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.

Entrenched

I got to go off the FOB yesterday, to meet with some soldiers to survey how they’re doing. A fairly uneventful trip. Not far from the Patrol Base we went to is an event center, or maybe a wedding … chapel? Anyway, apparently weddings are held there almost every night. I heard music and applause and noise; it sounded like a carnival. I couldn’t see anything because of the concrete barriers.

We returned to our FOB in the dark, under rainy skies and lightening. The convoy stopped on the paved road and kicked me out, and I carried by pack the 150 yards to my office building, walking along a gravel road. The gravel in places is deep, and difficult to walk on because your boots sink in when you step instead of pushing you off, like walking in loose sand, only worse.

I dropped off my materials, checked email, putzed around for a while, ate a few jelly beans since we didn’t get dinner, then locked up and headed for my CHU. Well, in my absence a backhoe had come along and excavated a three foot deep trench in front of my group of CHUs.

The trench is as wide as the backhoe shovel, and pretty much serpentines around the entire FOB. I’m talking miles and miles of trench. They have trenched around the chow hall, and several places across my running path, and everywhere else. I suppose it was only a matter of time before they trenched by my CHU. Kind of took me by surprise though to encounter this new ditch, in the dark. It’s not wide, but I didn’t want to risk jumping it in the dark, so I had to walk back and forth for awhile until I found where they had left a spot undug where I could cross.

The other day I was running past a couple of Air Force guys putting the new cable in the trench, and I stopped and asked them what the cable was for. Communications, they said. “Will it speed up the internet?” I asked. “”Oh no,” one of them replied, “nothing will do that.”

Egg update

Since the last post, 2 breakfasts, 4 eggs, 2 broken yolks. 50% of eggs, 100% of instances. My cook this morning was in training; had some guy standing behind him watching his work. The watcher would cry "Ooh" from time to time and reach up to spread out the omelet, or something. Didn't comment on the broken yolk. I suppose an intact yolk is not a Pakistanti priority. They seem kind of shameless about it, and completely unapologetic. I was glad the watcher was wearing a hair net; he was as hairy as a Chia pet.

Eggs

Lately some of my peer group has gotten serious about weight lifting. Some to pass time or work off stress, one because he wants to go home and surf and look good doing it, and some just to do for the doing of it. Along with bigger muscles also goes muscle definition, and that require less subcutaneous body fat, and that requires dieting.

Several of them are doing the Atkins diet right now. I sat at breakfast today and listened to them talk about the color of the strip they dip in their urine to ensure they are deeply into ketosis (?). Anyway, they’re in the first two week phase, lots of protein, no carbs. I’ve been watching them get a large helping of scrambled eggs, and top that off with 4 fried eggs. I saw a kid this morning with six hard boiled eggs, who was waiting for two more fired eggs.

I asked one of the guys about all the eggs, which they eat for the protein, and he said he doesn’t worry about the cholesterol. He said “I figure it’s all natural. They come out of a hen’s ass. It’s got to be good for you, right?”

The chow hall is a good place to do the Atkins diet, because it is all buffet and pretty much all you can eat, so they can tank up on meat and cheese.

I’m not doing the Atkins diet, nor am I lifting weights; I’m no slave to fashion. I do like to eat fried eggs for breakfast, but about half the time that is kind of annoying. We can order fried eggs or an omelet, both to order, and lots of guys do. We stand right in front of the cook, and look at the eggs through a (recently installed, thank God) clear sneeze guard.

The short, dark and hairy Pakistani cooks tend to get feeling rushed with us staring at them, so they try to give you fried eggs that are pretty runny, in order to keep up throughput. I time my eggs; 1 minute from the first flip over. Well, what usually happens is that after 15 seconds or so, the cook spatulas up the eggs and waves them at me. I shake my head, and they splat the eggs back on the grill. Then, irritated, they turn the eggs over every 15 seconds or so and look at me expectantly. I look at them, look at my watch, and look back at them. A little Pakistani standoff.

