Making the NIA

The Fat Lady Sings

2005-09-29T03:53:00.000-04:00

The night was short from a few celebratory adult beverages, and as much as I wanted to sleep I wanted to get moving. Until today I have blocked this day out of my mind, I have tried not to dwell on it for a year. Not that I haven’t wanted to get lost in my fantasies of what will be, but that I couldn’t afford to do that.

Few alarms went off as the bulk of Soldiers in my open bay billet woke on their own or to the sounds of the others around them. We did final packing, and had our final briefings. The chaplain from the base we mobilized and demobilized from showed us a presentation for a memorial service to honor Soldiers from the Indiana National Guard who gave the ultimate sacrifice.

The mini-movie was a conglomeration of other movie scenes and footage from various sources. The background music was apparently a popular country song whose name I don’t know, which transitioned into the Army Chorus singing a song about Soldiers coming home. The all male chorus music was a backdrop for scenes of at first cemeteries, and then Soldiers performing the greatest honor one can by paying tribute to their fallen comrades.

Many an eye was filled with tears, and without command the entire group rose and saluted a picture of a flag draped casket. Nobody had to name the five from this mission that are not going to go home. We all knew them or knew of them. Most importantly we knew what their jobs were and what they went through up to that final moment.

Many then loaded a buss bound for the local airport, some rented cars and drove. The team which moved from our Iraqi battalion together was slowly picked apart for different movement times. Today only four of us remained together. We joked with each other as usual like Soldiers do and embraced like family does.

We stopped to get our hair cut, and MAJ B bought coffee for us. While the cut was not what I anticipated it was done. I waited for MAJ B, and CPT G to finish up. I looked in the trash can outside the barber shop and noticed an antenna from a hand held radio.

I froze in my tracks, torn with what to do. The past year had taught me to question everything and take it as a threat. I looked again to ensure I wasn’t hallucinating. I turned and said to MAJ B and CPT G, I have to do it, but I don’t want to. Their perplexed look urged me on to explain.

Notifying the authorities would surely have locked the terminal down. Civilian authorities would have investigated, questioned and delayed thousands of travelers. We debated it was just a junked radio. It didn’t work or some parent was forced to throw them away as their children were using them inappropriately. It was not what I thought it could be. I worried and fretted over that decision for days.

My flight was a brief one to a larger regional airport where I shared some humorous stories with another advisor who served with me near Baghdad, until he left on his flight. Like a mental review I found myself one more time reviewing the past year. Memories of sights, sounds, and smells filled my mind, some pleasant and others not so much.

I sat in the large terminal forcing myself to sit in the middle and face my fears. Still I found myself looking for angles, avenues of approach and regress, scanning faces in the crowd and determining courses of action and contingencies. I stopped this behavior by beginning this entry in my deployment journal.

I briefly called my first sergeant. I had been warned not to change my flight as someone from my unit would be traveling to see me. So I felt obligated to notify him. I told him when I would arrive and that if he or anyone else from the battalion was planning to arrive I would acknowledge that they had in fact been there, unless of course it was the commander. This chap had taken over mere days before I left and had not contacted me once. No email, no phone call to my wife, no letters, nothing for a year.

The called my flight. I stood and waited knowing my seat was near the front of the aircraft I knew I should be one of the last on the plane. As I stood in line a woman in front of me turned and thanked me. I replied I was just doing my job. Her traveling companion, a work mate didn’t hear our conversation, and then herself thanked me.

The crowd that was at best unknown and aloof to me was now warming. I could see smiles across the room. Smiles and waives of appreciation. This wasn’t so bad after all. Gratuity would become the hallmark of the day.

We boarded the plane and the flight attendant made a special announcement regarding my presence, though it would have been hard not to notice anyone boarding this small craft. The passengers erupted in applause and I was humbled.

As the plane flew I looked over the very familiar landscape, terrain that I had driven over many times when I lived at Ft. Knox. I recognized rivers and eventually the sight of Pittsburgh airport, then key lakes mountains and other terrain features as we approached our final destination.

I was giddy and excited to look upon the ground and watch traffic move in my home town. My home, my friends, my life were below me waiting for me to return.

The plane touched down twenty minutes early, and I was concerned my family would be there to greet me. As we taxied the attendant again recognized me and again the plane applauded and I almost wept tears of joy. I was beside myself.

I was torn between running and walking slowly enjoying the stares of the local citizens who don’t see a lot of Joes and Jenny’s moving through their airport. I settled on a brisk pace to my loved ones.

As we embraced and talked a few folks came by to thank me. Soon my entourage and I would leave. My wife brought clothes for me to change into so we could celebrate with a dinner out.

Oddly, I recognized a pair of pants as having a tear in them immediately but couldn’t remember directions or some street names. Some things were pure muscle memory, and others were like amnesia. This pattern would continue for a few days, but that mattered not. I was home. Mission accomplished.

Rogue 3 OUT

Home

2005-09-20T04:03:00.000-04:00

I can’t sleep. I should be out like a light, but it is not to be. The two trips to the gym and marathon volleyball session would be enough on any normal day, why not today? Perhaps it’s anticipation or the nagging sensation when I have not cataloged my thoughts for too long.

I spent some time watching the moon, my last full moon rise this evening. I tried to take in every detail of it’s full countenance as this might be the last time I see the equatorial moon. It rose as a red light in the east and as it climbed in the nighttime sky turning to a blazing white. I estimated the illumination it was providing I hoped for the last time, a last vestige of my work here.

The team is sitting in Kuwait now, the end is near and I am reflective on what has transpired in the last year. Did I do what I set out to do? Was I successful? Could I have done better, and how? I suppose these are common questions during times of transition.

The answer to these questions at least for my part is yes, but one can always find fault and improvements. However, I don’t know that I’ll be volunteering to do this again. So I don’t know how much good a review would do other than my own sanity. These thoughts are likely just a distraction for the other deeper issues at hand.

We made promises to each other during our mobilization some out of bravado some out of fear, most out of self-preservation. A year ago we collectively agreed our mission was to get all of the team members home in one piece, accomplish the mission, and have fun if we can. As our movement is pending we can put a check mark in each of those boxes.

I think about what kept me going, what was my motivation this year, and while many things helped push, there was one overriding factor. This single thought kept me safe in situations that were hairy, kept me on my toes when I needed to be and provided the motivation that got me out of bed many mornings. Now I contemplate all that has happened in this year and all that I have to look forward to, and that single thought remains. Get home.

Getting home was important when buildings were being destroyed around me, when fire was directed at me regularly just for being there. “Get home”, was on my mind when we moved outside the wire, or when the enemy would lie in wait and strike with improvised explosives. It was on my mind when my counterparts would consternate me with indecision or decisions that were poor.

Get home was on my mind when faced with American officers who lacked the courage to do their jobs, and confounded me with obstacles. It was what kept my mouth shut in some cases and open in others. It was both a command and a request, it was a driving force. Get home is a solitary notion with multiple meanings.

Some times get home meant simply getting back to base, yet there was always a deeper meaning to the phrase for me. It was never just a place.

