we eventually got them back.

We have full time Guardsmen employed to maintain the Bradleys, so losing them would also mean losing jobs here at home.

Power Shopping

I’m still not back at work, figuring that a few weeks off are in order. Like most soldiers in my unit, and no doubt in any unit, I did not have a day off in the last 18 months, except for two short periods of leave. I’m returning back to my job with the State of Idaho on January 2 (or 3, if Monday is a holiday).

So today I went into Boise to knock out some shopping. In Best Buy I ran into a friend I’ve known since second grade. He said he was taking a day off to do “power shopping.” We chatted for 20 minutes, and spent most of the time talking about people we used to know but who are now dead.

On the way into my power shopping day, I noticed a bunch of pigeons hunkered down on top of a run down farm shed. It has been cold here, and even the pigeons looked cold.

I spent most of the day wandering around our mall, and most of that time I spent looking for pants that would fit me. I did get most of my Christmas shopping done. I saw a soldier in green BDUs (Battle Dress Uniform) shopping in Target. It looked odd to see the green uniform after spending so long surrounded by the tan DCU (Desert Camouflage Uniform). I also saw two Marines in Toys R Us, hawking their Toys for Tots program and taking donations.

Not having been in the mall for so long, I was kind of getting a fresh look. Two things really struck me. One, the large number of people walking the mall and in stores eating or drinking something, and two, how many people were talking on a cell phone. And regarding cell phones, I saw several with a cell phone headset hanging on their ear. They weren't talking; they were just wearing the headset. I guess it's a new fashion accessory. Odd that people will pay $6,000 for a hearing aid that is tiny enough to avoid notice, yet others will hang a brightly colored very large hearing aid looking thing on their ear and sport in in the mall.

On the way home, I noticed a car parked in my subdivision. It was seriously TPd. I think it was squirted with catsup, wrapped with toilet paper, egged, and sprinkled with some white powder, possibly powdered sugar. It has been there for a week now, and my girlfriend had speculated that some guy was cheating with a gal in the subdivision and his wife found the car. Of course, it has all frozen solid by now. The name Scott is written in catsup on the hood.

Home Town

I live in a small town, about 6,000 people, but it seems smaller because it is a bedroom community for Boise. It has only a tiny business community. In fact, main street is a single street about 3 blocks long, and almost all the businesses in town are located on the three blocks. The picture at right shows main street. All of it.

Two banks (one so new it's in a manufactured home), two pizza places, three gas stations, two Mexican restaurants, one regular restaurant, four hair and nail places, four bars, four churches that I know of, two car washes, a feed store, and a couple of car repair places. One grocery store, one liquor store, one car parts place, a hardware store and a lumber yard. One lawyer. Two movie rental places. Two coffee shops. One fitness place. Zero stoplights. A few other odds and ends, but that's about it. Until you get used to it, the trains coming through at night wake you up. You can often stand outside and not hear any noise, except wind or maybe a dog barking.

The town has been very supportive of the Guard, and many Guardsmen and women live here. For the first few weeks, I saw many signs welcoming us home. The community hall flew a flag with our unit patch. The city park is partially fenced, and the fence bears yellow ribbons each with the name and rank of a soldier from town. I think they included pretty much all the soldiers from town, though I got overlooked somehow.

Warrant officers

I ran into a couple of warrant officers last night, watching Monday night football in “Cowgirls”. Cowgirls bills itself as a “Coyote Ugly” type of establishment, complete with straps hung from the ceiling over the bar for bar dancers to hold. Last night there were only about 10 guys there, and one waitress. She was wearing a denim miniskirt, but also fur lined boots, and did no dancing that I saw.

Anyway, one of the warrant officers lives in this small town, the other came over for a visit. I hope he got home okay; he drank a bunch of whatever he was drinking, bourbon and Coke or something like it.

One of them, the single one, didn’t have much to say about his transition back to pre-war life. Mostly he went off on his wartime boss, bluntly saying “He’s a piece of sh*t!” several times. I’m not a big fan of his former boss, but POS might be a bit too harsh an assessment. Luckily, the warrant now has a different boss. Both warrants, and the POS, are full time Guardsmen. I guess they’ll have a bit less adjustment, since they will continue to work in a military situation.

The other warrant, the married one, has been having adjustment issues. He returned home a couple of months early, as his wife was having mental health issues related to his absence and needed him here. But, he said, after getting here he tried to get involved and start taking care of things, but his wife didn’t want him to. “She wants me here, but she doesn’t want me to do what I do,” he complained. They have not been married long, and it’s his second marriage, so he’s trying hard to make it work.

You should get out more

I followed a link on Andrew Sullivan’s blog to Julian Barnes’ blog (US News & World Report), and read about activities of one of the units that replaced us. Barnes wrote about how the 101st soldiers seemed to have a better grasp of the area than preceding units, i.e., my unit. I don’t recall him spending time with us so I don’t know upon what he bases this opinion, but it may well be true. The 101st has been there before, and that experience has to help.

It got me thinking about information flow. The military gets out and about and mixes with Iraqis, and I suppose the CIA does too, and these agencies report up the chain to the national security decision makers. The group that doesn’t get out is the State Department employees.

Kirkuk had a Regional Embassy Office, and the State Dept employees stayed there in a secured compound. Sometimes they’d come to our FOB, but more often we’d go there to meet with them. Iraqis would also go there for meetings, after passing through security of course.

However, the SD folks would seldom if ever go out and meet with Sheiks or muktars, or just rub shoulders with Iraqis. I didn’t hang around the State Dept at all, but a colonel who went there at least weekly told me about this. When the SD employees would seek to leave the compound, they’d have to get it cleared through Baghdad, and Baghdad would never give permission. The word always was, too dangerous.

There was danger, but it wasn’t that bad, and precautions can be taken. The denial was based on the recommendation of the SD’s security group, Blackwater Security. Of course, Blackwater’s job is to avoid injury to its protectees. If anyone gets hurt, Blackwater looks bad, so they recommend against risky behavior. Naturally. The SD types, according to the colonel, seemed pretty uninterested in leaving the compound anyway. He said that the SD employees just seemed interested in getting their ticket punched as having had an Iraq tour, and then getting out of there safely.

All of this is understandable behavior, and I’m not criticizing it. SD employees are civilians, not soldiers, and can’t be expected to risk their lives more than necessary. I just think that the SD recommendations are probably not as well informed as they could be because of their isolation. And, a great many political decisions defaulted to the military leaders

Can you trust a general's advice?

I saw that President Bush recently affirmed that he intends to stay in Iraq, and that he will listen to his generals and follow their advice about when and how to draw down and eventually exit.

This seems reasonable, but I’m not so sure it is. Staying or leaving is a political decision, not a military one. Generals don’t decide national policy, politicians do. If a general is told to pull out, the general can then figure out the best way to do that and can advise of the expected consequences. That is not happening yet, so asking a general about when to leave is pointless.

If the President is determined to stay the course, and you ask a general about pulling out, of course you’re going to get an answer that says pulling out is bad. Generals support the president. They’re military men and women, and it’s in their nature and training to agree with the President. Also, the example of General Shinseki, who famously opined about the large numbers of troops we’d need contrary to the administration, and whose career then immediately suffered, reinforced the need for generals to support the administration position.

Which they should do. We don’t want generals to set national policy. Being military, they will believe that a military solution is best, just as if you ask a surgeon and a non-surgeon about how to cure an ailment, the surgeon will recommend surgery and the non-surgeon will recommend drugs or physical therapy. A person always turns to what they know.

President Bush should listen to his generals about how to accomplish a mission, not whether to accomplish it.

Of cooks and outlaws

I’ve run into a few soldiers since we’ve returned, and we all agree; the adjustment back to civilian life is not as uneventful as we thought it would be. Not difficult, but not a seamless process, either.

I went into the Red Robin Restaurant to celebrate my birthday a couple of days ago, and saw a master sergeant who had served in the Headquarters Company of the Support Battalion. He said that when he drives in traffic, he feels hemmed in and nervous.

I stopped into the Red Eye Saloon to catch a bit of the Seahawks-Eagles game, and saw a young married couple shooting pool. They had both been in the Supply & Transportation company of the Support Battalion. I guess they fell in love while we were training in Texas, as they married while on leave in November. Now that they’re back, they’re beginning their lives as husband and wife. In Iraq, as I’ve written, they weren’t allowed to be together except in public. They admitted last night that they pretty much ignored that rule, as did many others. So about all the rule did was make outlaws of good soldiers. Including their First Sergeant.