I’m not holding up the line, by the way. They can cook 6 omelets or 6 or 8 pairs of fried eggs at a time. Anyway, by the time they get done with my eggs, at least one yolk is usually broken. I know, a petty thing, but jeez, a couple of eggs over medium with intact yolks doesn’t seem like so much to ask. And, you know, first thing in the morning and all, little things like that can be annoying. After all, by then I have stumbled a quarter mile across a landscape of large, ankle turning rocks, had to show my ID, cleared my pistol, and am standing in line waiting for eggs, wearing a helmet.

KGB

I had an opportunity to visit the Kirkuk Government Building (KGB) the other evening, after we left the Patrol Base. The KGB is close enough to the PB that the soldiers from the PB walk to the KGB to pull guard duty. Because they walk, they don’t carry much, so we delivered a few cases of bottled water on our way back to the FOB.

We drove past the seesaw concrete barriers, and past the red and white striped barrier arm lifted by an Iraqi Policeman, into the compound around the KGB. A large bushy white dog barked us in, and circled around with his nose in the air and his ears flat while we unloaded. I wondered if it was going to attack, but it kept a respectful distance.

The guards weren’t there to meet us, so we went in the KGB and looked around for them. The KGB is a large, three-story building, with very wide halls. The floor is laid with dirty tile, and the walls are a flat earth tone tan paint. It was about 21:00 so almost no one was there. I heard Arabic being spoken behind one door, but only one. A few doors had signs announcing, I dunno, something, probably the occupant’s name or office, but most doors were blank wood. There were no signs or directories. If you didn’t know where to go, you’d just have to ask or walk around.

After a while the guards turned up and we handed off the water. The dog barked us off the compound, and we returned to the FOB. Overall, my impression of the KGB is that it is run down and poorly cleaned and maintained, like almost everything else in the country.

On the other hand, I did see one beautiful new 5 story building, crisp white with pink trim. The windows and doorways formed Arabic geometric patterns. I’d like to think it represents the future of Kirkuk. I see lots of stuff that used to be nice, and I wonder if the economic sanctions and the declining economy are why things are so run down.

Enjoying the weather

It is turning warm here in north Iraq; very warm. It was in the high 90s or low 100s yesterday.

I went for a run about 16:00, which is when I usually run. Being Saturday, I had planned to do my weekly long run, for about an hour. Just walking to chow and back resulted in me being a little out of breath and sticky with sweat, so I knew the run would be a warm one. I was sure to “camel up”, drink lots of water, in the hours before the run.,

I went with another guy with whom I run on Saturdays, and he ran out of steam after about 20 minutes, gasping for air like a landed trout. I peeled off and ran a longer route, but ended up running by him, about 30 minutes into the run. I wheezed up next to him, and we both walked the last few hundred yards back to our CHUs. I didn’t have the mental toughness to keep running past him, it was just too tempting to stop.

After I returned to my room, I sat for a while and caught my breath, but I felt a bit woozy. The heat definitely added a challenge to the run. It is mostly a matter of adjusting to the heat. I’ve run in the heat plenty of times, and the first few hot days of the season are good for acclimatization. Even so, I’ll probably start running in the morning.

It has been green here, but in the last week brown has been taking over. Martha Stewart of the FOB’s watermelons died when he was gone for a few days. The days are hazy, and the air feels thicker, pressing on you, more difficult to move through. Lots of colorful birds are migrating through, and insects are out in force. I’m told this won’t last. Once the heat really sets in, nothing moves.

Exiting the chow hall after lunch I asked a soldier "How're you doing?" "Pretty good", he replied, "just enjoying the weather." We both laughed, and plowed off through the thick gravel.

Street action

I went to a Patrol Base (PB) yesterday to talk to the soldiers and give them a quality of life survey. A PB is like a real small FOB, and is just a place for the soldiers to live, eat, and work out of. This one had TV, phones, internet, a weight room, a fountain in the front yard, and orange trees. I like to check in with them to see how they’re doing.