I am getting home to my house of dogs, whose inability to determine time, will wag their tails with rapture. I am getting home to friends who have watched over the homestead, who have sent care packages and emails, who have sent pictures of normalcy. I am getting home to co-workers who will surely hang on my every word and description of what I did here, when I do return to civil work. I am getting home to my mother and father who are proud of me and a sibling who has made me an uncle.

I am going home.

I am going home to her, the solitary overriding motivation of her. The one who has pushed me beyond my expectations before this and the one whose mere voice melted away the pain and anguish here. Through all the blood, sweat and tears, the very real scenes of carnage I will carry with me through all my days, the thought of her touch was inspiration when no other inspiration would do.

I am going home to the one who will have to deal with my reintegration to civilian life. The one who will be my rock, who has been my rock, whose endurance during this has been amazing to me. I am going home to my other half. I pray she’ll have me.

Rogue 3 OUT

May the Road Rise to Meet You

2005-09-10T13:42:00.000-04:00

Saying goodbye is never an easy thing with friends. Saying goodbye to a troublesome time or place is significantly easier, however when the two are linked it becomes more challenging. That is almost every Soldier and some Iraqis, will tell you the environment that is Iraq is harsh and unforgiving, though often they’ll use more colorful expressions. To leave this place, even the notion of leaving this place is a point of joy and pride.

It is a regular occurrence for Soldiers to say, less than positive remarks about a particular locale. Personally, I try to avoid these statements around the Iraqis I advise, because no one wants to hear their home is garbage. No one likes to hear they live in a pit of despair even if it is true.

Often I would catch myself caught in the juxtaposition of anxious to get home and away from all that is Iraq, and at the same time having genuine feelings for the Iraqis whom I lived and worked with for this past year. As my time comes to an end here I am more careful of what I say so as not to offend men I truly admire for their patriotism.

In our modern world of convenience it is rare the individual that fights for freedom like these men do. Patriots in America are the guy who leads a campaign to change his part of the world for the better, and the acts are usually small in nature but impact the greater good.

Patriots here are far more plentiful. In Iraq, patriots travel hundreds of miles out of their way to get home on leave. They hide their identity, or brazenly show their identity. The fake their deaths and continue to Soldier on in the face of threats and violence on their families and loved ones. They pool resources to make ends meet when their Soldier can’t make it home on time.

The phrase Inshalla hurts this culture by freeing them from accountability and responsibility. They will be successful if god wills it. At the same time that mindset can be incredibly freeing and help them survive in a truly inhospitable land. They will live if god wills it. Therefore, when someone dies it is god’s will and while saddening not crippling.

Our last night on our camp the Iraqis would host a banquet to welcome the new team and say farewell to the old team. These men, that are heroes in my book sought to honor us for our sacrifices to help them build their future. We coexisted with these men that risk their very lives simply by being in the Army.

I worked with the interpreters and my old boss MAJ Z, to document the history of the battalion and translate it, and we read that to the officers present. As I read it aloud and the interpreter read his copy in Arabic I was filled with a sense of pride, satisfaction and accomplishment. We fought side by side. We showed them the right way and let them lead.

This for some was a life defining moment. Some of my teammates will use this experience to propel them to new goals and jobs. For me this is something that will surely shape my life for years to come, but only part of the total package.

Small gifts and fond words were exchanged, tokens of our appreciation for each other. Pictures were taken and peers, comrades, friends even brothers embraced each other for one last time.

I left a note for my counter part upon his return and couldn’t help but include the words to the Irish poem:

May the road rise to meet you
May the wind be always at your back
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
The rains fall soft upon your fields
And until we meet again
May God hold you in the hollow of His hand.

The next morning Abu Ali our long time interpreter stood in the black pre dawn darkness holding a flashlight in one hand and touching the window of the Hummer with the other saying his final farewell.

This time it would be our last convoy. A small contingent of Iraqis joined us and I slept safe in the knowledge that they would lay down their life for any of us. True brothers.

Rogue 3 OUT

Dog Days of Summer

2005-09-01T13:33:00.000-04:00

The morning started like any other morning since our new team arrived with a scheduled combat patrol and all that preempts it. The sun a searing ball of orange and red was just cracking the Eastern sky. Except today was different in that it was our last combat patrol.

This time the new team, our replacements would lead the entire operation from an American perspective. That is to say, it would still be an Iraqi run patrol, but for the U.S. advisors the new team would be in charge of our movements.

The route was secured and we rolled in behind the main body of the patrol into the assembly area. Old habits and muscle memory took over, and I had to stop myself from doing the things I normally do in an assembly area to allow the new team to learn and grow into their role. Eventually, we set out at the rear of the formation and eventually pushed forward.

I looked at the last vestiges of the moon as it hung low in the western sky. It’s edges starting to fade with the sun’s rays, it seemed larger than normal. I enjoyed this vista for a moment, and hopped that would be the last full moon I saw in this land.

We stopped a few minutes into the patrol and from muscle memory I took a secure position, that the Iraqis immediately emulated. The new team’s executive officer asked me why I did what I did, and I told him it was a bit of muscle memory and it was setting an example for the IA (Iraqi Army).

The IA lieutenant in charge executed a smooth mission, deploying his unit accordingly. As we collapsed our security and started our movement back to our base we heard the report of small arms fire, and while the new team was borderline panicked the IA security element handled the situation calmly and professionally.

When we got back in the base, the new team leader called for a review of his team’s performance. Their boss asked me and MAJ B for any notes and I offered a few things I had observed, but generally gave praise. Meanwhile we the “old” team decided it was time to blow off some steam. CPT G had a supply of Titlist golf balls and I had found a sand wedge and five iron during my tour hear. With cigars in mouth, sunglasses on, we set out to enjoy one of our last days here, some of us wearing no T-shirt.

Now a golf purist may find this tragic, shocking even, but to a bunch of guys who have just about finished a year in Iraq it was a moral imperative. The golf balls apparently retail for about four dollars a pop. The Pro V and Pro V1 balls had a nice feel to them and even with the crappy badly worn club heads we were able to get some nice shots towards the fence line. One of the new team members SSG E, who arrived later, whacked one into the traffic nearby, to the amusement of all.

By the end of the morning, with the sun’s full countenance searing down, we found ourselves on the American base at the gym, making the last junk-food run and getting coffee at the coffee house. The coffee house was the refuge and escape for many Soldiers there. With the exception of the reinforcements outside, the interior could easily be mistaken for any coffee house at home. Terracotta tile floors, wrought-iron chairs with wooden seats, soft innocuous world beat music in the background, and a good cup of “Joe”, was enough to transport even the jaded.

In the afternoon, the bulk of us were in shorts and shower shoes or sneakers working on the, “tans we disserve”, as SFC F phrased it. We played horseshoes, ribbed each other, drank non-alcoholic beer or water, and basked in the twilight of the day and our tour. The unity of our team was never stronger.

Cameras were recording the giddiness, and general rambunctious behavior. Some posed some just got lucky with the shots. The Iraqis that watched saw a side of the Americans they had not witnessed for the entire year. They laughed and pointed, we laughed and pointed back and at each other.

In a few days we would start our movement back to our old base, then on to another location and so on and so on until we ultimately arrive back in the United States. Being this close to the end was a major distraction and thus not at the forefront of my mind. I stayed focused and spent the bulk of my time thinking of the immediate tasks to quell the sense of anticipation developing about my homecoming.