This couple told me that they, like me, are not in the swing of cooking. When they want to eat, they head to the chow hall, i.e., a restaurant. I like to cook, but I’ve found that I’ve forgotten much of my cooking knowledge. Example; I used to have a bunch of meals and options stored in my head that I could sort through and select from at meal time. Now, I don’t. When I shop I don’t think of the items from which meals are made, so when it comes time to cook I don’t have the stuff to cook up. So, I either go to the grocery store, or a restaurant, or skip the meal. This is slowly changing.

Lunch, with pix

I wrote a while back about a trip I took into the hinterlands south of Kirkuk to meet with a sheik to tell him about election preparations. The sheik was in town, and while we stood around debating what to do, his sons and nephews killed a sheep and the sheik’s wife and daughter (I think)cooked it up for lunch. We were invited to lunch while waiting for the sheik to return.

Here are some pictures from that trip. The first shows a couple of soldiers watching the sheep being skinned. Note the horizon; nothing there. Also note the plants around the fence. Mrs. Sheik had planted some shrubs for color.

The next picture shows one of the nephews inflating the sheep. He poked a hole in its leg and blew into it, and pretty soon its belly was extended and its legs poked straight out. I guess this was an aid to skinning it.

They gave us Chai tea, and fixed a nice meal of rice, mutton, tomatoes and cucumbers, and a tomato stew. Excellent food, even if I was a bit leery of gastrointestinal side effects, which did not materialize by the way. This sheik was a Sunni, and was certainly hospitable to us. They even took Chai to the gunners who stayed on the machine guns maintaining security.

The last picture is of a beautiful young girl, a daughter of one of the nephews, I guess. I suppose the woman who helped cook lunch could be a second wife of the sheik's, and the little girl could be from that union. Second wives are common in Iraq. Our soldiers would sometimes get offers to have a marriage arranged, and when they'd protest that they are already married, the objection would be waived off as irrelevant.

Love and Marriage

After demobilizing, we don’t have to drill for 60 days. Since drill is usually the first week in the month, and most of us finished up around the 15th, we will drill again in February. Rumor has it that Annual Training is optional, but that remains to be seen.

I was picking up some broccoli for dinner last night, and saw two soldiers, a husband and wife, whom I got to know in Iraq. They looked happy. The first time I met the wife was at a combat lifesavers course. As part of the training, we all had to “stick” an IV, and have one stuck in us. Mrs. Soldier has an aversion to needles, and she was looking pale and jumpy. Turns out that she successfully avoided the needle that day.

In our division, the 42nd Infantry Division headquartered in New York, male and female soldiers were not allowed to enter the CHU of the other gender, pretty much for any reason. Didn’t matter if there were several soldiers there. Husbands and wives thus had to discuss family matters in the chow hall, or sitting outside, somewhere with no privacy. Outside wasn’t always that pleasant when it was 115 degrees and mosquitoes were buzzing around. If they wanted to discuss their children left back home, or money, take it outside.

The real point was that soldiers weren’t supposed to be having sex. However, sexual relations weren’t forbidden; you just had to find a bunker or a vehicle or an office to have sex. Other FOBs allowed married soldiers to live together. On our FOB, even soldiers who worked together all day couldn’t watch a movie together off duty. Several soldiers lost rank for being in a CHU with the other gender.

So, the husband and wife saw each other probably daily, but had to ignore the physical aspect of their relationship. Public displays of affection were forbidden, so they couldn’t hold hands, or lean against each other. No wonder they look happy now.

At right is a picture of a male soldier, taken about 0700 a couple of weeks before we left. Note the pajama bottoms. The female soldier is packing up her CHU. He is entering the items she packs onto a packing list (some DA form) as she packs them. He couldn't go in her CHU, so he sat at the doorway.

Routines

I’ve been home for two weeks now, and have spent most of the time getting moved back into my home. I’d had a house sitter, who moved out a couple of days before I returned. She has lived in my house longer than me, by a few months.

I’m finally up and on line, so I hope to catch up on postings. I won’t be seeing too many other soldiers for a while, so until we start to drill again, I’ll be writing about things that I couldn’t write about while on active duty. My leave ran out yesterday, and I am today, for the first time in 18 months, not on active duty. Thus, I am not subject to many of the restrictions I used to have to obey.

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A master sergeant from my unit lives around the corner from me. We saw each other almost daily in Iraq, since our CHUs were near each other. I drove by his house a couple of days before Thanksgiving, and he was standing in his yard. It was fairly warm, and he was in a short sleeved t-shirt, drinking a Corona. As I passed, he grinned and thrust the bottle in the air, part wave, part salute, part celebration of being home. Over this last weekend he was up on his roof, bundled and hatted against the cold, putting Christmas lights on his house.

It feels a bit odd to me to be taking care of the usual household chores. All my little routines disappeared, and I’m feeling my way back to them. I suppose the sergeant felt a bit strange to be up on his house, in the cold, stringing lights.

Back home

My unit has now essentially demobilized, and we are returning to civilian life. I, like many others, am still on orders, using up accrued leave. I plan to return to my civilian job after the first of the year.

I try not to talk too much about what’s happening to me in my blog, but since I’m not around soldiers much right now, I don’t have much to report on. We have our first two drills off, so we will all reassemble for the first time in early February. It will be very interesting watching the changes and dynamics.

Our unit, the 116th Cav Brigade, has been changed from a heavy armor enhanced brigade to a new Unit of Action. That means many changes, but we’re not sure exactly how it will play out. Also, various leaders are now due to rotate out of leadership positions, so that will also trigger changes.

I am in the process of moving back into my house and trying to restart my life. It’s been a week now, and my reactions to things continues to surprise me. For one thing, as I unpack I am finding it very easy to discard “stuff” I’ve been keeping. Having lived a pretty Spartan life for the least 18 months, much that used to seem important now doesn’t seem so.

Oddly, frequently when I contemplate my experience over there, I want to cry. I looked over a retrospective of our deployment, published by the Idaho Statesman, and cried all the way through it. I’m starting to tear up as I write this. I don’t know why.

I’m writing this from the Kuna, Idaho library, as I’m not back on line yet, so posting will be a bit sparse for a while. I’ll keep writing about the experience as long as I think I have something interesting to say. I will try to talk about soldiers, rather than myself.

Demobe

We are now safely in Ft Lewis, Washington, going through the demobilization process. This consists mostly of standing in line for hours, then spending a minute or two in a chair looking at paperwork.

Yesterday I arrived at 0800, even though we were told to arrive at 1000. I waited in line, slowly advancing to the front of the line. At 0911, somebody called my name, I went to the front of the line signed an insurance form, and was done for the day. The day before, we didn't do anything, just took the day off.

It has been cool, 50s, and raining off an on. Lots of folks have colds, including me. Still, it's nice to be here. We're supposed to be outta here in a couple of days.

Internet access is almost non-existant. I just got lucky for a moment to send this update.

We are staying in the old WWII open bay barracks. Not great, but not bad. We have the same food as we've been eating, and it's hard to go to the chow hall. We do have the freedom to come and go, so if a person has wheels or a ride, we can eat off post.

Bear with me

We are in the process of pulling outta here, and my access to the internet will be spotty for the next couple of weeks. I will post when I can. Currently, the network is in flux because the incoming unit is configuring it to their needs, so it keeps going up and down. It's often difficult to even send an email.

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It seems that my blog has been sniffed out by the comment spammers. I would delete them, but am restricted from accessing blogspot. My apologies for the spam.

Long and winding road

A group of soldiers was to fly out of here this morning at 0030 (half hour after midnight). To be ready to fly then, they assembled at 1800, did roll call, did a little bit of processing, and loaded their bags. The bags are stacked on a thin metal pallet, then secured with a web of nylon straps, so they don’t come loose during the flight. The soldiers leave here on Air Force C130s, and the palletizing is one of the ways they do business.

Well, the 0030 plane didn’t come. It broke down. So the soldiers waited. Another plane was to arrive at 1000. It did, but some other group got on it. So they waited. Another one was due at 1500. It got diverted. So they waited. While they wait, they have to stay in the terminal, because a plane can drop in at a moment’s notice, I guess.

One lieutenant here, going home for leave, encountered the usual delay. He didn’t want to hang around the terminal, so counting on the planned next arrival, he took off for a little while. He thought he’d be back in plenty of time. Of course, a plane came in early, and left without him. So everyone just stays in the terminal.

I saw one of the stranded soldiers in the chow line, and he looked tired and unshaven. He doubtless got virtually no sleep last night. How well do you sleep in an airline terminal? And, because the bags were palletized, they weren’t allowed to get to them. No access to his shaving kit, or a clean t-shirt.

It's surprising he was allowed to go to the chow hall. Last time I was in the terminal, we were allowed to help ourselves to MREs and bottled water they had available. His next chance at a flight must be a ways off. Still, he was philosophical. He's going home, if he ever gets on a plane.