On the way to the PB, the convoy leader got confused and took us to the wrong PB, so we had to turn around and drive back across town. It wasn’t far so we weren’t too late, but we did get to go through the market in Kirkuk. Lots of tiny shops specializing in goods. I saw one shop that just sold plastic tricycles.

Interesting driving through Kirkuk. A few people waved, but certainly not a majority. On the other hand, I didn’t feel threatened. Saw some western clothing, lots of old fat women in full length black cloaks, and some young women, some with head scarves, some not.

We’re not supposed to look at the women, lest we offend their men, and most of the time that is not a difficult requirement to comply with. Last night, we pulled up next to a taxi, and I looked down through the two inch thick Hummv window into the taxi’s back seat, and saw a very pretty, and heavily made up, young Iraqi woman looking at me.

I’ve noticed that the women here really like to put a lot of makeup on their eyes. I suppose that in the strict areas where only the woman’s eyes are visible past the Burka, they like to make the eyes as captivating as possible.

At the PB, I climbed out on the flat roof of one of the three story buildings we are occupying (a former Bath Party building, I’m told, but who really knows). In the front yard of a house across the street, lights and music brightened a wedding party that was in full swing at sun down. We couldn’t see much, because of the trees. We could hear the music and the women making their traditional sound, kind of like “aye yi yi yi yi yi.” (Which is better than the traditional sound most of the women in my life make: “Where the hell you been?”)

I was looking down at the yard, and a corpulent man with a droopy mustaches wearing baggy brown pants stepped into the street and looked up at us. I waved at him. He smiled, bowed slightly, and swung both of his arms to his left, pointing flat-handed into the yard, inviting us to the wedding. I have no doubt it was a sincere invitation. Wish I could have gone.

Laundry

Things are looking up on the laundry front. We were down to using only the KBR main laundry, which isn't bad, but ain't that great, either. The soap is way fragrant, and kind feels sticky on the skin.

Recently the laundry facility reopened, so we can now go there again and do our own laundry. Even better, a Quartermaster Laundry has opened up here on the FOB. This is a laundry run by soldiers, using soldiers, filtered water, and normal soap. Also, same day turn around.

Boots

I heard today that one of our soldiers filed a complaint with her congressman because she couldn't get boots to fit to her satisfaction. Odd, because we were all issued 4 pairs of tan boots before we came over here, and she took her 4 pair. At the issue point, we were allowed to try on the boots, and walk around, and make sure they fit.

In addition to the 4 pair of tan boots, we were also issued a pair of black cold weather boots. Also odd, since we can't wear black boots with our desert camo uniform. I packed that pair away and sent them home, along with 2 of the 4 tan pair, so I have 3 pair of tan boots here. I had bought a tan pair before mobilization, not knowing we would be issued 4 more pair. I had heard that soles of the Army issue boots would melt on the hot pavement over here, so I bought a non-melting pair.

At home, I have the 2 tan pair, the 1 black cold weather pair, and 2 more new black pair I bought right before we left. Since I bought them, the Army has announced a new uniform, which has only tan boots. So, essentially, I have 3 useless new pair of black boots, and bought 1 pair of tan boots that I don't need. Jeez. If you stayed with me, you know I now have 10 pair of boots. 5 tan, 3 new black, and 2 old black.

I saw a soldier with tiny US Flags on the lowest lace of his boots. I see quite a few soldiers with dog tags tucked into the boot laces. I guess the idea is, if your leg gets blown off, they'll be able to identify it. And for that reason, some soldiers say that putting the dog tag in your laces is bad luck.

We all had to write our battle roster number (a kind of ID number) and our blood type on the outside of our boots. I guess so if your leg gets blown off.... Also, I guess so medics don't have to guess at your blood type, should the situation become dire.

