Bats

Just as different types of birds migrate through here, it seems that now it is time for bats. In the last couple weeks bats have taken over the evening sky. They come out about a half hour before sunset. I can’t tell how long they stay, because it’s dark.

Lots of bats. At any given time you can just look around the sky and see several. Stand in once spot for 5 minutes and you’ll be able to count 25 – 50 bats flying around, ffft ffft ffft ffft as they flap by. These are good sized bats. Bigger than a sparrow, close to the size of a robin, and solid dark brown. Some guys will flip small rocks up in the air, and the bats will swoop down at the rock.

We don’t seem to have lots of insects, which I suppose may be because there are so many bats. However, even before the bats showed up we didn’t seem to have an insect problem. The bats don’t swoop down low; they stay about telephone pole altitude. Everyone has short hair so I guess we’re not worried about getting bats in our hair. Or we’re wearing a helmet.

Lazy, crazy, hazy days of summer

In addition to the heat, another aspect to the weather here is the haze. It's not from wind kicking it up, don't think. It's not like a sand storm. I just think that when it's so hot, that the air is thin and rises, and dust and particulates go with it. Also, I suppose that the lack of moisture in the air probably helps the particles stay light and airborne.

The sun sets before it sets. That is, it disappears in the sky before it actually dips below the horizon, as you can see from the picture on the left. If you hold your hand out at arms length, the sun disappears about two fingers width above the actual horizon.


Sometimes a haze in the air will make for beautiful sunsets. Not so here, at least lately. Just kind of a bland, light haze. The picture on the right was taken after the sun disappeared, but before it actually went below the horizon (I think, based on the time elapsed. Hard to tell, since I couldn't actually see the sun).

Hot enough for ya?

It’s been warm here this week. 120 degrees a few times, and yesterday it got to 125 again. Our electricity went out at 0800, and didn’t come back until around 1900, due to a change over to a new power supply. My office heated up to 98 degrees, and my room got to about 106. I was sure happy when the power came back in the evening.

At 120 or 125 degrees, the heat is a force to be reckoned with. It feels like the air is thick and it completely envelopes you, like jumping into warm water. As I walk along in the sun, I can feel the heat from my clothing on my skin as the cloth heats up. When the wind blows, it really feels hot. You’ve opened the oven door and had the hot air hit you in the face. The effect is similar here when the wind blows, though of course not as hot as an oven. You feel that hot air, and you wonder if maybe it’s going to burn you.

When it’s cold and the wind blows, the wind chill effect makes it feel colder, even though the wind won’t lower the temperature on a thermometer. I guess your body creates a little aura of warmth that the wind strips away. Likewise, when it’s hot, I think the same effect applies, in reverse. The wind has been blowing here almost every afternoon.

Lots of soldiers work outside all day, and many of them have to wear body armor while they’re doing it. It’s difficult to drink a bottle of water before it gets warm, and who wants to drink warm water? I count my self as very lucky to work in an office most the time.

Sunrise

Now that it appears I can post pics, I'll try to do it when I can. However, it is a slow process, and I have to do it from the Internet Cafe, as I don't have access to the blogspot website from my normal portal.

This is a picture of a recent sunrise, about 10 minutes after actual sunrise. This is pretty typical; very hazy all the time, no clouds.

Holy Grail

This is just a test, to see if I can finally load up pictures, the Holy Grail for blogging.

Hopefully, a picture of the author of this blog, smiling before going out on a convoy last February.

Every day is a good day to somebody, I suppose

Yesterday it got up to 125 degrees. It was 90 deg. by 0800, and 100 deg. shortly after nine. I had planned the day before to go for morning run, before the heat of the day, but didn’t get going until about 0830. The heat kind of took me by surprise. It had only been 115-118 the preceding days, and didn’t get so hot so early.

I talked to a couple of soldiers today, and mentioned that it was a little cooler today (116). One said, “Oh, was it hotter yesterday? I guess I didn’t notice. I’ve gotten kind of numb to it. Wearing body armor all day makes every day hot.”

Right after I left those soldeirs, I walked to lunch. Standing by the clearing barrel I asked a soldier how his day was going. “Today, sir? Today is a really good day.”

“Why is that?” I asked.

“I had a really good talk with my wife last night.”

At his point I was thinking this soldier wants to tell me something, so I kept asking questions.

“What was so good about the talk?’ I asked as we approached the hand washing station.

“Well, sir, we finally came to an agreement about me staying the Army” he said. He told me that he likes the Army life and wants to stay in, but his wife doesn’t like it and wants him to get out.

“What finally changed her mind?” I asked. “Well, I finally just said 'Look, I’m the man and I earn the money, and I’d like to be able to decide what I do for a living’” he told me.

“And she was OK with that?” I asked, a bit taken aback, “I mean, really OK with it? She’s not going to hold it against you?”