I think the reason that flights are so unpredictable is that soldier transport is, must be, the lowest priority on the Air Force’s list. I’m not sure what else the big transport planes are being used for now that is so urgent (got to get that shipment of MREs to Pakistan TODAY, it can’t wait until tomorrow, they’ll go bad), but the unpredictability, from a soldier’s view, is impressive.

Chair force

We spent a few weeks last year in Ft. Polk, LA for training at the Joint Readiness Center. The training was pretty good, and some of it we actually used on our rotation. In an October post, I talked about the Observer/Controllers (OCs). I have been reflecting on that experience lately; one of the lead OCs was to come over here to see if what they taught us was what we needed.

I found the OCs to be kind of funny. Some of them were prima donnas. Their job is to “observe” and “control” our training event, and they tell us what we did wrong (per their playbook) and how to improve. Being the expert just naturally leads one to take on airs, I think.

Although the Army requires you to remove head gear in almost every case, the OCs kept their hats on in doors. I asked one why, and he said it was to set them apart, so we know who the OCs are. It would seem easy to tell us from them because we wore tan uniforms, they wore green. They had radios and cell phones, we were forbidden them. (Reason; must train like we fight, and there are no cell phones in Iraq. Wrong. It seems that every Iraqi has a cell phone, better than ones I’ve seen in the states, and there are some areas our radios don’t work but cell phones do. So we have them.) You could also tell the OCs because part of their uniform was a chair.

A stool, to be precise. One of the folding stools made from metal tubes. Two rectangles, hinged in the middle of the long leg, with a swath of fabric between one of the short ends and feet on the other. The type of stool favored in athletic pursuits such as fishing or camping. Folds up and packs small, and deploys with a flick of the wrist.

The OCs, expressing their originality, wore their chairs in various fashions. Some liked the over the shoulder look, and would stand and talk with their thumb hooked on the tube. Some hung it from their canteen, and some used a D-ring. Some wore it on the right side, for a quick slap, draw, flick, sit. Others liked to do a cross draw, reaching across the body. They’d sit on the low stool, elbows on knees, eavesdropping while pretending to be listening to the radio ear plug, and scowling.

I got to wondering about those chairs. A friend suggested that they were awarded upon graduation from OC school: “Upon your successful competition of the OC course, I now bestow upon you, this chair….”

Do they wax the stools? Oil the hinge? Did they have quick draw contests? Grab, open, sit; two seconds. I suppose the rookies and klutzes would get flustered and deploy the stool upside down, sit on the wrong spot and stick one of the little feet where the sun don’t shine, then fall over. All the other OCs would laugh at them; “Ha ha, you looked really stupid sitting on that stool.”

Probably some of the OCs let the habit bleed over into civilian life. “I’m ready to go shoe shopping with you dear, I’ve got my Leatherman and my chair.” His wife would ask “Are you going to wear that?” The OC could sit and clean his nails and scowl at passersby for hours, while his wife tries on shoes. Both would be happy. In church: “I see my favorite pew is occupied, good thing I’ve got my chair. Wonder where the wife will sit?”

Getting ready to go

The greeting in vogue right now is “How long you got left?” Soldiers see others in the chow hall, or the restroom, and that question always gets asked, and the answer is always served with a smile. I heard one soldier reply, “I’m a one-digit midget.”

The new guys, although they haven’t formally taken authority, are not shy about taking over. They’ve been painting over unit signs and vehicle numbers, rearranging offices, and generally taking charge. When we moved in a year ago, the outgoing guys wouldn’t let us do anything until after they moved completely out. Just one of the differences between Active and Guard units, I guess.

We get some feedback on what is supposed to happen, but are pretty much in the dark. We don’t know the time the plane will land or leave, or what happens after we leave, or really much of anything. I looked at pictures in the newspaper of our soldiers arriving in Washington, and learned more from studying those photos than I have been told.

I saw the soldiers get off the plane with no helmet, and no body armor. Which tells me we will turn that in somewhere along the line. On the flight over last year, the plane was uncomfortably overstuffed. No one wanted to or could wear hot, rigid body armor on a 15 flight, so we took it off. But, there was no where to put it. Overhead bins were all full. We just ended up with no leg room, and often the damn things sitting in our laps. So the idea that we can fly back without it is pretty welcome.

Surprise, surprise

The crew was emptying our green plastic dumpsters into the garbage truck today, and one of the workers reached in, lifted out a clear bag of trash, and dumped out the contents. He reached down, picked up a CD jewel case, inspected it, and threw it back in. The crew then hooked the dumpster to the truck and hoisted it overhead, spilling it empty.

A KBR worker was watching me watch the garbage men, and he said “They’re supposed to check it.”

“Oh yeah” I said, “what for?”

“Hazardous materials, wood, things like that. Yesterday they found two live practice mortar rounds and a clip full of M16 bullets.”

Active duty

Our replacements have arrived, and the FOB is teeming with soldiers. The chow hall is teeming, especially lunch, the PX is teeming, the gym and Rec centers, teeming. Probably can’t say the unit, but they are active duty and a well known unit. If a civilian can name 3 or 4 Army units, this would probably be one of them.

They have lots of fancy stuff, big flat screen monitors, etc. Shipped in a bunch of leather chairs for the conference room. Our cheesy Haji chairs are now out in a junk pile. And, they managed to grab a bunch of our equipment we were shipping home. This is an issue because our unit will not get any equipment to replace it, not until the war is over. All the production goes right here. And, the folks who were paid to maintain the equipment won't have anything to maintain, so you have to wonder about how long their jobs will last.

The new unit's CONEX containers have all been deposited in a big field near the tent city. As I walked back and forth to chow, I’d always see two soldiers sitting on a cot. Smoking, chatting, reading, listening to music, watching a DVD on a portable player, just seemed to be there, killing time, different soldiers each time. I asked them if they were on guard duty and they said yes, they were guarding the CONEXs. These are steel boxes, 6 ft by 6 ft by 4 ft, with high security padlocks on the door. They were guarding against the eventuality that someone might sneak in with a fork lift and steal a container.

To know me is to not fear me

We drove the empty streets of Kirkuk the night before and the night after the referendum. Kirkuk is probably the most ethnically mixed city in Iraq. It has Sunni and Shia Arabs, Kurds, Assyrians, Turkmen, and some Christians.

In this city, US soldiers are well received. People all over the city wave at us. If we stop we tend to get mobbed by children, although that is due a large part to us handing out candy and gifts like school supplies and soccer balls. After one stop, we drove away from a large group of children as they cheered for us.

After the election the streets were empty of cars and mostly deserted by people. We did see a group of guys hanging out, so we stopped and got out. The guys ranged in age from young boys to men in their 60s. They were playing backgammon and dominos. We mingled among the group, mostly composed of Kurds but not entirely. One soldier played dominos with the Iraqis. I walked into a small shop and saw boys playing Grand Theft Auto and a couple of other Play Station games. They brought us all Chai to drink, including the gunners who stayed on the vehicles to man the machine guns. The younger boys flocked around us like magpies, chattering “Mister Mister”, and “Give me”.

What struck me the most was that we easily mingled in. There was ABSOLUTELY no fear of us, even though of course we are bristling with weapons. They just accepted our presence with grace, good humor, hospitality and lots of pictures. I saw some women looking out of windows, or down from balconies above, and they smiled and waved.

Every time we stopped and got out, the citizens just took it in stride. It wouldn’t even cause a ripple of anxiety. I was watching the faces on the people when we got out, and no one looked nervous or upset. Nobody left the area.

I don’t know that the people of Kirkuk love us, but I can say with certainty that they accept us and don’t fear us.

Air Force Doing Army Jobs

The Air Force just sent 3,000 troops to do traditionally Army jobs, per the LA Times.

http://www.latimes.com/news/nationworld/nation/la-na-airforce11oct11,0,5242046.story?page=1&coll=la-home-headlines

Interesting article. It looks like the Airmen are going to be trained in some Army schools, and may be working for the Army. I saw some Airmen wearing the new Army uniform the other day, so I know that Airmen do fill roles that report to Army leaders.

The article talks about longer deployments for the AF, more than the usual 4 months. It also alludes to a bit of culture shock when the AF has to do Army business. The cited example is the forced march, which to the Airmen has little to do with being an intel pogue.

The Navy is doing customs inspections. Sailors inspected my gear when I went on leave, and I wondered why, and now I know. The Army is running out of bodies.

This presages a fight in congress. Each service battles over its budget and number of troops it can have. If Airmen are doing Army jobs, the question will arise, why not just reduce the AF and increase the Army? Something to watch.

Helmet

Behold the lowly helmet. High on the body, low on the totem pole. Our version is just the recent expression of a soldier’s desire to protect the skull.