That late afternoon, I was approached by my counterpart. A man I have worked with closely for a year and come to not only respect but admire, was facing me and telling me in broken English he was leaving for his vacation before I departed his new base. The news saddened me.

We sought out an interpreter to ensure our true emotions were imparted to each other. He thanked me and said he learned a lot from me. I told him I too learned from him and he continually impressed me. This was not just some mutual admiration society, but true friends finally sharing their unspoken admiration.

I recall trying to figure out how this job would work with a peer before I left. The notion of communicating through an interpreter was mind boggling. Now, however it seems like a natural part of conversation. Knowing and trusting the interpreter is correctly translating is a comfort.

During our training Dr. John told us we would have fond memories of our counterparts and even consider many friends. At the time I wasn’t entirely sure this would be the case. Now, there is no question.

In Arabic culture to refer to someone as a brother is a sign of intimacy of dear friends. There is a brotherhood of warriors that is a sense of shared misery, anguish, and elation that warriors can all relate to. In conversations when I would use the word brother referring to Iraqis I meant the brotherhood connotation, however with this man it is the former.

My part in being the, “exit strategy”, is nearly over. I know I was successful, but can only hope my work will ensure fewer Americans have to be here.

Rogue 3 OUT

It’s A Beautiful Day

2005-08-26T01:17:00.000-04:00

The day started before dawn with me looking skyward and enjoying the silence and serenity of the Iraqi country side at night. Little did I know it would end that way as well. The stars shone brightly and the arm of the milky way was still visible. I thought to myself this is the only time of day that I share darkness with the people back home. I stood in the turret as we started our movement in the pre-dawn darkness embracing the peacefulness of the moment.

The mission was to drive to our old base north of Baghdad and retrieve our new team and their gear. To do this I had to do some coordination with the local unit and the Iraqis to provide a truck to haul their gear. The Iraqi part was easier than the coordination with the U.S. unit which didn’t surprise me. Fortunately, all was falling into place and at the right time.

After this trip everything would change. After this trip a series of events would unfold that would propel me towards the end of my journey. After this trip, I start my process to go home. That is a good feeling to have as you enter the breech.

The traffic was nonexistent as it should be at that hour. The only people allowed on the roads are the military and police, so we didn’t expect much for the first part of our journey. We changed highways and soon found ourselves in what amounts to as the morning rush.

Cars and trucks usually move from our path as we drive, sometimes from their own choosing and sometimes from our insistence. We try to be polite but firm in these actions and have developed an array of techniques to provide the proper motivation so the populace sees things our way, ranging from nice to not so nice, for them anyway. The longer we drove the more frequently we had to draw on these techniques as the volume of traffic rose with the sunlight on our horizon.

I enjoyed as I normally do watching the changes in the sky and the landscape as the sun begins is slow climb into the Eastern sky and stokes the fires in the ovens of hell below. I wasn’t particularly hot this morning but I could feel the air warming around my face and the heat rising from the engine and transmission below my feet. The fronds of the palm tress turned from black silhouettes pressed against a blue background to their natural dark green against a light blue, their finger tips reaching into the air with a sharpness that makes them distinguishable at great distances.

I noticed things I had not on previous trips including a landmark that is clearly visible from the interior of our old base. I just never placed it on a map or the ground itself with any accuracy.

We arrived on the base and it felt like home. The familiarity of the speed bumps and chicanes of the entry control point, the procedures to gain entry, the smells of the local surroundings felt more natural than what I’ve lived in for the last six weeks. There were changes to been observed, new faces to see and friends to see. I was hopped up on caffeine and the excitement of the day.

We drove past our old barracks building to a new location where our team had been training for a week now, the last step for their preparations. The were participating in a program that was supposed to be based on the suggestions and reviews written by the Soldiers with whom I deployed from our training. What it amounted to was a feather in some officer’s cap, a waste of time as reported by all graduates of this, “course”.

As we approached their part of the base where they were housed I noticed decorations as most Iraqi Army units invest time on. Some are simple like sandbags along the edges of the road or writing Arabic words using painted rocks. Some are more complex like painting signs or murals on buildings. Or what we passed under which was apparently approved by the same U.S. colonel that I endured while working here, who didn’t recognize the hidden glorification of Saddam.

The military police battalion had crafted a pair of crossed swords over the roadway a miniature of the giant swords in downtown Baghdad. The difference was not just the scale but craftsmanship as well. These while made of steel looked more like an erector set or paper machete on some Rose Bowl float. I half expected them to fall on my head as we passed under them. I can only imagine the discussion about them during the base operations meetings.

We pulled into the compound and waited for our liaison and new team to arrive. When they did we briefed them and we split to take care of our personal needs. I visited some friends and of course that Mecca of capitalism the PX. I enjoyed pleasant banter and caught up on the goings on for the last almost two months.

Though the mini-reunion was short lived it was a forecast of things to come. We returned to our link up point where the new team was loaded and ready to roll. I was charged with briefing them about our convoy and route. They were green and you could tell. Some were ready to just get there, chomping at the bit, while others on the team were reluctant to move at all skittish at the sight of their own shadow. I likely didn’t help matters with the portion of the briefing where I outline courses of action in the event of enemy contact.

The return trip was uneventful, only hotter than the trip down. We arrived at our camp and gave a brief tour to the key locations then loaded them and took them to the American base nearby where they would be staying until our departure. Of course we had to again get a Jundi (Soldier) to drive the heavy truck onto their compound.

We arrived late in the day and a gate that normally takes mere minutes to pass through took over forty-five. Drenched with sweat I waited for the single Iraqi Sergeant to get badged and cleared to move on the gate with some twenty U.S. escorts.

We then struggled through the process of getting billeting for this team, even though the persons responsible for assigning rooms knew about their arrival for more than six weeks. We finally got the new team unloaded and we proceeded to head to the gate we entered to drive back to our camp. Problem was the gate was closed at night.

I refrained from blowing a gasket when a tower guard told me the gate was closed. Not because he was doing his job but because no one told us it would close less than an hour after our arrival with an Iraqi in tow. I used the analogy as I ranted to MAJ B of arriving at six flags one hour before closing time and no one from the park staff telling you, “the park will close in one hour.”

We finally made contact with someone who could remedy our situation but had to wait for their arrival at this gate. MAJ B took the Iraqi Sergeant to return his badge and retrieve his gear while I waited at the trucks.

I stood under the now night time sky again admiring the clarity of the stars, reminiscing about my first night outside a city in Saudi Arabia 15 years ago amazed at the stars. Again the stars were bright, again the milky way was visible, again serenity, again peace.

I listened to the military aircraft flying overhead and then observed something I’ve not seen very much at all in this year civilian aircraft flying overhead. I wondered where they were going, who was ridding on them and why. I thought about how many times I spent a weekend night away from modern civilization observing it passing me by, thinking about what people were doing in that modern society while I sat in the dark staring at the sky.

Rogue 3 OUT

Tempo Allegro Adagio

2005-08-16T11:53:00.000-04:00

Time is moving both too fast and painfully too slow. On the one hand I am in, “the zone”, now with the Iraqis I advise. I know how to manipulate them to get them to do what is better for them in the long run, even if it means more work now, which they are socially, and apparently biologically opposed to doing. I can understand most of their intent during conversation even if I don’t understand all of what they are saying.