“Oh no, sir, she’s fine with it. I think she was just relieved that we made a decision and got it over with. An of course, the bonus doesn’t hurt.” And then the happy soldier walked into the dining facility, leaving me drying my hands and smiling.

We are all British

We Americans have no better friends than the British, and their support of us is even more appreciated and poignant now that they have suffered from the recent terrorist attacks in London.

It's difficult to find words to express how much their suport of our endeavors means to me, and how much I desire to extend similar support.

The Brits have always been steadfast by our side, and I hope that the US always stands steadfast by the British, ready to lend aid, comfort, logistics, men and material, whatever, as if to our own citizens. Friendship such as we enjoy with the British is worthy of every expenditure, every sacrifice, and every effort we can devote to the cause.

We cannot go it alone. We need good friends like the British. They have been good friends to us, and I hope we show that we will be good friends to them.

We are all British.

Fourth of July

For the 4th of July, I took the road trip described in another post. I’m sure there were celebratory activities on our FOB, but I didn’t happen across them.

The chow hall was nicely decked out. Oddly, they removed the table cloths which were either solid red, white or blue, and replaced them with desert camo plastic table cloths. They wrapped RW&B bunting around various things, had a big cake decorated in a patriotic theme, and the main line was hot dogs, hamburgers, etc, which is what is usually served in the short order line. I had the trout, which has not been served before as far as I know.

Tonight at 2100, to celebrate the 4th of July, “God Bless America” (or maybe “America the Beautiful,” I only caught the last few strains) was broadcast over our Big Voice system, then the Army song (Caissons Go Rolling Along) then the Air Force song (Up and Away), then a few red star clusters were shot up, and I heard some celebratory gunfire outside our FOB. That was it. The songs were pretty cool, as the Big Voice is so loud.

We have this killer ordnance that can light up the sky for miles, but didn’t break it out, because it is killer ordnance. Also, shooting anything into the air that explodes is taken pretty seriously around here. A real fireworks show would probably drive the target acquisition guys crazy.

Happy Fourth of July from one of the new Minutemen.

What would you choose?

This morning I went to another FOB, where Purple Heart medals were presented to several soldiers. The trip was uneventful, although on the way out we drove past a spot where an IED had exploded not long before we got there. We left in the early morning and returned before noon, so we missed traveling in the heat of the day. Still, it is dang warm in the Hummvs.

The new versions have A/C, which is nice, (what’s next, CD players?) but even so it is still hot. As one soldier put it to me, A/C just means it’s 110 degrees inside instead of 130 degrees. We’re wearing body armor, helmets, gloves, and eye and hearing protection, so not much opportunity for perspiration cooling. The Army requires that shirt sleeves be rolled down. The hatch is always open up top with the gunner looking out, so warm air blows in and displaces the cooled air. The heat from the engine flows under the vehicle and heats up the floor boards and console. Although the vehicles look large, the seating area is tiny, with the wide console taking up most of the inside space. Soldiers essentially sit in a metal box heated by engine airflow.

And, the heater system seems to always be on. The heater is activated by pulling a knob attached to a cable, and deactivated by pushing on the knob/cable. Ever try to push a piece of string? Kind of the same concept with the cable. It just never seems to push in all the way and shut off the heat. You push on the knob trying to get the last heat to shut off and the knob just springs back out. I talked to one poor soldier whose Hummv tended to overheat, so the only way they could keep moving was to turn the heater on full. No day at the beach, I’ll tell you.

Nevertheless, I’d rather be riding around in a hot Hummv than qualifying for a Purple Heart.

Cosmo girl

I was walking back from the chow hall tonight, waiting for traffic to clear and for the kicked up dust to settle, standing there by the road edge, sniffing dust and sweating in the 110 degree heat, when a soldier in a white Nissan pickup stopped and asked if I needed a ride. I didn’t think a ride would save me much walking, but I figured, “What the hell.”

I hopped in and asked him “How’s it going?” “Okay,” he said, “except for my personal life.” Sensing an opening, I asked “How’s that?”

Turns out he divorced early this year, but in late May he got remarried. Well, he has continuing financial obligations from his divorce, and apparently his new bride is in debt also, so money is tight. His wife recently lost her job due to cutbacks at the small medical office where she worked.

He has been sending home whatever money he can, but it is not enough. His bride has started stripping for extra income. They live in a small town and he is worried about running into someone who says, “Want to buy some naked pictures of your wife?”

“Well, it’s just bikini stripping, isn’t it?” I asked. “Oh no, butt naked” he said, with what seemed to me to be a bit of pride in his voice.

According to the soldier, his wife is a babe worthy of a Cosmo cover. It’s eating him up that a married woman, especially his married woman, is stripping. “I’m old school. That shit ain’t right.” He’s been occupying his time by working out in the gym and trying not to think about it.

Poor guy just wants to be home so he can provide for his wife and work on his marriage. He’s conflicted. He likes to have a stripworthy wife - who wouldn’t?- and is proud of her, but doesn’t want other guys checking her out. The future of his marriage is not looking so good at the moment.