We wear our helmet whenever we leave a building, and we wear it when we drive, even in an SUV or civilian auto. If we lounge around the CHU or walk to the gym wearing our PT uniform, we wear the helmet. We wear it all the time, except when inside, or when doing PT. Inside a tent counts as inside, so we don’t wear our helmet there.

I have been wearing my helmet pretty much constantly for 16 months. During those months, it has been hot and very hot. Ever see an old straw hat or baseball cap that the wearer has heavily sweated in? Dark and stiff around the headband? Our old helmets had a leather headband, which got dark and stiff after not very long. When you were issued a new helmet, you’d always try to get a new sweatband, although sometimes you were stuck with the one sweated in by whomever wore the helmet before you got it.

We have a new version of helmet now. You can see the soldiers wearing it on TV and in pictures. The old one, made of Kevlar, resembles the German WWII helmet, and dips down over the ears sheltering your entire head. However, if you lay on your stomach and try to fire your rifle, the back of the helmet hits your back and tips down over your eyes, making it difficult to see, and shoot.

So, the new helmet is shorter and does not cover the back of your head as much, so you can lie prone and shoot. The down side is, it exposes the base of your skull. Unfortunately in this war, we don’t do a lot of lying on our bellies and shooting. The biggest risk is from IEDs, bombs lying on the ground, exploding upward. Covering the lower part of your skull might be useful from a ground explosion. We don’t get a choice of helmets; we wear the new style, regardless.

The new style has nice cloth-covered foam pads to hold on your head, much more comfortable that the old leather sweatband and mesh. The foam pads are black, and we get issued one set with the helmet. I have been sweating into those pads for 16 months, less about 3 cooler months. Lucky they’re black to begin with, or they'd look like the old leather sweatbands.

When I take off my helmet, I put whatever I’m carrying into it so I don’t forget it and leave it. Notebook, sunglasses, water bottle, whatever. I have to be careful with my sunglasses and be sure that the lenses don’t touch the pads, or they will get smeared with oil. I try not to think about those pads against my head.

In WWII movies the soldiers never fasten their chip straps, and they always swung loose, even in combat action. We always do. Look closely at pictures; you won’t find a American soldier with an unfastened chin strap.

A Day for Smiles

We went on a knock and search today, accompanied by some Iraqi Police, and it struck me that many of the families whose homes we searched were happy to see us. Smiling, some laughing, didn’t appear to be irritated at all.

Almost every home has two floors, many have three, and a couple had four. The top floor is always the roof, but they use it to sleep on when it’s hot, also just as an outdoor room, much as American might use a deck or patio. We searched in body armor and although it was only in the low 90s, before long the soldiers were sweating under the armor. One soldier, taking a brief break, lit a cigarette and complained good-naturedly about the exercise “And I put on fresh uniform today.”

**

A soldier came in for some help today in getting some money he’s owed, related to a foot injury. Having my attention directed to his feet and thinking “Man, that’s a lotta foot to hurt” I asked, pointing “What are those, about size 13s?” Smiling, he replied “These are 13 and a halves, but in civilian shoes I wear a 16.”

Missing in Action: Main Stream Media

This post is a bit long, and doesn’t talk about soldier life. I offer my view about how reporting of the war could be improved.

Much ado over the recent announcement that only one Iraqi battalion is up to snuff, when Congress thought it was three. I just don’t get this. Why is Congress so uninformed? There are frequent CODELs (Congressional Delegations) coming over here; what do they do here? It’s not like they’re busy golfing or vacationing. The main reason, I believe, is that they just don’t talk to soldiers when the come. I blogged about this in an earlier post about bigwigs visiting. If you only talk to Commanders, all you’ll get is the Command Message, and that begins at the top.

Likewise, the MSM gets lots of criticism for not reporting the war well. I guess one reason is editorial decisions not to print or show routine stuff; a new water project just doesn’t grab attention like a bomb does. But, you’d think a report about the lack of readiness of Iraqi battalions would be interesting. I suppose I’m assuming this hasn’t been reported, based on Congress’ surprise.

What I’m getting at is that the MSM isn’t sending reporters out, not in our area. Near as I can tell, they pretty much just huddle inside the Green Zone in Baghdad. We’ve seen a few here; some from home to report on hometown soldiers, some from Stars & Stripes, but nothing extended.

For whatever reasons, we don’t have many (any?) reporters hanging out with soldiers in our area. It’s easy enough to catch a spare seat on a patrol, or to a meeting with a local Sheik or to the military assistance team training the Iraqi Army. Hang around the regional embassy and observe state dept staffers. How about having a reporter live for three to six months here with us? A month or two? A few weeks?

MSM and CODELS ought to get out of the headquarters buildings and circulate among soldiers. It’s simple to ask the guys training Iraqis “What do you think of their readiness? What standards are they meeting?” I’ve asked that in the chow hall, and the recent assessment that surprised Congress was consistent with what the soldiers told me. Or, ask the soldiers if more troops would help, and if so, how? I’ve done that, and the answer often isn’t exactly what you hear from command.

Of course, the view from the dirt is limited in range, so the Joes have only a part of the truth. Embedded reporters did a great job reporting the initial attack. Embedding seems to be a thing of the past. Embedded reporters wouldn’t be at any greater risk than soldiers. Probably a bit less. I’d like to see reporters assigned to a FOB or large unit for an extended period.

Fobbits and Their Bras

Some of the soldiers on our FOB (Forward Operating Base) rarely or never leave it. These soldiers are called Fobbits. Fobbits use the term freely, perhaps a bit sheepishly, because there is a certain amount of machismo in going outside the wire. Soldiers who do go out regularly also use the term Fobbit, but a bit more pejoratively.

Of course, whether you leave the FOB or not is usually not a matter a choice. Plenty of soldiers would be happy to change circumstances and leave, or never leave, depending on what they’re doing now. A soldier told me he goes out almost every day, and the novelty wore off for him a long time ago. He’d prefer not to leave the safety of the FOB. His platoon has lost a soldier to an IED. Also, soldiers who never leave the FOB support those who do. Without the support Fobbits, the mission here would not get done. We all know that.

A FOB Bra is the pistol holster worn around the shoulders and neck. Many consider it more comfortable than the leg holster. However, if you wear the Bra, you can’t wear the body armor over it, which implies that you don’t ever use body armor, that you never leave the FOB. Thus, FOB Bra, worn by girley men. Watch news reports and photos, and you’ll see lots of soldiers – sans body armor – bearing a brown leather or black canvass Fob Bra. You’ve ID’d a probable Fobbit.

Update:

Here's a pic of a Fobbit wearing a Fob Bra.  

Honk if You’re Horny

Traffic in many places here is chaotic, and seems lawless. I have a picture of a small Japanese pickup truck bearing three Iraqi men and an overloaded bed full of green vegetables. The hood (engine cover) is missing, as is the front bumper, headlights, turn lights, parking lights, grill and pretty much everything in the front of the radiator. But, it is still on the road, which suggests that either traffic laws are minimal or they are not enforced. No doubt the police have plenty to do just to maintain security, much less worry about vehicle inspections.

So traffic is not orderly. Roads are adequate but not particularly wide, especially in town. When our large HMMWVs enter the picture, they don’t share the road well with the generally smaller Iraqi vehicles. And, we are road hogs. We won’t allow ourselves to get stuck in traffic, because that is a good way to become a target.

We often have to bully our way through the traffic. Some of the Iraqi drivers don’t notice us and don’t get out of the way. We don’t bump them, we don’t throw things, we don’t shoot, of course, to get their attention, we do what people everywhere do; we honk the horn. In most cases, all we do is wave or honk.

HMMWVs have a horn like the one on my motorcycle. Beeeeep beeep, beeeeeeeep, tinny little bleating sound that can easily be missed, especially if the Iraqi driver has the window up or is listening to the radio. Getting the up-armored HMMWVs is nice, and saves lives. It would also be nice if they’d put a real horn in the HMMWV. An air horn would be nice, or at least a really loud regular horn.

I have begun to see soldier modification to the HMMWVs. Example; I saw a couple of aimable lights mounted on a hood, to help with locating IEDs at night. Like a spotlight, but not operable from inside. Perhaps soldiers can start mounting air horns or loud car horns. Or maybe they can get the portable compressed air horns like you hear at sports events, or on boats.

Metal rain

I woke up around 0200 this morning and couldn’t return to sleep. Insomnia and I are old friends, so I just relaxed bed, waiting for morning, listening to the air conditioner. I moved into my CHU last December and turned on the unit and haven’t shut it off since. Last winter I needed the heat; this summer, the AC. And it provides a white noise to mask sounds from my neighbors, two of whom work from 1500 until 0300, then come in and watch movies.