On the other hand, sometimes they are so frustrating, I’ve contemplated shooting a few of them as an example to the others. Then again, that wouldn’t exactly fall under the, “advisor” role so it likely isn’t a good idea. The environment, the situation of moving a battalion to a new camp with no life support, it all adds up and wears you down.

The odd thing is that time alternately moves quickly and slowly in either case. I can be frustrated and frankly quite angry but time has flown by. I’ve had very successful and promising meetings that will reap huge dividends in the future that seem to suck the life from me and burn so much precious time.

Today started at three am to prepare and move for a mission to a base that will be an extension of this battalion’s combat power. We were going to observe a brigade level operation whose command post was located at a firm base that will eventually house some of this battalion’s troops to conduct local missions.

Even before we left the gate I was ready to strangle and /or fire my interpreter. The next thing I knew I was watching the sun rise from the roof top over the small town that housed this firm base. The time in between was a blur of meetings, introductions, confusion, and exploration of this locale.

Still I remember this sense of calm as I watched the sun’s rays warm and bathe the bricks of nearby home in orange, and a woman from the same house collect eggs from the chicken in her backyard for her family’s breakfast. These images of normalcy often strike me as soothing.

When we started back to our camp we made two stops to ensure the safe travel of another HUMVE. We traversed a very dangerous intersection and section of the nearby city. The entire trip seemed to take only minutes but in reality took almost an hour.

The Iraqis I advise displayed the professionalism that we have insisted upon, and it was noticed by both the Sr. American and Iraqi officers. To the point that the Iraqi brigade commander, a former Peshmerga fighter (Kurdish), made continual corrections of his troops from the rooftop we were standing on. In classic Iraqi style the tempo and tenor of his speech started at a quick pace and accelerated to frantic staccato frenzy of sound.

Just twenty four hours prior I was starting a foot patrol outside our new camp to reconnoiter the area and check for security gaps. The patrol was a blur in retrospect but felt like time had stopped during it’s execution. I was thinking about my pending birthday and how I might celebrate it. Then worried that I might fret about my age making the time seem slower.

On the mission I was both pleased and angered that the squad of Jenoud (Soldiers) I was following on the patrol were without a Sergeant or any sort of leader. They followed my signals to stop and prepare a hasty defense until the rest of their platoon crossed the canal we were skirting without fail. The problem was they had no leader to provide them the signals or commands themselves.

The platoon leader and platoon sergeant failed to conduct an inspection of the troops prior to departure, which resulted in no water for the Jenoud. The Sergeants failed to execute the way we’ve taught them and even cited old Iraqi army logic to the problem.

As we entered a village I could tolerate the failures no more. I pulled a Sergeant aside and read him the riot act. Then the same for the platoon leader. I explained to my team leader that even though we are giving them enough rope to hang themselves, there is too much at risk in a urban environment to let the stupidity remain.

After the mission, we debriefed the platoon leader and his Sergeants along with the new company commander who just joined us. An old army officer we were pretty sure he didn’t anticipate the level of involvement he would have to maintain to be successful in this battalion. I mentioned a particular practice that his platoon leader and platoon sergeant failed to complete prior to the mission and then offered to train him on it in the afternoon.

Dutifully, he showed up at the appointed hour and location. I trained him on the practices that he would be expected to complete himself and ensure his subordinate leaders were doing the same. During the training my interpreter Abu Ali would stop sigh exasperatedly and say, “Sir he is a stupid man”, several times. This amused me. What amused me even more was the news that he quit the next morning after a good nights sleep to contemplate his role in the new army.

I spent some time outside working on a few team projects that needed to be completed which allowed me to work on my tan at the same time. The next thing I knew the sun was setting and I was ready for sleep another day to mark off the calendar.

The changing tempo of time is both maddening and in a way enjoyable. When I get frustrated I simply disengage and remember the time remaining is short. When I am happy, I try to linger in the moment absorbing the details of the joy no matter how minute. There are things I can do now, or I can hand them over to the Iraqis. I can also make a point to train the Iraqis or hand it over to the new team. Just having the option reduces the stress significantly.

Rogue 3 OUT

Winding Down

2005-08-13T11:40:00.000-04:00

The temperatures are finally dropping below 120 in the shade in the afternoons. The nighttime temperatures are in the low 90s to mid 80s. With the humidity I still perspire in the nighttime when I try to call family and loved ones, still frequently I think of how cold 60 degrees will seem in the near future.

Yesterday, the bulk of the battalion I advise moved to our new camp shifting the focus and efforts of the battalion leadership from our old base to our new camp. I spent some time with the Officers and Sergeants that were new arrivals welcoming them and giving a tour to a few of them.

I am torn. After almost a year with these guys I still feel a strong kinship to them, and a stronger sense of ensuring they are successful. I want them to be successful; I want them to show the rest of their new brigade how it is supposed to be done. I want their efforts to show the senior U.S. leadership the right way to advise a battalion. Most of all, I want to go home.

Before we started this move, the battalion’s intelligence section and to a slightly lesser extent the operations section’s skills began to atrophy. Though, not though any fault of their own. The U.S. unit we became attached to did not trust the Iraqis nor did they take the advice of my team who consistently told them the capabilities and abilities of this battalion.

The U.S. unit spoon-fed them intelligence which was poor, and fed them operations orders with no flexibility for the local commander to react on the battle field. These limitations made the officers stop thinking about contingencies and the necessary planning that goes into any mission.

The next big hurdle was the move. U.S. commanders determined in January that an Iraqi battalion would inhabit the camp we now do with no U.S. presence. Instead of conducting proper planning and ensuring the appropriate equipment and services were on hand or ready to be deployed once the Iraqis took over the base, the senior U.S. leadership failed to advise the Iraqi senior leadership to do anything.

Now the U.S. senior leadership is preparing to pull back all support to Iraqi forces as part of the political gamesmanship otherwise known as an exit strategy. Here too the planning seems to be nonexistent. Yet we hear senior U.S. leaders repeat the phrase, we must make them succeed on their own, but we won’t let them fail. There are two errors in logic with this statement. First, is that no one seems to be setting the Iraqis up for success. No one seems to be guiding, mentoring or advising them on the planning for self sufficiency.

The second error in logic is the notion of not letting the Iraqis fail. I’ve said it before that Iraqis look towards the U.S. to provide leadership, and if we lead they will follow. That is if we lead, they will not, and they will continue to rely on us. If we however, let them fail once or twice at all levels they do learn from their errors.

The biggest challenge facing the Iraqi army as a whole and at this level is the ability to provide for their life support needs. Do they have enough or more correctly can they get enough beans, and bullets to secure their country? Yes. Do they have the means to provide fuel and maintenance on their equipment? No.

Frankly, the stuff I was advising them on is easy. How to gather and process intelligence, how to then convert that information into an operations order, how to execute the operations order at platoon, company and battalion level, how to plan and execute training, all easy stuff.

How to provide fuel, oil, and repair parts for a fleet of trucks is an other story. How to ensure sufficient food water, electricity, shower facilities, sewage facilities, and waste removal services is almost mind boggling.