Return visitor

That damn nasty scorpion returned a couple days ago. I had been keeping a weather eye out for it, each morning looking carefully in dark places and behind desks and furniture, but saw no trace of it. I assumed it returned from whence it came, since there is probably nothing for it to eat in my office. ( I don’t know what those things eat, but unless it’s dust bunnies, they’ll find nothing edible on my floor.)

A soldier came in to see me and as I swung my door shut, there it was in the corner behind the door. It startled me, but as I looked at it, it appeared a bit puny. Its tail stretched out flaccidly behind it, and its pinchers weren’t extended out front. I left it alone for a few hours, and after it hadn’t moved for a while, I got a stick and touched its tail. No reaction. Thank god.

I left it alone a while longer just to be sure, and at the end of the day slipped a piece of paper under it and picked it up. I slid it off into the top of a side table I have, where it currently sits, creeping me out every time I look over at it. I’m kind of waiting for a visitor to see it and be startled.

To say it has a face only a mother could love is an understatement. It does indeed have eight legs like a spider, which doesn’t add to its charm if you ask me. My girlfriend suggested (over the phone) that it laid eggs and then died. Great. Thanks for that comforting thought. Just when I figured I could let my guard down.

A billion $ a week

I went to another FOB yesterday, to do my last unit survey, and to talk to the soldiers in that small unit. The unit is from a northeastern state, and is attached to us for our rotation.

I was feeling kind of funny about this trip. Putting 12 soldiers’ lives at risk to administer a survey, well, let’s just say I’d have felt very badly if anyone had been hurt. However, the worst thing that happened was that I missed lunch. So that’s no so bad.

The soldiers had occupied a house, and had modified it to fit their needs, primarily by subdividing it to make more living space. For example, picture a breezeway between a garage and a house. Well, that space would be walled in, and then split into several rooms. They all had good air conditioning. Still, they were small dark rooms housing at least two men, and stuffed with all their gear, equipment, and personal items.

If your office is around 10 x 10, or if you have a small room in your house, go there and look around it. Picture 2 bunk beds, all the gear issued to two men, all the personal & comfort items for two men, no window, one four-foot fluorescent tube, clothes, food, desk tops with computers, and then imagine living there for a year.

The chow hall on that FOB serves only two meals a day, and every room I looked in was stocked with civilian food. They are getting food mailed from home, and would cook it there on a two burner hot plate. One fellow related a story of packing meat in dry ice and bringing it home from leave.

The issue here is $$. There are simply not enough soldiers on that FOB for the Army to justify putting a decent chow hall there. It’s also manpower. If soldiers are cooking, and pulling KP, they aren’t doing the other mission. They didn’t seem to mind their circumstances. I am continually impressed, surprised, amazed by how much soldiers will put up with and still keep good humor.

America is truly sending some of it best young (and in the case of the Guard, not so young) men and women to fight this war.

But it's a dry heat

Well, the weather is here. Wish you were lovely.

It got up to 119 degrees yesterday. So warm, in fact, that the two-sided tape holding my outdoor thermal sensor gave up, and it dropped off the eave. I found the sensor lying in the dirt, baking in the sun, showing 126 degrees.

Mostly it’s been around 115 this week, and not a cloud can be seen anywhere. It gets really windy in the afternoon, and we’ve started to have dust devils kick up. I’m used to these from back home, but they’re pretty small potatoes compared to the ones here. These dust devils go hundreds of feet up, and are 15-20 feet wide at the base, spinning weeds, dirt and garbage high up into the air, and making the whole area dusty.

I saw two earlier today, and thought they must be 300-400 yards away. I happened to be driving, and as I got past some obstructions, I saw that they were at least 2-3 miles away.

We have been one of the warmest places in Iraq this week, hotter even than Basra. I had been hoping, given our more northern location, that it would be cooler here than elsewhere.

SecDef

My last couple of posts have been critical and negative, but that is not the sum total of how I feel about senior leadership.

I saw Donald Rumsfeld on Armed Forces Network yesterday, taking questions from soldiers at some type of gathering. It’s normal for him to be surrounded by soldiers. After all, he’s the Secretary of Defense. And, it didn't appear to just be a backdrop to add legitimacy to some other point he was trying to make.

I saw him take questions from soldiers when I was in Kuwait, and in fact got to ask him a question. This was the same Q&A when the soldier famously asked about up-armored vehicles. Rumsfeld at least gives pretty straight answers, and he actually answers the question asked rather than just ignoring it and repeating a talking point. It is this candor that gets him into trouble.

Although I disagree with him on many things, I do respect him. I asked him about a pay problem our soldiers were having, one that I had been working hard with minimal success. Rumsfeld had an aide take information from me on the spot, and right afterward things started to happen. Although it was probably almost effortless for him, he caused the bureaucracy to quit screwing around with our pay and just get it fixed. He followed through and helped us out, and I respect him for that.