I guess most of us are experiencing at least a low level on ongoing stress. When a CHU door slams, or you hear a similar sudden noise, you wince, wondering if it is a rocket attack. As I lay in bed this morning, the compressor in the AC unit suddenly engaged with a thump. My heart startled into high gear for a few moments, even though I knew quickly it was not a rocket attack. That bloom of adrenalin ended any hope I had to get back to sleep.

We mounted up today around breakfast time and drove to a village where we met with some locals, made plans for the referendum and walked around town in a dismounted patrol. School let out as we walked and kinds in blue and white uniforms swarmed around us.

We pulled out of our parking lot after receiving the mission and briefing, and headed for the gate. Our gunner was standing up in the hatch as we rolled along. We hit a rough patch of pavement, and some liquid splashed down inside. Apparently the gunner had spilled something.

The vehicle commander asked what he was drinking, and the gunner replied “A near beer.” About then the beer smell filled up the cab. I’m glad he didn’t spill it on me. I’d hate to be reeking of beer when meet with Muslims Iraqis.

We went through the gate, and stopped briefly to test fire the machine guns. The gunner fired several rounds into a dirt berm, and the spent shell casings and linkage tink tink tinked down through the hatch into the cab like metal rain. One of the casings landed in a puddle of near beer.

Later in town I was happy to drink sweet Chai tea with the hospitable Iraqis, as the caffeine helped offset my lack of sleep.

Self help

I went with a unit on some mounted and dismounted patrols today, in both Arab and Kurdish areas. (I'm nervous writing about thisl, given the new info re blogs. I don't want to divulge improper info. Hmmm. I guess being nervous is probably my internal warning that I'm treading on thin ice.)

What struck me the most was that the village leaders we talked to all asked for things from us. Water projects, help with setting boundaries between off limits areas and sheep grazing areas, etc. After listening for a while, I was yet again reminded of the communist background of the Baathist party, and its effect on the country.

Iraq has only been unified, in its entire history, when it had a strong leader. However, a strong leader means the individuals looked to the leader to get things done. Coupled with the communist beliefs of the Baath party, the locals aren't used to doing much more than asking for help.

So, in one village, we were asked about a water project. A canal flowed - that's misleading, as no movement existed - through the village, near houses, along the street. The water was filthy, green and full of trash. I saw one woman toss some garbage into it, right in front of her house. The water stunk.

When asked for a water project, we told them that they have to work through the city council and use the proper process. The didn't get this, for whatever reason. We also told them to use self help and clean up the canal. Again, I'm not sure they got this.

The Chai was hot and sweet. The famous Arab hospitality is alive and well, in my experience.

The children kind of circled around, and once we broke out the candy they mobbed the guy with it.

I gave one small girl a stuffed Pink Panther donated by a company in Boise. She grabbed it and ran off, pursued by other kids. As we pulled out, I saw a bigger boy holding the pink toy.

New Army Warnings Issued To GI Bloggers

So says the headline in Stars and Stripes today, Saturday, Oct 1. www.stripes.com

According to the article, a new warning has been issued by the Army. Prohibited activities include posting photos (one part of the article says 'Do NOT post any photographs on any Web sites'), posting official information, and releasing information detailing job responsibilities.

I was not aware of this new warning until I read the S&S today. Apparently my post about dumpster diving was a violation.

I'm confident that no soldier wants to give away information that can be used to harm soldiers; I know I don't. It seems that the Army is growing more concerned about blogs and the information given away, or the opinions expressed.

I guess I'm done posting photos here. I wonder how the policy applies to Guardsmen; if I am not on duty, what restrictions apply? When I'm not in a pay status, i.e., a civilian, can I post pictures?

I suspect that as time goes on, milbloggers will get pretty scarce.

What Would You Like On Your Pizza?

I gave a soldier a ride to our FOB Green Bean coffee shop today, and on the way he told me about his soon-to-be-ex-wife, his two year old daughter, his plan to go to Afghanistan and then work for a security firm, and his plan to retire by age 28, at which point he plans to get custody of his daughter. I dropped him off at the coffee shop, and as I pulled away I noticed a Third Country National worker behind the Pizza Hut.

The worker was wearing a dark blue shirt with a red PH logo, and was sitting in the back step of the PH trailer. I saw him holding and looking at something long and white. As I drove past, I saw that it was a sock and that his left foot was bare. He put down the sock and began to devote some attention to his foot, picking between his toes. I wonder if he was the cook? "I'd like the small pepperoni pizza please, and add some toe jam."

Fresh food

The platoon ate mutton for lunch yesterday, and it had been on the hoof only about two hours before it was on our plates.

We left after breakfast to drive to the far southern edge of our area, to meet with a sheik to discuss various matters. He was supposed to be around his home for about three days, so we drove out to see him. Of course, we can’t say when we plan to get there; that would just make us a target.

We drove for about an hour on paved roads, then for another hour on dirt roads. The dirt roads followed the edge of fields, canal banks and in some places just seemed to meander across the landscape. We took the roundabout path in order to avoid driving on the main road and risking an IED attack.

Eventually we arrived at the village, and asked for the sheik. In a village of mud huts, his house was the nice one; air conditioning, electricity, modern kitchen, TV in an entertainment center in the living room, outdoor, but plumbed, bathroom.

Turns out the sheik was in town. One of the Iraqis called him, and after a short conversation told us that he sheik was on his way, and he’d be there in an hour. We stood around, like soldiers do, and pondered our next move. Wait and be out quite a bit longer than we planned, or head back. The Iraqis invited us to sit for spell, and one brought out a pitcher of cold water and one glass. We each took the glass, sipped or drank, depending on thirst, and replaced the glass. The Iraqi held the tray, refilled the glass as necessary, and handed the glass around until everyone had some water. They did this a couple more times later, but used a small stainless steel bowl instead of a glass.

The guy left, and came back with cups of strong sweet Chai. As we sat and chatted and sipped Chai, we saw two of young men walking up carrying a dead sheep. Apparently the sheik told his family to prepare lunch, so they killed the fatted calf, so to speak. They walked around the edge of the house, and pretty soon we heard a scraping sound. They were sharpening a knife on the edge of the concrete walkway.

One of the men cut off the sheep’s head, then poked a hold in its hind leg. He blew into the hole and inflated the sheep until all four legs stuck straight out. He then cut down the center, and commenced to skin the sheep. I’m not quite sure what inflating it did for him. He still had to separate the skin form the meat, using the knife to cut the fascia. As he was doing this, a few sheep walked by, just on the other side of the fence.

After he got the skin off, he hung the sheep and disemboweled it into a large pan. After the sheik’s wife took over and cooked up lunch, which took about two hours from baa to being served. The sheik arrived during this time and we talked with him a bit, drinking cold cola. They served the mutton boiled with onions, kind of a soup with meat in it, white rice, a bowl of fresh cucumbers and tomatoes chopped into jellybean sized pieces, like a salsa, and a dish of tomato slices that had been boiled and seasoned. It was delicious. None of the Iraqis ate, at least while we were there.

We finished up lunch with more sweet Chai. We departed soon after, and left some candy and school supplies, and a case of bottled water, then motored back the way we came. Mission accomplished.

Pizza and heart rates

I have a wide variety of duties, and a couple of nights ago my duty was dumpster diving. We had an allegation of wrongdoing, the evidence of which was supposed to show up in the trash. It didn’t, but I was otherwise surprised by what I saw.

In two words, pizza boxes. We have a Pizza Hut outlet – a converted CHU, essentially – on the FOB, and it apparently does a land office business. Every dumpster I peered into had multiple pizza boxes. Way more than I had expected. Four, five, six, ten, more. The dumpsters are emptied almost daily, or no less than every other day, so the pizza boxes were all recent.. Apparently lots of soldiers are skipping the chow hall.

Also saw a shelf, about eight brand new steno notebooks, DVD cases, and lots of stuff that soldiers are tossing out in preparation to leave. I guess they’re getting skinny, notwithstanding the pizza.

**

A friend of mine was showing off his fancy Polar heart monitor watch. The sensor straps to his chest when he works out, and talks to his watch for heart rate, lap times, and all sorts of stuff. He has a sensor in his shoe that tells his watch info about his stride.

He uploads his watch into his computer, and it makes charts and graphs, tells him what his fitness age is, and helps him plan his workout. He was showing me the graph of his heart rate from his 8 mile run the other day. Average mile time; 9 minutes, 32 second. The watch tracks temperature and altitude, and the graph showed the altitude of his run.

At several points, the graph showed his heart rate briefly dropping to near zero. I asked him if he has heart problems or something. He said no. He thinks the dip was when he ran near jammers, and his heart monitor couldn’t talk to his watch.

A Gross Post

It cooled off today, into the low 90s. Finally. So I went for a run this afternoon. Afterward, I took a shower. The shower I normally use was in use so I used the one next to it.