Another challenge is going to be how to clothe the Army. Immediately after the army was stood up, the funding for the uniforms came through the Ministry of Defense (MOD) from your tax dollars. Thus Americans controlled the clothing and equipment issue points. The Iraqis couldn’t be trusted to manage the supply system for fear the corruption would infect this critical component. Sound logic, however the problem is that no Iraqi has played any part in the planning or operation of these facilities. So what happens when we do had them over? I would bet mass chaos and thievery the likes of which have not been seen lately.

So we have these problems and it appears that senior U.S. leaders are either blind to the problem or not doing anything to rectify it. They sit in their air conditioned offices and issue orders that often don’t make sense or even come close to the ground truth. Moreover they are unwilling to spend any time with the Iraqis to find out the problems.

Sure, they have their meetings with Iraqi senior leaders, but there is an inherent cultural problem they are not taking into consideration. It is shameful for a commander to ever admit a short coming or deficiency a vestige of the Saddam regime. So to suggest that senior Iraqi or U.S. leaders truly know the capabilities or readiness of the Iraq Army is likely a fallacy.

All of this rattles around in my noggin while I am looking at a calendar and reminding myself, “they cannot stop time.” The advice of my senior team leader about not starting any new projects or skills because we won’t be able to see it to fruition is in there too. Also, the secret meaning of the letters in the former AMP Inc, “ain’t my problem”, comes out in conversations frequently.

I would have liked to have made this move earlier in my time here. Then again, the battalion would not have progressed as we did. I suppose I really want to see them back at the level they were before I leave. However, I am dubious I will see that, as time is not on my side for that desire.

Just this morning, SFC F and I were discussing our time here. He said he felt like he wasted almost 11 months. He said he thinks that as soon as this team leaves and the next team is forced to live on a U.S. base and, “punch a clock”, the battalion will regress to the, “old army” ways and implode or slowly self destruct.

I can see his dismay and understand it all too well myself. I reminded him that we have to look at the bright side, that we knew going into this mission we weren’t going to change the world. We as a team have made a tremendous amount of progress with one battalion. We have moved them past relying on U.S. leadership to a point where they come to us for guidance but they still make the decisions.

I cannot attest for the other battalions, but I know I have done my best to show the Iraqi Soldiers, Sergeants, and Officers of this battalion the right way to do business, coached them on their first attempt and now mentor them when they stray from the right way. Now I worry more about what is going on at home than what is happening here.

Most of my free thoughts consist of “home”. Soon. Very soon.

Rogue 3 OUT

Tomorrow If God Wills It

2005-08-05T11:38:00.000-04:00

Living off the land is nothing new. In the ten months of this tour I can think of only one instance where my higher headquarters provided the support we requested, and that was only because they needed us to have what we requested as much as we needed it. The units to which we have been attached have provided resources to sustain the fight, but not much more beyond that.

We are truly the red-headed step-children of this war, and it is easy to understand how. There are two chains of command for support, the U.S. military and the Iraqi government. The Iraqi Army lacks senior leadership, thus the intent was to stand up battalions of Soldiers and at the same time work at the higher levels to ensure brigades and divisions could support their subordinate units. What happened in reality was the Ministry of Defense (MOD) began issuing direct orders to battalions circumventing the process of the chain of command.

This move was done to immediately support the fight, but has had a long term effect of pandering to incompetent Iraqi leaders at the brigade and division level. Now the U.S. is looking at the exit strategy; me, and are forcing the Iraqi government to support it’s own military. The expression I’ve frequently heard is, “they must support themselves but we will not let them fail”. I say, let them fail. Your mistakes are the only things you can truly call your own, and sometimes people don’t learn unless they fail.

Recently, I was pleasantly surprised to have a visit to Camp Thursday by a lieutenant colonel who was an advisor at the MOD level, who promised to provide for the battalion’s support needs. Although his picture of who and what was supposed to be on this camp were drastically different from the reality that was before him. Intermittent power, limited life support, and poor force protection were a bit of a surprise for him. Personally, I didn’t think those guys left the palaces in Baghdad ever.

I am now told as advisors we will be attached to the U.S. division that controls the regional battle space, thus we would receive direct support. The issue is there are no points of contact or means to communicate with them. The division staffs live in their “crystal palaces” unaware of the ground truth while we live with the Iraqis.

At the same time the Iraqi battalions would be moved and working with in the battle space of their parent brigades and the brigades within their parent divisions a plan concocted almost a year ago, but which is just now being implemented. The Iraqis will be forced to find contracts for their own food service, petroleum needs, equipment maintenance, and all other manner of logistics support. Some of these issues have already been resolved at the MOD level with nepotistic agreements and tribal alignments.

One man has lobbied for his company to provide food services anywhere in the country. A request is simply made via the chain of command and the contractor will find a suitable location, staff and supplies to feed the Iraqi troops. There is apparently a written contract which I am told is easily received from the Iraqi chain of command, however that remains to be seen.

We are told the contractor will furnish several life support needs as a part of this contract, though the manager we deal with here seems to think he is in no way obligated to perform these duties. Hence the negotiations about what is and what should be. We found the same from all other contractors who are providing services here. We have obtained a few statements of work which the contractor does live by once we quote it to him, but getting him to meet is a challenge in itself.

Consistently from all of the contractors we get the expression, “basher Inshalla”, which translates to, “tomorrow if God wills it”. Inshalla can mean an accord has been struck, (I agree to those terms) or it can mean maybe (open ended excuse), and the context is incredibly subtle to pickup on. In Arab culture there is no agree to disagree as we have in America. Once an agreement has been reached it is binding, with the loophole of divine intervention. For God may not want you to be successful in that particular agreement.

We’ve gone so far as to detain workers of the food services contractor until he arrived on the camp to discuss his successes and failings in the administration of this contract. This tactic was both successful and wildly entertaining for a few minutes.

In the meanwhile, the Iraqis are doing what they do best, adapting to the conditions they are in. They’ve setup outhouses over the septic tanks, though some of the tanks are for used shower water not septic water. Still the shanties are better than the alternative which is to find little dried piles of excrement wherever they choose.

Until yesterday, every few days we would make a trip to the American base which is across the street, no more than 200 meters to update the officers on the progress of the battalion. However, yesterday we were forced to return the vehicles we’ve been borrowing for transport. The American officers continually ask if we’ve moved to their base and we continually tell them, “tomorrow if God wills it”.

We are told the U.S. division commander who controls this area wants no U.S. personnel living on an Iraqi base. Apparently, we are supposed to punch a clock and work from 9-5 just like we are back in the states. This guy has either no idea or has gotten bad information about conducting this advisor mission, and Iraqi culture.

The trust you must establish is not created overnight and cannot be won by punching a clock and commuting. Trust is a two way street, and if you don’t trust them by living with them, they won’t trust you or your suggestions or advice even if they’ve heard it before from someone they do trust. In this way I do not envy the next team that will eventually replace us. They will have the challenge of not living with their Iraqi counter parts, as well as the mass exodus that occurs when advisors leave.