He is entitled, of course, to different philosophical goals. That’s what elections are about. I just think he’s a capable, smart, honorable man.

Shame on you

I’ve been thinking about President Bush’s speech last night. I didn’t get to hear it, not wanting to get up at 0400 to listen to it, but I have seen news reports and images.

The first thing that I noted was that he made the speech from Fort Bragg North Carolina, home of the 82nd Airborne Division. Why there? Why not in the Rose Garden? Well, I’m pretty sure it was so he would have a docile audience, and so he could get photos of himself surrounded by soldiers.

I understand from reports that the only time, the ONLY time, soldiers clapped for him was when one of his staffers started clapping and kept it up until the President got a round of applause. That tells you something.

The soldiers were in the Class A uniform rather than the normal battle dress uniform. I.e., formal, not informal. When the Commander In Chief comes, the soldiers have no choice but to show up. Not attending is not an option. So, it seems to me that the President just ordered up a nice photogenic backdrop for this speech, not unlike his “Mission Accomplished” speech on the aircraft carrier. I wonder why, if the mission was accomplished, I am here seeing my fellow Idahoans being maimed and killed.

I do think that we have an opportunity to permanently remake the Middle East, and to start a process toward permanent peace and democracy in the region. I believe this is a noble endeavor. We are doing well here, but we need lots more help. We will need 10 to 20 years, a generation, maybe two, and at least a trillion dollars, to pull this off.

I just don’t appreciate soldiers, sailors or any service person being exploited to provide good images in support of a cause for which they are already being asked to risk their lives. That is shameless, especially when the person doing the exploiting refuses to ask anyone else to make a sacrifice. President Bush said Americans can fly a flag, or send a letter, or help a military family down the street, to show support. He's asking Americans to fly a flag or send a letter, but he's asking service members to give their lives. Seems disproportionate to me.

Clueless

A friend of mine, Joe Bergeman, once told me a story about GM executives. During the 1980s, Detroit automobiles were notorious for poor quality and design. The Japanese cars were rapidly gaining market share due in large part because their cars were more reliable than Detroit’s. As a way to try to understand the problem, the executive would ride to work or wherever in a GM car, and thus thought he or she understood the ownership experience of such cars. According to Joe, part of the problem was that the executive would be driven to work by a chauffer. The chauffer would drop off the executive, and if anything was going wrong, it would get fixed during the day and the executive never saw the problem. Even executives that weren’t chauffeured could get car problems easily fixed. Thus, the executives really had no clue as to what was wrong with their cars and why people were buying Japanese cars. Everything seemed fine to them.

Likewise our senior military leaders. We had a visit today by a military bigwig in the National Guard command, one of the biggest wigs, in fact. His visit was not announced until yesterday, and his itinerary is not published, as security measures. If he were to get killed, captured or ambushed it would be big news and would reflect badly on the security situation in Iraq.

I wonder what he thinks he’s doing here. Talking to combat commanders is important, of course, but that’s what phones are for. I suspect he thinks he’s getting a feel for what soldiers are experiencing. He probably is, a little bit. He is outside briefly as he goes from location to location, so he smells the air and feels the heat and breathes the dust, but only for a minute between leaving an air conditioned building and getting into his air conditioned up-armored SUV, so there’s that.

Eating with the troops is a time honored political tradition for leaders to get in touch with the soldiers. Remember President Bush sneaking into Iraq for a photo op with soldiers on Thanksgiving Day? Same deal.

So, for lunch today we had lobster, not our usual lunch fare, believe me. They had a special serving line set for the bigwig and his straphangers, which included items that weren’t being served to the soldiers today. A bunch of soldiers and airmen were rounded up to sit at tables near him, but he sat with leadership, not with the run of the mill soldiers and airmen. Not sure why they round up special troops to sit near a visiting bigwig, since the chow hall is full of such troops anyway.

The bigwig’s security contingent was in civilian clothes, and thus were probably contract security, not soldiers. He came and left through a door that is usually locked and not available to soldiers. He stood up and just left his plate instead of depositing it in the trash like everyone else does. He wasn’t even wearing the same uniform as us. He was wearing the new version.

Plato offered the allegory of the cave. People living outside the cave looked in, and thought they knew all about the people living in the cave, because they could see in. What they were seeing, however, was shadows of the people living in the cave, thrown onto the cave walls by flickering firelight. No real understanding at all.

So, no doubt Mr. Bigwig will head back and give his opinion of morale and living conditions in Iraq. Senators and Representatives from the US Congress have made similar visits. Fun and exciting for them, expensive for the taxpayer, misleading to policy makers, and useless to the troops. Everything is fine, just like American cars made in the 1980s.

Balmy weather

Summer has definitely come to Iraq. It got to 112 degrees today, though only briefly, according to my Radio Shack indoor/outdoor thermometer. The last few days it’s been in the 110-111 degree range. The high in the last week, per my thermometer, was 113.7, and the low was 75.9.