In my usual shower, the curtain has been raised way up, above my head, but a couple of days ago it had been lowered enough to easily see over. When I showered a couple of days ago, I had to duck below the curtain rod to get in and out of the shower. Exiting, I also had to step up over the lip of the drain pan. Ducking and stepping up simultaneously is just too much for me to do safely more than once, and I conked my head on the shower curtain, leaving a lump and a scrape. But I still stuck to that shower, mostly because I like the shower head.

Today, as I showered, the guy showering where I usually do was taking a nice long shower. At one point, he coughed and hacked up, well, you know, and then did it again a minute later. So, he was either holding it in his mouth, swallowing it, or spitting it in the shower. Jeez. After that, I heard him blow his nose. In the shower. I couldn’t see, but I’m pretty sure it was the deal where you put a finger on one nostril and blow out through the other. Either that or he used his washcloth. The shower was still running so I’m sure he wasn’t using a tissue.

Afterward, I regarded him with some disgust as he leaned forward to the mirror and popped a pimple. I think I might change showers.

The Beginning Of The End.

Although our departure date is a ways away, we have begun preparing for it. Logistics, it is said, doesn’t win wars but it can certainly lose them, and logistics takes planning. For now, we’re packing up equipment that we can do without for a while. “Getting skinny”, as it’s called. I’ll probably see the gear again in about 6 months.

Last week several sections gathered to pack and stow some of their gear. First, we decide what we can live without, and what we are required to take with us on the plane. The latter changes as guidance from higher is received. Originally we were supposed to take all our Organizational Clothing and Individual Equipment (OCIE) so we can turn it in at the de-mobilization station. That is pretty bulky stuff, and since we’re limited to two duffle bags and a backpack, it would prevent taking much of anything useful.

OCIE includes, for example, elbow and knee pads, pup tent halves with stakes and poles, an entrenching tool (foldable shovel), cold weather gear, and lots more crap that we just won’t need to de-mobe.

The new guidance allowed us to pre-pack and send OCIE home in a CONEX container, so I filled up two duffle bags of that stuff and a couple of folding chairs. I also sent a foot locker. It had books, posters, folding stools, rope, and just a bunch of stuff that I though I might need for this tour, most of which I didn’t.

Here’s the process. You pack your bags and footlocker so that you know what fits, and fill out a form (make 5 copies) listing everything in the bag or locker. The picture was taken at 0700, and shows a male soldier, still in his pajama bottoms, helping a female soldier (he's not alowed to enter her CHU). He is typing the form while she loads up her duffle bags.

After completing the form, load up the stuff into a truck, take it to a central area, unpack it and lay it out on cardboard. The MPs will then root through your stuff looking for contraband or other stuff you can’t ship. After they clear you, you repack, put everything into large boxes, marked and numbered, and then box is fork lifted into the CONEX container and the container is sealed, ready for shipment. Until it ships, it will just sit in the sun and bake. A copy of your packing list goes in each duffle bag, on the outside of the box, on the CONEX container, one to the First Sergeant, and one for you, total of five. Load lists are important. We lost a CONEX container for a while on the way over here. It was later found in Kuwait.

For me, the MPs rejected some prescription meds (have to hand carry them, and they have to have your name on the container), some vitamins (once opened, who knows what’s in the bottle, so they can’t go), some batteries (they might leak), and the mosquito net issued to me here. I never used the net, but it is similar to camouflage netting and neither can go home. We don’t have to turn it back in, either, so the advice was to just throw it away. Oddly, the commercial mosquito net I brought with me was allowed to go home.

I saw TV’s, small refrigerators, a violin, books, CDs, DVDs, and a rich variety of miscellaneous personal stuff being loaded. Here in a while we’ll do it again, and pack up the offices and pretty much everything else. We’ll be living out of duffle bags for a couple of weeks at the end of our stay in Iraq, and for the few weeks it will take to finally get home. I’ll have mostly clothing and hygiene items, along with a small footlocker of office stuff; active files, laptop, whatever I need to do business during the de-mobe.

If you're married, one of the rules of travel is "Don't whistle while you pack." At least here we didn't have to hide our good spirits as we prepare to travel.

Awards

One of our commanders said “Awards are the most difficult thing we’re doing in theatre.” As we approach the end of our tour, the awards controversy is growing.

Awards are always subject to some tension. Deserving soldiers should be recognized, but if too many awards are handed out, it cheapens the awards. Drawing the line inevitably causes disagreement. Because enlisted soldiers get promotion points per award, getting a medal can determine whether you are elevated in rank. Some medals are not authorized in a combat zone; others are awarded only in a combat zone.

All soldiers serving in Iraq and supporting the Global War on Terrorism will receive at least two medals. One is an Iraqi (or Afghanistan) service ribbon, and the other is similar; you get it for showing up and participating. Other awards are given for either service or achievement. That is, you serve admirably for a period, or you have certain achievement that merits a medal.

A Bronze Star is a combat zone only medal. Under our division’s rules, these tend to be given to soldiers with large responsibilities, i.e., higher ranking soldiers. It is a higher medal than an Army Commendation Medal (ARCOM), which you can get in peacetime or at war. Either can be given with a “V device”, a tiny bronze “V” placed on the medal, for valor.

Rumors abound of other units freely handing out awards, particularly active duty units, but our division is very restrictive. Many soldiers believe that division is defensive and out to prove that National Guard divisions don’t just hand out meaningless awards. Because the Bronze Star is a pretty significant medal and not easily won, the next medal in line is the ARCOM. Well, ARCOMs are given out during peace time. Thus, a soldier who has distinguished him or her self in a war zone might only get the same medal as given back home on Annual Training. This is a controversy that will never go away.

Awards are also difficult because of the justification required. Leaders are trying to get their soldiers the Combat Action Badge, the Combat Infantryman Badge, or the Combat Medic Badge. Packets with dozens of pages of justification have been submitted, only to be rejected. There are issues about whether incoming rockets or mortars will qualify you for the badge, how close do you have to be to it, what if it’s a dud, and were you on duty at the time. For example, if I leave my office to go to lunch and a rocket lands near me, I probably won’t qualify. If I’m walking with a soldier who is going to the chow hall to pick up food and take it back to fellow soldiers, he will qualify. He is on duty, but I’m not.

And on and on. Purple Hearts are given for battlefield injuries. However, here, if the injury is not visible, it usually won’t earn a Purple Heart. Ruptured disk from being banged around inside a HMMWV when an IED explodes; nope. Brain damage from concussion, but no gash or blood; nope. Burst eardrum from proximity to explosion; nope. Cut from flying shrapnel that requires only first aid; nope.

Awards are a difficult issue, but greatly affect morale.

Bathroom Wars

An internecine war has broken out among soldiers on the FOB, and the battleground is the bathrooms.

We have “Cadillacs” for shower and bathroom facilities. That is, modular buildings plumbed and outfitted for one or the other of the functions. The buildings are set by a crane on cement blocks, and plumbed into the black and gray water systems. Buildings run in two lines through our CHU area, showers all in a row behind the restrooms, also all in a row. Each building has one door, and two windows on opposite walls. The windows can be opened part way. Fans next to the windows exhaust air 24/7.

These buildings are okay, as far as they go. The restrooms tend to get dirty, and the showers tend to run out of hot water, but all in all, adequate. The worst part, I think, is doing the shower shuffle, i.e., walking from the CHU to the shower, carrying your little ditty bag and towel. For me, that’s about the length of a football field. Well, actually, the worst part is the dirt bags who never learned how to clean up after themselves and leave evidence of their passing in the sink and on the floor.

People being people, they have their preferences. If the windows are closed, the fans pull in air from the sewer because the sinks and urinals don’t have P traps to stop the inflow of sewer gas. So if the windows are closed, the rooms stink. If the windows are open, it lets in hot air and overpowers the air-conditioning. So I’ll walk in a bathroom with the windows shut and open them to get in some air. Later I’ll return and someone will have shut them, preferring cool sewer gas over warm oxygen. And back and forth.

Likewise, the showers. We have flimsy plastic shower curtains, with smiling fish or happy whales or pastel geometric designs. Being flimsy, and soldiers being pretty ham-fisted, the curtains don’t last too long and are frequently replaced. As you shower, the air is warmed by the shower water and rises, sucking in the lightweight shower curtain and plastering the moldy fabric against your leg, which is nasty.

Apparently two schools of thought about how to avoid this prevail. One, lower the curtain rod so far that the curtain laps onto the ground. The other, raise it so that plenty of air can flow under it and avoid sucking in the curtain. In the shower I prefer, the curtain rod goes up and down as much as a window shade. I used to be a low-rod ground-lap man, but lately it doesn’t seem to matter if my ankles show.