We have been given orders to not ride around in unarmored vehicles like the Nissan pickups we use on the base, and we have been told we cannot walk onto the base. Either of those courses of action would result in us being shot at or denied access, or both, so we are told. Thus we haven’t tried. The trucks we used on combat missions are still with the bulk of the battalion’s combat power at our old base being used daily by the rest of the team.

As a team our thinking is unanimous, that our remaining time is too brief to make the effort to move. Especially since the Americans who are to host us are not making any effort to support that move. In a few weeks time the bulk of the battalion will be here, as will the bulk of our team and our trucks. A few very short days after that our replacements will arrive.

The end is near inshalla.

Rogue 3 OUT

Camp Thursday

2005-07-31T11:28:00.000-04:00

Today marked a significant event in the history of the Iraqi Army. Today an American Forward Operating Base was handed over to the Iraqis. Now, Iraqis are on other bases and they are on other bases by themselves. However, this will be the first totally Iraqi run base.

FOB Bunyan, I still can’t tell you the actual name, was transferred to the Iraqi Battalion commander whom I advise. The Iraqi and American brigade commanders were here to take part in the ceremony. There is humor here because this was in no way an Iraqi ceremony. Yet the American officers who used to control this base, and their boss would tell me it was meant to be an Iraqi ceremony.

There were exactly zero planning meetings for this event that included Iraqis. I as their advisor, was brought into exactly one briefing done while walking with the American FOB commander ten days prior, in which I was told what the Iraqis part would be, and to ensure the Iraqi battalion commander whom I advise was present for the ceremony. This was amusing to me, because there was a meeting with the battalion and brigade commanders both Iraqi and American in which the event could have been discussed just five days prior.

The Iraqis were given one task from my briefing and a second at the meeting with their brigade commander [href grace of god]. The first task was to coordinate food, though no count of guests was given and no time to serve the food was given. When I inquired about this, I was told, “a light lunch.” The thing is there is no such thing as a, “light” lunch in Iraq.

Lunch is the biggest meal of the day, and any meal with a guest is a banquet, with the hosts typically making more food than could possibly be eaten by the assembled crowd, as leftovers are the norm. The guests normally get the choicest cuts of meat and the biggest portions as a show of wealth, even if the host is in poverty.

The cost of the food was also not discussed until two days prior, and this became a big sticking point. Lamb is not cheap even in a country where the sheep and lamb outnumber the human population. The Americans were assuming that the Iraqis just had money lying around to procure food for events like the American army does.

Apparently, five thousand U.S. dollars for the purpose of buying equipment, materials and such luxuries that the battalion commander deems necessary; is supposed to trickle down from the Iraqi Ministry of Defense to their Divisions, then to their Brigades and finally to their Battalions. In over ten months of working with this battalion, the money has never made it to them.

The second tasking was to come up with a new name for the base. We can’t call it a FOB anymore, because it is in Iraq and suggesting Iraqis are forward deployed in their own country is a bit absurd. The battalion commander I work with isn’t the most creative guy. So, I suggested that in the American military places and buildings are named for Soldiers who have served the army and nation, and we honor them as such. The night one of his company commanders died I suggested to name the base in his honor, or perhaps the headquarters building or the dining facility.

The day before the big event, they choose to name this base “MooOscar Hamise” which literally translates to Camp Thursday, and the American officers really liked that so they included it in the ceremony as well as a moment of silence.

The day of the ceremony the rest of my team drove over an hour to participate along with a convoy of Iraqi Soldiers and Officers from the battalion. We must have seemed lackadaisical to the other Americans, then again we had no role in this event.

This promised to be a hootenanny and surely a media circus with public affairs, combat photographers, Al Jazher and other news outlets covering the event, though I am sure it received no attention back in the States. With a price tag on our heads my team is a wee bit camera shy. So we generally were in the background.

An hour or so beforehand an American captain got short with me because things weren’t happening fast enough for him. I asked him, “sir isn’t this an American event?” He replied, “No this is an Iraqi run event.” To which I countered, “So let the Iraqis run it their way, sir.” This did not go over well, and he went into a little diatribe about if they ran it the event wouldn’t happen, and I was not being a team player and so on.

I found my buddy here, another Sergeant First Class who was at the hospital five nights ago with me and was a mutual outlet of commiseration. We decided to sit on the roof of the headquarters building over watching the ceremony prepared to shoot any would be bad guys. It was also a great place to heckle the speakers without anyone but us hearing it.

The late morning sun beat down on us as we listened to the emcee and then the translator scanning the horizon, the walls, the gates and passing traffic. We watched a giant sheet cake from the American base come in resting on the turret of a Hummer and pedestrians move in usual and suspicious ways. We called the Iraqi quick reaction force to investigate, and then sweat out about a liter of water.

The brigade commanders American and Iraqi spoke, then the provincial governor spoke and another dignitary, whom I cannot recall. What I do recall was the similarities to watching a Kung Fu movie. The speaker would say a few words in Arabic, and then the translator and apparently speech writer would talk in English for a long time. Granted there are nuances and subtleties to Arabic but the translator seemed to be embellishing.

During this the supply officer from the battalion I advise and the manager of the dining facility were working feverishly to get the food in the headquarters. I did not think they would be successful but they proved me wrong. I am told it was a nice presentation. I can only attest to the aftermath which was filthy.

Once again, I see hope and potential where the Iraqis see only harsh conditions. I see beauty where they see only normalcy. This camp has a future and the potential to be the crown jewel in this area. It also has the potential to become a dump and remain in disarray. The question is how soon will the officers from this battalion step into their new role as leaders? How soon will they see that they do not need to rely on Americans to solve their problems? Time will tell.

Rogue 3 OUT

There by the Grace of God Go I

2005-07-26T11:24:00.000-04:00

Providing an update has proved challenging for some time now. What I can and cannot report weighed against what is something worthy of reporting and what is crap, has plagued me for the last few weeks. I will bring you up to speed.

Recently, I moved to another base to help the Iraqis setup their new home. The politics and poor decisions by both Iraqi and American officers was the bane of my existence for several weeks. The Americans wanted us to move on a particular date, no questions asked. The Iraqis after thirty five years of oppression were willing to pack up and move with less notice.

After a brief recon we forced the Iraqis to ask their leadership for assistance, as most of the life support (food, water, bathrooms, etc.) would be moved with the American unit that was currently occupying the base. Meaning we would have to start from scratch in a lot of areas. Essentially, the leadership failed because no one but the advisors at the battalion level were asking the how and why questions. This of course was seen as insubordination.

Since I arrived here there hasn’t been much to report because it would read worse than stock report. It would be like the reading Star Wars episode II in soft back, including a lot of political intrigue, trade negotiations, bizarre customs and different cultures working together. The difference is my story would not include a fem fetal with hair designed by Dairy Queen and no “light saber” battles.

My patience and trust of an officer whom I considered a friend was tested on several occasions. It was difficult when I choose the harder right over the easy wrong.

Yesterday, I got an email that I had received a package. Today it arrived with a contingent of Iraqis from our old base. The battalion commander was here to brief his brigade commander and the American brigade commander on our movement progress and the combat readiness of the battalion, now and upon arrival.

I briefed the battalion commander and helped him focus on what was critical to the success of the movement, and then had to “dime out” an officer to his boss. So, my day started out well. This would not be the end of the strain.