I’m told that while I was on leave it got near 120, but I consider such reports with considerable skepticism. I’ve seen some of the big round thermometers, the ones that look like clocks, hanging on various structures around here. One might register 120 degrees, but it would be in full sunlight at the time which will skew the reading. I put my sensor underneath an eave so it never gets direct sun.

It is usually in the mid 70s around 0600, but up to about 90 by 0900, and it reaches the high usually by noon or shortly thereafter. It stays at the high until around 1700, then it starts to slowly cool off. It is still in the low 90s around 2200. After that, I’m not sure.

Our soldiers understand the need to drink lots of water so we have had very few heat injuries. I suspect I'll see warmer days, so I'm trying to convince myself that this heat isn't so bad. It’s hot, but it’s a dry heat. Mark Twain wrote, “Everyone complains about the weather, but no one does anything about it.” Here, no one really complains about the heat, although people comment on it all the time. It’s 1645 right now, and it’s 109.6 degrees in the shade.

Unwelcome visitor

Having been gone for a couple of weeks my office was dusty and dirty, so I decided to clean up a bit. As I swept, I saw what I thought at a glance was a dark piece of cloth, or a lump of yarn. I swept it with the broom, and it took off across the floor, startling me.

The yarn was actually a dark brown, six-legged scorpion. I realize that scorpions are supposed to have 8 legs, but I could only see six. I took a couple of pictures, and after studying them I can still see only 6 legs.

I’m not sure how to describe the size. Do you include its reach with its front pinchers? With its tail up over it’s back, or stretched out full length? This one was wider than my chapstick tube, and from outstretched claws to its back side, with its tail curved up and over, it was about as long as the chapstick tube. Straightening out its tail would add another two or three inches.

The scorpion trundled across the floor, and, of course, under my desk. I didn’t like the idea of it hanging around my feet, so I moved the power cords it was trying to hide among, and it moved off to behind the trashcan, off to the side of my desk, and there it stayed. Still, I kept my eye on it, not wanting to have it sneak up on me. Luckily it moved pretty slowly.

I didn’t want to just stomp on it and kill it. For one thing, we’re always told not to mess with snakes and scorpions. I didn’t want to have to police up the gore from stomping such a large arachnid. And, I generally try to live and let live, if I can, and the scorpion hadn’t attacked me.

I left it alone, and when I returned to my office the next day, I couldn’t find it. Oh great. Now I’m just waiting to stumble across it and get stung. I looked around for it, carefully, and haven’t seen it anywhere. I hope it went back from whence it came. I’ve kind of got the heebie jeebies, wondering where the damn thing got off to, waiting for it to show up and freak me out again.

Easy come, easy go

On my way back from leave we stopped in Kuwait for a few hours, and while there received a welcome back brief from a chaplain's assistant. I don't remember much about his speech, other than it took only about 3 minutes. He did ask if anyone had gotten engaged or married while on leave. Three smiling soldiers raised their hands, and we clapped for them. The chaplain's assistant next asked if anyone got divorced on leave, and three more smiling soldiers raised their hands, and we clapped for them as well.

If it's Tuesday, this must be Kuwait

I left for leave June 1st, and just got back a couple of day ago. My biggest impressions; the sky is really blue back home, compared to here, and the streets are all swept clean and free from dirt and debris.

I was set to leave the 1st, and reported at 0800, expecting a flight in due course after that. Turned in our weapons and were told to return at 2300. We did, got a couple of briefs about staying out of trouble, and waited for the plane, expected at 0200. We went wheels up in a C130 at 0338, and flew about two hours to Kuwait, arriving about 0600 (0500 Kuwait time).

Deplaned and took buses a short distance and stood around a dirt parking lots for a half hour, then got on other busses for an hour ride to Camp Doha. Turned in our helmets and body armor, and were given large bays containing bunk beds with plastic lined mattresses where we could wait. More briefings. Got our itinerary and tickets around 1100, and reported at 1330 with all our gear to go through customs. By this time, our group had grown to nearly 300, including soldiers from Kuwait, all over Iraq, and Afghanistan.

A bunch of Navy guys scrounged through our gear looking for contraband, and once we passed that we went to another holding area, full of about 300 canvas folding chairs. We hung there until around 1900, then bussed to Kuwait International Airport, arriving around 2030. Stayed on the busses until around 2200, then boarded our L1011 chartered flight and flew to Shannon, Ireland, a six hour flight. The sun came up around 0400, Ireland time (by this time I was groggy and completely lost in time.)

An hour and a half in Ireland, then a 10 hour flight to Dallas, where we were greeted by two fire trucks making a water arch for us to drive through, as a salute. Had a really warm reception in the Dallas airport by a welcoming committee. WArm, but kind of hard to take. Arrived in Dallas at 0920 Dallas time. Got a flight to Denver around noon, and then to Boise, arriving about 1700. I have no idea how much time that all adds up to. I couldn’t sleep on the planes or busses.