On Patrol

I went on a presence patrol into Kirkuk. After a little stutter-step getting going, we got off, though a bit late. That’s okay as we try to vary our routine anyway, so being late works toward that end. It was bad news for our interpreter, though. He just got married, in June, and his bride was expecting him by a set time. Well, our late start caused him to miss his deadline, and pretty soon his cell phone started ringing. Contrition and explanation looks the same in any language, it seems.

We stopped at a police precinct for a brief visit. We sat down with the head policemen, not in the city but in the precinct. He had a clean office, painted blue on the lower half, and light blue on the upper, with a small window in the corner. His desk was clear except for inbox, pencils, and office utensils, and had recently been wiped off. He had a desk and return, his chair, a tiny refrigerator, two sofas and two love seats, all matching, and a TV on a stand.

Within a couple of minutes a policeman wearing a blue shirt and new black body armor came in with a tray and several little glasses of dark Chai. About two inches tall, the bottom half inch was all sugar. I stirred it with tiny spoon and drank most of it. If you drink it all, you get a refill, so it’s important to leave a bit. I was a bit leery about the water source, but took the risk. After a few minutes of chatting, and listening to our interpreter make excuses, we left to drive around the streets, accompanied by some Iraqi Police (IP).

We stopped and talked to a shopkeeper who was sitting in a little windowless stall, about 8 by 15. The front was painted pink, and inside colored lights (Christmas lights) helped the feminine presentation. I saw deodorants, shampoos, hair coloring, lipsticks, eye liners, pretty much most of what you’d see in a normal grocery store, with a couple of exceptions.

He had a variety of products, but no variety among products. That is, he had several different scents of deodorant, for example, but only one brand. The products were not lined up by type, but more by symmetry. I saw a row of various round containers, deodorants, lipsticks, eyeliners, etc, all lined up in a symmetrical pattern. Lipsticks were all over the shop, as they made nice colorful counterpoints to larger items. His biggest seller; shampoo. He had a few articles of clothing, including to my surprise, a negligee. And what looked like a moo-moo.

We took off after a few minutes and continued the patrol. Saw several mosques, some sheep, some goats, lots of trash, and some absolutely beautiful children dressed in bright cothing. After a while the IP had to return to their station for another mission.

Looking for progress? The soldiers I was with told me they have seen a great deal of progress in the IP since we arrived several months ago. They are getting better equipped; the body armor was brand new, which might explain why the guy delivering the tea was wearing it. The IP set up good security when stopped, and generally looked pretty good. Coming along nicely.

Honoring a fallen soldier

We held a ceremony today for a fallen soldier. He was 29 years old. Most of our large company was able to attend, along with a couple of generals, all the battalion commanders and their sergeants major, and even some Air Force representatives.

After an invocation and the national anthem, the soldier’s company commander spoke, followed by the soldier’s supervisor and his roommate. All the speakers knew the soldier, and spoke movingly of his dedication, love of service, how their lives were enriched by knowing him, and of how much he will be missed.

They held a roll call for the soldier. The company First Sergeant called roll of the soldier’s section by rank and last name, and each soldier responded “Here, First Sergeant.” When the First Sergeant came to the fallen soldier’s name, of course there was no answer. The 1SGT called his name again, adding his first name to his rank and last name. After a moment of silence, the 1SGT called his name a third time, using the soldier’s full name, first, middle and last. After a brief silence, someone answered “The soldier is out of ranks First Sergeant.” From outside we then heard a 21 gun salute, three rounds of seven rifles, followed by taps.

In closing, all the soldiers, starting with the generals, moved into the aisle fronted by a helmet on a rifle, with boots at the bottom. In threes and fours, all the soldiers approached the memorial and delivered a slow salute, then executed a right face and marched out.

The soldier had been a Marine for several years, and the program handout proudly featured the Marine Corps Motto, and the Eagle, Globe and Anchor of which Marines are so rightly proud. The soldier had volunteered to serve with our unit. Semper Fidelis.

Don’t Eat Yellow Snow

And watch what you’re drinking. We get Gatorade and Crystal Light packets to mix with water, as well as instant tea, and Kool Aid. Most soldiers just figure out the proper amount to pour into a half liter or one and a half liter bottle and mix the beverage in the bottle. You’ll see soldiers drinking red, green, orange, purple, yellow or brown liquid form the water bottles.

Of course, soldiers also use the bottles to spit in when they chew tobacco. And, the one and a half liter bottles are popular to use as, uh, chamber pots. If it was good enough for the founding fathers, one soldier said to me, it’s good enough for him.

Rather than get dressed and walk to the restroom, some soldiers choose to refill the large water bottles instead. Making Budweiser, some people would say. This is not limited to the male soldiers, though I’m sure it’s more prevalent among them. I heard the story of a KBR A/C repairman who went into a female CHU. Two female soldiers lived there, one of whom had some refilled bottles. The repairman knocked one over, and unfortunately the lid wasn’t on tight. It fell to the other roommate to clean up that hazardous waste spill, and she subsequently requested a new roommate.

I’ve been in CHUs with several large bottles of yellow liquid stacked on a shelf, or against the wall, or just lying around. For a while, the soldiers threw the bottles in the dumpster. The garbage men objected, so the soldiers had to either disguise the bottles before throwing them in the dumpster, or empty them in the restroom.

Just for the record, I don’t subscribe to the “if it’s good enough for the founding fathers” theory; no refilled bottles in my room.

Strategic Privates

Strategic Privates exist, every unit has them, and they can determine an entire course of events.

Strategic Privates are soldiers whose acts or words influence policy, command philosophy, or standard operating procedure far beyond their rank or position. They are not always privates, but they typically are lower ranking soldiers. If CNN comes around, they seem to easily find the strategic private who will do or say something stupid or off command message.

In New Orleans, CNN won a lawsuit (I think it was dismissed) for the right to take photos of corpses and to access stricken areas of the city. After prevailing on this against the administration, CNN was later told by a Strategic Private that the military has its own rules and the military would not allow CNN the access it desired. An LTC later clarified and CNN was allowed its access. The LTC said something like “There are lots of ‘Joes’ out there and this one didn’t get the message.” No doubt that at least for a short time command devoted its scarce and precious time to clearing up the confusion sown by that Strategic Private.

Lindy England at Abu Ghraib is a good example of a Strategic Private, assuming that she was acting on her own and not according to direction. The soldier who asked Donald Rumsfeld about armor for HMMWVs was another Strategic Private. Richard Reid, that mope who tried to explode his shoes on the airplane, could be considered a Strategic Private. Remember Mathias Rust? The 19 year old German flew his Cessna into Red Square, thereby allowing Gorbachev an excuse to purge hardliners who were blamed for the security breach, and setting the stage for the end of the Soviet Union; the ultimate Strategic Private. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Athena_Rust

Watch for them. They’re out there. You’ve probably got one in your unit or your business. Despite your best efforts, the Strategic Private will find his or her way to the front, or to the reporters, and will take control of events away from the leaders.

Holy cow

A soldier from Pocatello, Idaho told me that he’s looking forward to going home to assistant coach his youngest son’s baseball team. He said that his oldest son is going to Cooperstown.

We got to talking about livestock, somehow, and he shook his head at the sorry state of beef cattle here in Iraq. “I haven’t seen any beef cattle” he said, exaggerating, meaning that he hasn’t seen any up to his standards. “I saw some wondering around Sulaymaniyah, eating garbage out of garbage cans. They wouldn’t know grain fed beef if they tasted one” he said, warming to the subject. “Just like the chow hall’s motto. ‘I never saw a piece of meat I didn’t overcook.’ They can have this frickin’ country”.

I guess he’s ready to come home.

Car Wars Victory

I wrote a few days ago about some Iraqis who were trying to lay claim to my NTV, but before I coughed it up we required verified proof of ownership. Well, the Iraqis produced their ownership documents which were shipped off to Baghdad. Baghdad determined that the documents were forgeries. Yes! I get to keep the NTV, at least for now. Ha ha! Take that, you bastards!

So there you go. An Iraqi success story. The Iraqi government has a functioning bureaucracy that is capable of determining vehicle ownership. Alert the media!

Hello, goodbye, hello, goodbye

Yet another group of Air Force has rotated through our FOB. The group here when we arrived last December was around for a month or so, then rotated out, replaced by a new group. That group was here for four months, then they left and another new group came in. That group just left, and now the fourth group of Air Force service members has arrived. Four Air Force units, and we’re still here. (Oddly, the unit name never changes. I don’t get that)

One of the obvious questions is, can the AF be effective in such a short time? What about the learning curve? It seems that they are plenty effective, perhaps because what they do here is very similar to what they do before they come here. There have been some glitches, such as when some new airmen shot up a car full of Iraqi civilians, but all in all the AF pulls off the short rotations pretty well. In our area, much of the AF mission is on the FOB, infrastructure support and the like, so it is not new to them.