I was scheduled to hitch a ride to this meeting at yet another base, with American unit who left early, with me standing in the scorching afternoon sun. I radioed the brigade to get a ride, and sure enough they held the meeting for a while so I could attend. I missed a good portion, but arrived just as the battalion commander of the unit I advise began to speak.

He covered all of the key points, raised our concerns and asked for a favor I bet him we would not get. I won. The briefing went well, and I had high hopes to return to our base and open my mail celebrating a fairly good day.

The battalion commander’s convoy left a several minutes before mine, as I was being introduced to key personnel at the new brigade team. As they left to go back to our old base their convoy was struck by an improvised explosive device.

The radio at the brigade crackled to life as the contact was reported by nearby units responding to a damaged Iraqi truck. The Americans sent trucks to secure the scene and treat any casualties. We tried to piece together what was going on via the radio traffic from our location.

There were five patients total, but one merely had superficial wounds, was treated at the triage point and returned to duty. The other four were listed as urgent or critical, and rushed to a treatment center. I had already gotten one name of the injured, a company commander and was concerned.

Our convoy departed to the American base where they were receiving treatment. I know we were moving quickly but it seemed like we were crawling at a snail’s pace. I couldn’t make the truck go any faster and I was frustrated.

We arrived and I was nervous for lack of a better adjective when we got to the aid station. I was at odds with myself and I recognized it but couldn’t put my finger on what was wrong. A major, another sergeant and I entered the building to get an update, where we were greeted by a female Soldier.

I asked her if she had any Iraqi Soldiers and she indicated yes, but they were currently being treated. I asked to see them and she first took me to roster of patients. I collected names and injuries then again asked to see them to positively identify them. She took me to one that was coherent and suddenly I forgot how to say, “how are you” in Iraqi. Odd because it’s part of normal conversation so much that even if you left someone for a minute you would be expected to ask again upon your return.

The Soldier recognized me, but was heavily sedated due to a neck injury. I told him he would be alright in English and touched his shoulder. He seemed to understand. I had a moment of clarity and again asked to see the Iraqis so I could identify their faces.

This time I was granted access to the room where they were. Two were stable but only one was coherent. I recognized them from their convoy into our base that morning. One was the gunner and suffered a severe shrapnel wound. Another had sustained a gunshot wound to his leg.

The third was the one I was most concerned with, a major and company commander was lying on a table naked, as all of the patients in this room were with bandages, cables and tubes attached to them. A man was performing chest compressions on him, and I remember thinking, he looked fatter than he was. I was in another place. I heard and saw everything but it was like I couldn’t process it all.

I heard a voice going over the steps they had taken thus far, including compressions, drugs and the like. Hours later I would recognize the review before the doctor calls the time of death. Then however, I was mostly out of the moment and in the way, so I moved out of the room.

There were several other Soldiers waiting outside the room, some watched me, some watched the doctors. I could fee eyes boring into me. I turned away to get some more information and when I returned a blanket was over the officer’s body.

I asked if he was stable so he too could be transported, but deep down I knew it wasn’t good. “No, he didn’t make it”, a voice said to me. “Jesus… and shit,” were all I could muster as a reply, as I stared at the body in front of me for what seemed like an eternity.

In the American Army we train senior sergeants, like me, to deal with our own expired Soldiers on the battle field. But this wasn’t an American and this was a field hospital. I froze not knowing what to do. I started to turn away, but then turned back, morbidly drawn to the sight of the now lifeless body.

Now numb, I recorded the time of his death, and whatever else I thought was important enough to ask about at the time. Clearly my mind was not there. I looked to my right to see the last of the three Soldiers being loaded on a truck to be flown to a recovery hospital nearby.

I walked over to the ambulance and could see two of the three were awake. I said to them, “Khuli Zein Fojoulkhamis,” which means their battalion is excellent. A dumb thing to say, but words were escaping me. I wanted them to know I was there. I wanted them to hear a friendly voice, but couldn’t express myself.

Then I thought of an expression I have become known for saying in the battalion. Another advisor taught me to say, “Deesh Neesh De Ja Ja”. The literal translation is inappropriate, as it describes the act of procreation between a rooster and hen. It is crass and Zen-like at the same time but it makes them laugh when I say it.

I reached out and touched the ankle of one of the Soldiers and said the expression. I knew they couldn’t respond verbally, but I got two heads moving, and the one whose ankle I was holding moved his foot to make contact with me as an unspoken acknowledgement. Shortly afterward, I went back inside to work out the details of the body and make sure my notes were in order.

I commented to the other sergeant who came in with me, “you know no matter how much I say they piss me off, this still hurts.”

When I returned to our new base, the battalion commander was still there, which I thought was odd because I expected they would have been long gone by now. I knew the look on my face was grim, and I fought with myself internally how to present this. My hands were shaking, and my voice was shaky as well.

By the time the interpreter arrived, I was already able to explain the officer was dead in my broken Iraqi. So the interpreter’s shock at the news was expected but a bit of a hindrance. I got him back on track and explained the extent of his wounds and the efforts of the medical personnel who exhausted every means to revive their compatriot but ultimately were not successful.

We sat there and my battle buddy SFC G arrived to help me deal with the situation. I wanted to stay with them and help them work this out, and at the same time I desperately wanted to leave. We mourned the loss and I tried to remember his life.

If there were such an award, he would have won the most improved officer. He was tasked as a company commander of an Infantry company, a job he was absolutely horrible at. He was so bad at that job the Iraqi battalion commander tried once to get rid of him, until someone suggested he be put in another company. He was the butt of many jokes because of this and because his name translates to “Thursday” in English.

He was named the company commander of the motor transport company. His role would be to ensure the readiness and composition of the battalion’s vehicles. In this job he found his comfort zone and to a large extent his rhythm.

He was the first officer to PT in the morning and the first to trust his sergeants to accomplish tasks. He was good at this job because he did it in the old army. He excelled at it, and we American’s gave him more support than his Iraqi chain of command.

When I got back to my room, I checked my email to find a note from home about a car accident. Twice I started a reply, then simply typed, “I am physically fine. I just watched one of my Iraqi Officers pass. You’ll have to solve this on your own.”

Then I started the therapy of writing it all down, to relive it one more time for me and to a lesser extent for him.

Rogue 3 OUT

Being Political and Stuff

2005-07-20T11:20:00.000-04:00

One of the really cool things about the military is the cross section of humanity you come in contact with while in uniform. I’ve met folks who, to coin an expression are without a doubt from the blue states and those who are not only from red states but will pummel you for thinking otherwise.

To suggest there is any correlation between job types and political leanings is more challenging than you might expect. Stereotypes would suggest that the combat arms jobs would produce more conservative views than say a Soldier from the Judge Advocate Corps, (legal). However, this is not always the case.

Some folks back home have this notion that Soldiers simply accept the political decisions made in Washington, or that we collectively are not politically involved. That we incorrectly defend the nation rather than the constitution. These are all falsehoods. Most agree we are the, “on-the-ground” negotiators that resolve the conflicts that cannot be resolved in Washington or New York.

Sometimes, I’ve encountered those with particularly strong political views from some who struggle to formulate a cogent thought. When someone raises a particularly sticky subject that has far reaching political ramifications I enjoy sitting back and watching the fireworks from opposing sides.