The return trip was essentially just the reverse, except no customs search. I left at 0600 Boise time on Sunday, left Dallas at 1830, got to Ireland at 0906 local time (0306 Dallas time). Departed 0930 local time, arrived in Kuwait at 1945 local time, and back to Camp Doha at 2200 local time (11 am Monday, Boise time). Spent the night on the plastic covered mattress, large bay, lights on all night. Got to sleep around 0200, and woke up at 0600. Finally got back to the FOB around 1500 the next day. I’m still getting over jet lag.

Man of Steel

Our soldiers qualify for various awards here that were never available before, because we are in combat. Combat Infantryman, Combat Medic, Purple Heart, bronze star, etc. Well, we all want these awards to mean something.

The word around the campfire is that a previous unit awarded a combat badge to every person on the FOB when a rocket landed in the FOB. Folks asleep and miles from the impact, folks completely unaware of the attack, and folks within sight of the crater, all got the combat award. Which doesn’t seem right. Seems to cheapen it.

So, our parent unit apparently has decided to tighten the screws. I think part of this is that we are National Guard, so we want to make sure that we really earn the award. The old inferiority complex kicking in.

So now we have absurd results. A combat unit commander said the other day, “Awards are the most difficult thing we do in theatre.” A senior staff officer replied, with feeling, “More difficult than planning an air assault.”

Our soldiers and their leaders have had to do and redo the applications 3 and 4 times, and sometimes more. In some cases, the application got kicked back for insufficient justification, to be redone. Well, the war hasn’t doesn’t wait, so while Nero fiddles, the soldiers have continued to do missions, and have continued to get shot at and IED’d. We’ve got soldiers who have been under fire 3, 4, 5, 6 , 7 times, but still fighting for the first award.

I met with a group of these soldiers the other day. In group of 20, per show of hands, the least number of IEDs one of them had endured was 2, and the most was 4. Numerous direct fire attacks added to the total. I rode out and back in their convoy and before leaving looked at their HUMMVs. Bullet holes through the steel bumpers, bullet strikes - gray and black comets stitched across the doors – spidered bullet impacts in the glass, rubber molding blasted off, all testified to the action they’d seen.

I have made this particular trip many times, and usually feel pretty complacent. However, this time I was escorted by the guys who’d raised their hands; they weren’t complacent. In fact, they were dang skittish. They made me nervous. The driver was incredibly intense; an Indy 500 driver could not have concentrated more on the road nor gripped the steering wheel harder than the kid who was driving us. His boss scanned the road, every vehicle, every clump of grass, every dead dog carcass, every plastic bag, everything within explosion range, ordering the driver to swerve one way or ther other. He was so tense I expect that a bullet would have bounced off of him.

Still, not good enough for the REMF sitting in Division HQ to approve the combat award.

More to eat than I bargained for

I was eating dinner the other evening, when a soldier asked to join me for a bit. We were having Asian-Pacific American night, and I was eating tandoori chicken, curried potatoes, and fried cauliflower. He sat down and explained that he is a mechanic, which requires him to work on HMMWVs, including suspension and other parts underneath the vehicle.

He asked about getting a wash rack up and running, or at least a power washer, so they can spray off the bottom of the Hummers. See, the issue is that the sewers don’t work so well in town, and our soldiers often drive through puddles of raw sewage. “It’s pretty nasty under there, sir” he said. With that image in my head I looked down at my fried cauliflower and sighed.

He said the some of the guys in his section have pink eye, and they think it might be from contact with the nastiness. While he was talking, he was kind of rubbing his hands, with his forearms resting on the table. Typical mechanic’s hands, rough and infused with black around his fingernails and in the wrinkles around his joints. He pointed to the nicks, cuts and scabs on his hand, and said “We can’t wear gloves all the time, and we worry about getting that stuff in an open cut.”

I assured him he had my sympathies. I worked my way through high school as a mechanic, and recall plenty of stuff dropping down into my hair, eyes, and on my lips, so I was feeling his pain. I told him that I would check into it and work the issue, and let him know what I find out.

This pleased him. He stood up with a relieved smile, said “Thanks, sir” and stuck out his hand. I looked at it for a second, then shook it. Glad I wasn’t eating finger food.

Technical difficulities

I haven’t been posting much lately, and here come la excuses.

My office internet access has been down el mucho lately. This then kicks me over to the Internet Café to take care of business. Much of my work requires email communication, so I use my allotted half hour of IC, Internet Café, time for work, leaving none for my personal gratification. Or, almost none. I do slip in the occasional email to my sweetheart.

Also, I undertook (a lawyer’s word, like underwent) a project that has overwhelmed me. This project has pretty much Hoovered up all my time in May, and I have a May 31 deadline. So, when I do get time I try to use it to do my job and help soldiers, rather than blog posting.

And, the BIG PROJECT has required travel. I spent last night on another FOB, which took me out of my comfort zone, and out of my ability to get the usual stuff done.