The last AF rotation was from a base located in our home state, and some of our soldiers live not far from the base. One of the soldiers told me “One of these days when we get back, I’m going to be in [his favorite bar] and I’m going to hear some of these AF guys talk about their four month Iraq rotation. I’m going to be sh*thouse drunk, and it’s not going to sit very well with me, and I might say something I regret.”

I don’t begrudge the AF their short rotations; it’s good work if you can get it. I do think that if the Army can learn entirely new missions, then so can the other services. As reported in the MSM (I’m not giving anything away), soldiers are doing primarily infantry and MP missions here, regardless of their type of unit. So, for example, if tankers can learn to do knock and searches, I would think that airmen and sailors could. I don’t see why some of the other services can’t bear more of the burden of this war. This might even free up National Guard for flood and fire duty.

Good Help Is Hard To Find

Walking along the gravel road near our CHUs, I saw the cleaning crew spread out and working in various bathrooms and showers. The crew is composed of locals, supervised by a civilian, and overwatched by soldiers, which the soldiers call TCN (Third Country National) duty. I walked by the civilian, who was saying to the soldier “Look at ‘em. Diggin' for gold. None of ‘em got a damn thing.”

Looking up the road I saw a young Iraqi standing by a dumpster. He had the garbage can from a bathroom, to be emptied into the dumpster. But, before he dumped in the garbage, he sorted through the dumpster. He extracted a sack of potato chips and peered into it. Apparently empty, he threw it back and continued with his work.

**

Two soldiers carrying bulging green cloth laundry bags caught a ride with me the other day. Noticing the bags, and proudly demonstrating my command of the obvious, I said “Headed for the laundromat I see.” “Yes sir.”

They had chosen to do their laundry themselves, and spend about three hours doing it, rather than turn in the laundry to the KBR laundry. I asked them why, since they could turn in the laundry just a short distance from where they live, and it would save them hours of time.

“We work TCN duty” one of them said, as if that explained it all. “Oh, okay,” I said, “What does that have to do with it?”

“Well sir, we watch the locals who work in the KBR laundry, and it’s bad. Real bad. You don’t want to get your laundry done there. I saw one guy wipe his face with a clean shirt.”

Communist?

I guess in some minds, the cold war isn't over.

After washing my hands before entering the chow hall, I struggled with the paper towel dispenser. Large non-perforated rolls of single ply tissue, about 8 inches wide, hang on pipes by the sinks. Soldiers tear off a length of tissue to dry their hands. The tissue is about the same consistency as toilet paper, and little pieces tend to tear off and stick to your hand after you dry them.

I was trying to start a new roll, which involves peeling off the big sticker, then trying to start the roll. Like toilet paper, the first few sheets are glued down, and it’s confusing which way the roll will roll, until you get a few layers off. Of course, as you peel off the layers, they rip down the middle.

As I peeled off strip after strip, the crusty old sergeant waiting behind me said “Boy, that’s a communist thing, isn’t it?” I said “My hands have air dried while I’ve been fighting it.” The female solder behind the sergeant said “It’s just being difficult, like everything else in this country.”

You want the truth?

Americans seek “the truth” about what is happening in Iraq. I’ve have many people tell me that they would like to “really” know what is going over here. Americans have a huge stake in this war, in blood and money, and they want to know whether the endeavor is worth the cost.

The main stream media (MSM) is not trusted to accurately report. MSM focuses too much on the bad news and destruction, it is said, and by failing to report the good new the MSM presents a skewed picture of what is happening here. Conservatives recently sent a “Truth Tour” to Iraq because they think the good news isn’t getting out.

What is the truth about this war? I’m reminded about the story of the five blind men and the elephant. Each feels part of the elephant, the tail, the ear, leg, truck or side, and each describes the elephant in those terms. It is like a snake, or flat and thin, or like a tree truck. Each is correct, for the small part of the elephant they’re trying to describe, but none has the full picture.

Likewise, the reporting here tends to be about small events, and seldom does a citizen have enough freedom of movement to get around and be able to report the big picture. Military leaders do have a much better view of the big picture, but won’t talk about it for fear of encouraging the Anti-Iraqi Forces or of irritating higher or political leadership.

The most comprehensive reporting I’ve seen is in the Stars and Stripes, Middle East Edition. The paper edition daily carries many pages of stories about this war, and more importantly, its reporters are out there with the troops. Our unit has been visited many times by S&S reporters, and the resulting stories seem accurate and balanced. The stories printed also seem balanced; not overly sunny and mindlessly supportive of the war, but not unfairly critical. It also has the most personal interest stories I’ve seen.

Of course, that may be because it is the only paper I see regularly. But I get to see CNN, Fox News, MSNBC, ABC, and many internet news sources. We do also get hometown newspapers, and of all those, the S&S paper version has the most complete picture. Also, it carries letters to the editor that really let you know what is on the soldiers’ minds. And they’re often funny, as when a Marine complained about fat soldiers, of course drawing a counterattack. Another fascinating string erupted when a soldier complained about praying in the chow hall and suggested that prayer ought to be saved for church. Letters are available online. www.stripes.com

If you want some good news stories, check out The Snakebite at http://www.idarng.com/snakebite.asp. This is a unit newsletter, one of many like it, and while it definitely supports the command message and is pretty upbeat, it also reports reconstruction stories that you don’t see in the MSM, as well as soldier personal interest items.

If you want to know what’s “really” going on in Iraq, you’ll have to work at it and assemble it yourself from many sources.

Mudville Gazette

I noticed that the Mudville Gazette has linked to a few of my posts lately. Thank you, and welcome to all Mudville Gazette readers. I hope you enjoy my blog.

I usually have to email in my postings and cannot see my blog, or respond to comments, due to security restrictions. I appreciate the comments you leave, which are emailed to me, and I'm sorry I can't respond to them.

Gently Rapping At My Chamber Door

Over the past few months, I’ve heard knocking on my CHU door. Usually it was three quick Rap Rap Raps, sometimes four or five, but always kind of soft and evenly spaced.

Typically I’d hear this in the early morning, and most of the time I was still in bed. The rapping woke me up a few times, and other times I was lying there partially awake and trying to crawl out of the pit of sleep. I usually wondered if I had really heard it. I’d lie there and wait for another knock, but it would never come. Once in a while I’d roll over, crane my neck around my locker, and look for a shadow in the bright sunlight shining under my door, but I never saw anyone. One of life’s little mysteries.

One morning I got up early and stepped outside my CHU, headed for work, and I heard three quick Rap Rap Raps. As I looked around I heard it again, and then it dawned on me; I was hearing machine guns being test fired. Mystery solved.

Until 0200 a couple of nights ago. I was sound asleep, and dreaming. In my dream I was trying to print something in color (I guess I dream in color). The first page came out all crinkled and smeared. After adjustments, the next two pages came out sideways, and then I heard three sharp knocks, which woke me up. My first thought; weapons test firing. After a few moments I realized that the test firing had never awakened me up from a deep sleep, and that the knocks had been pretty loud and I thought it might actually be a visitor.

Of course, a 2 AM visitor never brings good news, so I rolled out of bed and opened the door wondering what evil had befallen me. The last time something like this happened, I was told my Uncle Eldon had been killed in a car wreck. But, it was my sergeant, doing her part to count noses. There had been a report of a missing soldier, so the units did a head count to account for everyone. I went back to sleep until I heard the machine guns later in the morning.

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the FOB

I was in a convoy a few days ago heading to another FOB, and midway on our trip we saw a civilian car turned on its side, with several Iraqis and their cars and little pickups milling around. By the debris on the road and the charred weeds, it was clear that an IED had just exploded.

Seeing no other military on the scene, except a couple of Iraqi police, we stopped to check it out. All the Iraqis, including the police, took off immediately, leaving the scene to us.

I couldn’t tell what type of car it had been, other than color and that it was a fairly new sedan, because the IED rent it asunder. Tires stripped off the wheels, frame bent, glass blown out, large chunks and tiny pieces strung all over the highway. The blast flipped the car up on its side and torched the weeds on the other side of the road.

There were also remains of the driver, although he was pretty well rent asunder as well. I don’t feel too sorry for the guy though. After an investigation was complete, it turns out that there were two guys killed in the explosion. They had emplaced an IED up the road a little ways – which by the way exploded with a deep BANG and a tall column of dust and black smoke while we were there - and they had stopped to emplace another. Apparently the 2nd one went off while the passenger was putting it down next to the car, and it killed both of them.

I’m not sure how to characterize this event. Human Tragedy? Just Desserts? Natural Selection? I have to admit, I’m not charitably inclined toward the former.