Police call

I finally returned from the lake, and have now been able to get caught up enough to start posting again.

The lake visit was enjoyable, though it went on for too long. After a while, the soldiers started to get antsy. I took them on a platoon run one day. Since we were on a hill, we ended up running up and down the hill. One group just walked a lap, another ran one lap, and the third group ran 3 laps. Not only was it on a hill, but the elevation there is around 3,000 feet, so some of the soldiers were really sucking wind.

I also had them do a police call – pick up trash – of an area in front of the hotel. An arm of land jutted out into the lake and curved in front of the hotel. The locals like to go to the area to hang out and party. It was very trashy, so I figured it’d be a good will gesture to go clean it up. The soldiers were not too happy to hear about that plan.

We formed up at 1000. The Sergeant Major assembled everyone, and told them “Everyone that doesn’t want to volunteer for the colonel’s detail, move to the right. Everyone else, move to the left.” All the soldiers moved to the left. We split into two groups, and walked to the cleanup area.

We cleaned up 30 or 40 bags of trash. There were a number of Kurds there when we moved into the area, with more arriving as we worked. Some of them pitched in to help us. Lots of them offered to share their meals they were cooking, and many wanted to have their pictures taken with the soldiers. (We were in uniform; another source of grumbling). I saw a couple of soldiers dancing the Kurdish line dance with a family. One fellow translated for his friend: “He say, he love America, especially
American soldier.”

The soldiers really like mingling with the locals because they had not been allowed off the compound and seldom get to meet locals. A couple soldiers wanted to go back again the next day to do another police call, and almost everyone ended up actually enjoying it.

Roach Motel

I and a number of other soldiers were sent on an R&R pass to a lakeside hotel in N. Iraq. I can't give a lot of details about the location right now. I am not on pass; they take someone of my rank to administer punishment if anyone gets in trouble. So far, so good.

Although I am not on "pass", I'm still not doing much. We were suposed to be here for 3 days, but our transportation fell through and we're still here 7 days later. It's like the Roach Motel; soldiers check in, but they don't check out.

We can go on a boat trip around the lake, on a bus trip up a nearby hill to look at the mountains, and on a hike into the mountains. Everyone did that in the 1st 3 days. Now most everyone just wants to return. We've watched the movies we want to watch, and are now getting into the fringe movie area. I watched "Love Actually" and "Evolution", so you know I'm getting hard up.

Laundry is becomming an issue. The food is good, but there are only two meals, i.e., only two offerings. We have breakfast, and the other meal; lunch/dinner. Nice break, but work is stacking up and it's time to return. Some of the younger soldiers are bored the second they stop some activity, so they're going stir crazy.

I've read 3 or 4 books (they days just run together), and am now reading abook that doesn't really interest me, just to pass time. We are not allowed off the compound, and there is no town to go into, so we're limited in sightseeing.

Who knows when we'll go back? Not us.

We're not in California anymore, Toto

I guess smokers must like this resort. The rule about smoking is, you can't smoke in the dining room. That's it. That's the rule. You can smoke everywhere else. Of course in the bar, in your room, in the lobby (the clerks behind the desk smoke), in the hall, I suppose in the elevator (it doesn't work), anywhere.

All the tables have two upside down water glasses and a thick glass ashtray. Very classy.

Chow

The food here at the lake is pretty good, but, like the chow hall, not real varied. We had the same breakfast both days, so, OK, but lunch and dinner were the same as well. 4 meals, same chow. Chicken, rice, more chicken, some beef (I think, possibly mutton) cucumbers and tomatoes (breakfast included), and Iraqi bread. The bread is excellent. Kind of an elongated diamond, 8 inches long by 6 inches wide, and about and inch thick. Good with every meal, and for snacks.

Really good Chai tea (according to the tea lovers), but the coffee is "Nicecafe" instant, and yes, I spelled that correctly.

Tomorrow night is Kurdish night, food and entertainment. That will be interesting.