Interesting experience stumbling around a dark FOB that I’m unfamiliar with, worrying about where I’m going to bunk, wondering how I’m going to get through the night without the mosquito net that I forgot to take, wondering about malaria and Leishmaniasis, sleeping in an absent Chaplain’s thin and squeaky bunk, being parched but reluctant to drink water due to not wanting to wake my one-night-stand roommate by going to the bathroom at O Dark Thirty, and dreaming of missing my ride out of there in the early AM.

So, let’s just say that events have conspired to interfere with my blogging. “I will work harder.” (A nickel to the person who recognizes the reference.)

I went to post this yesterday, but, lo and behold, the network had crashed, delaying this post by about 12 hours.

Bleah!

Today I was drinking some of the good coffee that the generous folks back home sent me. I like coffee strong, and dark. Once in a while the filter collapses and some grounds end up in the coffee. No big deal.

I got to the bottom of my cup, and drained the last bit, and felt a good sized coffee ground on my tongue. "Dang it", I thought. I rolled the ground up on my tongue and spit it out, and noticed to my disgust that the ground had wings and legs. A small fly had drowned in the coffee, and sunk to the bottom, where it laid in surprise for me. As if flys aren't annoying enough just buzzing around your head.

Guitars, bunkers and depressing music

Rocketman struck again the other night. I was sitting in my office typing an email when a BANG rattled the windows and sent my heart to racing. After a couple of minutes, I hadn’t heard the alarm, so assumed it was outgoing artillery. About the time my heart slowed back down, the “Alarm RED” voice blared at us to seek shelter.

My office is more or less sheltered, so I stayed and worked for a while. Before too long I heard the all clear signal, so I closed up and headed for my room. As I rounded the corner by my CHU, I heard guitar music. I listened, and determined the sound was coming from a concrete shelters.

One of our captains had brought his guitar to pass time while waiting for the all clear signal, and just stayed on a bit. He was sitting alone in the dark, on a bed someone had discarded in the bunker, holding his acoustic guitar, with his case and rifle propped against the bed next to him.

The bunkers are U-shaped concrete placed upside down, about 6 feet tall and 10 feet or so long, open on the ends. Usually several are placed together to form longer bunkers. Inside are just the concrete walls and ceiling, the dirt floor, and sometimes a few chairs or the occasional bed.

I asked the captain what he was doing, and he said “Just practicing. The acoustics in here are great.” He shut off the red-lensed flashlight he had aimed at a music book, and started to strum his guitar. A little star light reflecting into the end of the bunker took the edge off the dark, but I still couldn’t see the captain’s face.

We chatted a moment, and then he played and sang “Stairway to Heaven.” He sings better than me, which isn’t saying much, but his playing was excellent, despite his apologies that he could do better if he had some light. He played “Aubrey” and “Diary”, both by Bread. If you know the songs, you know “Aubrey” is about unrequited love, and “Diary” is about a guy who reads his sweetheart’s diary and finds that she loves another. After finishing singing the songs, the captain chuckled and said, “Boy, the guy who wrote those was depressed, wasn’t he?” After a few more songs, AC/DC, Bon Jovi, a couple of others, he packed away his guitar and we left the bunker.

Anticipation doesn't always lead to action

Now that it is warming up, the vegetation is drying out. During spring, February through April, it was very green here. Grasses and weeds sprouted everywhere. There are large unused areas of the FOB which are just left fallow, and were carpeted with tall, green grass. There are also many varieties of wild flowers, or blooming weeds.

Some look like golf ball sized tulips, right red. Some have tiny yellow flowers, or tiny white flowers. I ran down a long road that reminded me of the field of poppies in the Wizard of Oz, acres and acres of densely growing yellow blossoms.

There are also some prickly weeds. One impressive weed grows about a foot tall, and about that big around. It is a light mint green, with yellow spines on the end of its leaves. The yellow really stands out against the green, and I wonder why. What natural selection force was at work to make the visible spines good for reproduction. I’m guessing that sheep can’t eat it, since sheep have been here for about 10,000 years and over that length of time a plant could adapt.

Unless, of course, you live in Kansas and don’t buy the whole evolution argument. In which case, I guess, we attribute the vibrant yellow spines to the work of a creator. Although why a creator would purposely create something as obnoxious as these nasty thorns, or mosquitoes or flies for that matter, is beyond me. Surely an intelligent designer could design an organism that fills the ecological niche as well but isn’t so unpleasant to encounter. Wait, there I go again, because isn’t ecology just a hand maiden to evolution?

Anyway, back to the point. All that wonderful green has now turned brown, and folks living in arid areas know what that means. Apparently some time back, when a previous unit was here, one from a humid area, the dry grass lit on fire and it burned into the ammo holding area and caused an explosion. Took them by surprise, and blew out lots of windows. I guess they didn’t anticipate the combustible nature of fields of tall dry grass. Admittedly, we’re not out there mowing, either. Like Mark Twain said about weather, everyone complains about it but nobody does much about it.

Rocket attack

I was sitting in my office on the FOB the other day, a little after noon, and I heard a rocket come sizzling overhead. It struck with a bang that shook my building. Daylight rocket attacks are pretty rare, so I was kind of surprised.

I looked outside and saw a pillar of dust about 50-60 feet high, slowly drifting. Looking around, I saw several soldiers looking around, trying to locate the point of impact. The dust pointed us in the right direction, to a small crater in a dirt road about 100 yards from my office and about 75 feet from where I sleep.

A few of us walked toward the crater, which was surrounded by a debris field of dirt clods and rocks. A soldier was standing over the crater, acting official, apparently trying to mark the crater and preserve the site. I saw the crater and chucks of the rocket and engine lying nearby. None of the soldiers were wearing body armor, but we were all wearing our helmets. About this time the Big Voice announced “Alarm Red,” meaning we are supposed to seek shelter.

However, by then it had been several minutes since impact, and no more rockets had arrived, so we weren’t feeling all that threatened. I took a couple of pictures, and about then the Air Force came hustling up in several armored Hummers. They jumped out and started bustling around, assessing the situation and doing a crater analysis to determine the type and origin of the rocket.

The Air Force guys were all wearing helmets and body armor, which they normally don’t do. One of them, the one who was moving the fastest, running from crater to debris to Hummer and back, and looking kind of freaked out, started yelling “Take cover, take cover!” I’m sure he thought we were idiots. Most of us moved off, and before long the all clear was given.

My wife; I think I'll keep her

“Well,” a soldier said to me yesterday, “I miss my wife.” Then he smiled, looking pleased and surprised. “Did you tell her that” I asked? “Yes I did”, he replied with a wider smile and a little chuckle.

Although this rotation can be hard on marriages and relationships, it can also work the other way, as it has with this soldier. He and his wife have had rocky patches over 10 years of marriage, including one short period when he moved out of the house. But now being apart from her, he has come to realize how important to him she is.

Soldiers here need, and usually get, support from folks back home, and especially from the significant other. It’s difficult here to get many of the things we are used to having, even simple things like batteries or coffee. Our environment is not austere, but it is not particularly comfortable, so little comforts really make a difference.

When someone at home thinks of you, and helps by sending needs and comfort items, it feels good. I think it is often easy to take your partner and the things he or she does for you for granted. Being so far from home gives a distance that illustrates how much a person relies on a partner.

Stressing a relationship as this deployment does may cause weak ones to fall apart, but it can also show how strong a relationship is, even if one or both partners didn’t realize it.

Back to the laundrymat

I wrote the previous post while waiting for my clothes to dry. After writing it, I returned to get the dry clothes, and the soldier was still there, finishing cleaning his pistol.

I asked him how his rifle got so muddy. He said that his unit did an air assault to do a cordon and search, and they had to cross a river between the landing zone and the objective. That is, they took helicopters, flew to the area, dismounted, and encircled the objective on foot to keep anyone from getting out. They then conducted the search, and apparently rounded up one of the guys they were looking for. I said, "Well, you must have had pretty good intel." He said, unimpressed, "Well, we didn't the get the other guy we were looking for so it can't be that good."

Having noticed that he only wiped off the rifle, and didn't clean the firing pin or other of the parts that get dirty when the rifle is fired, I said "You didn't get any shots off, I guess." "No sir, we're not in a shooting war." He sounded kind of disapppointed.

Laundrymat

I went to the laundry facility today, to do "the whites." Using the kbr bulk laundry, they are turning into the grays, so I tried hot water and lots of bleach. That seemed to help, but not as much as I was hoping for.

What do you do in a laundrymat? In the civilian ones I've gone to, like the one in Alexandria Louisiana when we were there, I saw folks watching TV (jeez; wasting time while you're wasting time), reading, playing cards or video games, eating, or just watching other people.

Today, I sat on a bench to read "The Stars and Stripes", and after a little while a young soldier came over to me and asked if I was using the table in front of me. "Nope. It's all yours." "Thanks, sir". He dragged the table off a little, I guess to get some space, and set down two brown towels. Next to them he laid his M4 rifle. I noticed it had mud on it, and briefly considered saying something about it to him.

He spread out one of the towels, and commenced to strip down his rifle, laying the parts in a neat order. He then opened up the other towel, and rolled out cleaning supplies; Q-tips, cotton patches, a couple of rags, toothbrush, wire brushes, and a tiny bottle of oil. He wiped the parts clean, dusted the crevices, and put a little oil on eveything. While he was reassembling it, his pistol slipped from his holster and clattered to the ground. Before he looked down at it, he quickly looked up and around to see if anyone noticed him drop his pistol. He saw me looking at him, and he got a sheepish smile, then picked up the pistol, unsnapped it from his lanyard, and laid it on the table to be cleaned. I guess the 10 second rule doesn't apply to weapons.