For example the notion of female Soldiers, or women for you civilians, in combat has again come up as a topic of debate. Perhaps it is as a result of the numbers of female Soldiers who have been killed in action, awarded for bravery, or the shortage of recruits. Using females to fulfill shortages is not a new concept to military leaders.

The debate is heated by what is vs. the perceived “what should be”. I’ve heard arguments that women are the fairer sex and cannot compete with men. Counter to that I’ve heard that women can tolerate more pain and discomfort, (childbirth) than a man. The fact is that women are in the military and are working in roles that place them in harms way.

Women can have any job in the military except those roles traditionally defined as combat arms; artillery, infantry, or cavalry. Women can be truck drivers, military police, medical, supply, or finance personnel, and a myriad of other job titles in today’s Army.

Here’s the best part though. To suggest that any of these jobs have any less risk is simply absurd. Do women directly face the enemy daily? A significant many do. Not all of them necessarily, but they do face the fear of attack daily when in this theater of operations.

Convoys are engaged daily around this country which would risk the lives of male and female truck drivers, or military police, and frequently, our bases are attacked with indirect fire. It is a hostile environment, with no real front line unlike more traditional wars of the past. So to imply that women cannot handle the rigors of combat is fool hearty, because they are facing it now, and in some cases better than their male brethren. Still people will discuss women in the military as if it’s not currently a reality.

The issue of debate is a regular pastime for Soldiers both deployed and non-deployed. There are forums for this sort of thing including the Internet, Starts & Strips, or the Army Times. Recently, in the Starts and Strips one Soldier wrote a diatribe laced with innuendo and outright sarcasm about the risks Soldiers face at particular bases in Iraq.

The next several editions included rebuttals which ranged from logic based arguments, to the group hug from the Chaplin’s representative, to a message dripping with sarcasm of it’s own, and finally one well thought out rebuttal indicating the original letter was absolute bunk.

The fact is this country is dangerous no matter where you are stationed. Some areas experience more violence than others. Some bases have more creature comforts than others. The differences make for fodder of who is better than the other. This too is a moot argument, but entertaining to hear or read.

Recruiting is yet another devil in the details for the leaders of this nation to work out. It is clear the military after years of downsizing is in need of enlargement, but the question remains, how? The recruiting commands of the four major services have reported lower numbers or having missed the target numbers on more than one occasion in the past year.

Two big issues up for debate are raising the age limit for new recruits from 35 to 42, and of course the political career killer - the draft. In the July 19th edition of the Army Times reported some details of a, “urgent wartime support” package that included a number of changes to the bonuses given to Soldiers for enlisting or re-enlisting. It also included a request to raise the maximum age for new recruits.

On the one hand it would bring in a few more recruits at the same time, recruiters don’t normally go after the High Schooler and their parents. That is when they try to sell the military life to prospective Soldiers they do have to convince the parents, but not to go through it with their son or daughter.

What would be the point of expanding the age limit? If someone really intended to join they would have by 35. At that age you start to feel your mortality and you don’t have the blinders of youth. What most 36 year olds do have is steady income, a stable home if not mortgage payment as well as other loans to be paid off. Very few would want to put their lives in that much upheaval for patriotism.

I think a lot of it is bravado, and perhaps some regret. I know these feelings because as a reservist you fee the same thing when the President deploys troops to negotiate what cannot be negotiated without things that go boom. At the same time you are thinking about the mortgage, the family, the upheaval that would ensue.

As a Drill Sergeant, I’ve trained 30+ year olds and that was challenging. Physically, their bodies were not accustomed to the rigors of the Army life, and that was “basic training”, not combat. Given the obesity and poor health of most Americans, the cataclysmic change that occurs in basic would be a tough go for the potential Soldier, it’s tough on 18 year olds. If new young recruits have to “prepare” themselves for basic training with an exercise plan, how much training will someone need who hasn’t exercised in years need?

Lets not forget the mental aspect of basic training. At 40 you are pretty well set in your ways. To be frank, we use the inexperience of youth against them to mold them into a better person, with a strong moral compass to guide them in tough situations. One has to be in pretty dire conditions to look to the military as a viable answer at 35 plus years of age.

Did someone say draft? Sure that too has been tossed around frequently. On the one hand it would be great if everyone served their community, their country, but that simply isn’t realistic. If you force someone into servitude, how willing are they to perform the really tough jobs? I’m not old enough to remember the draft. My Army has been an army of volunteers. But I have seen, “go to war or go to jail Soldiers”, who like me made a choice to serve, albeit for other than altruistic reasons.

As I see it, training a new Soldier is challenging enough when they choose to be there, for a myriad of reasons. There are rules about what I can and cannot do as a trainer and Drill Sergeant. Some of these rules are very restrictive, and counter productive, though they exist for a good reason.

Some knuckle head decided they could do whatever they wanted and abused the power inherent as a Drill Sergeant. So private Joe/Jane got upset and took the action of notifying the chain of command. When there is merit to the claim the rules have worked.

In other cases the privates get worked up about the rigors of being in the military and then manipulate the system to their advantage. In these instances the rules may not be working. Now consider the complexity that the Soldier did not choose to be there in the first place.

The military has always been a bit of a social pietry dish, growing and changing with society at large and many times before society at large. Because of this and because Soldiers are just as apt to discuss the issues of the day, I suppose I’ll be entertained for the duration of my career.

There’s a lot of pride in serving and weather you hear it from a Soldier or not they are usually proud of their service. That pride is never more apparent than when the powers that be in Washington suggest changing our military in some way, even if it is for the good of the military or the nation.

Rogue 3 OUT

New Digs

2005-07-14T07:11:00.000-04:00

A few days ago I arrived at a new Forward Operating Base (FOB), we’ll call Paul Bunyan. Not the actual name but I was just staring at a large Palm and it made me think of the legendary lumberjack, and I couldn’t tell you the exact name if you asked. I digress.

Why am I here you may ask? The battalion I advise is being ordered to move here. Short story is some officer in the Advisory chain wants to get a good evaluation from his time here. The longer and detailed story is neither pretty nor good reading. I know this because I have to write progress reports and they aren’t any fun to read.

So I and one other Advisor SSG L, along with 30 Iraqi Soldiers and Officers are here to make accommodations for the battalion. There are two problems the first being that the Americans who occupy the FOB are still here and not moving for a while. The second is all of the life support that was here for them is moving with them, or just going away.

By life support I mean showers, toilets, food service, waste removal service, housing, power and water. We haven’t even begun to address things like communications or operations here. The issue is that while the American military can supply most of these things either directly or via a contract, the Iraqi Army cannot, at least not yet.

The American unit here has been very helpful and supported us in our endeavors to take ownership of the FOB. At the same time, while many have worked with the Iraqi Army before they are not used to living with them in such close proximity. Frequently, I’ll be asked to assuage their fears about them with weapons and so on. I comply, because I am sure if the tables were turned I would be doing the same. We all fear what we don’t understand.

Parts of the nearby town are still pretty violent and others very quiet. The New Iraqi Army and the American Army have conducted many operations to quell the insurgency and keep the peace, including raids and displays of firepower along with actual engagements with insurgent forces.

When we visited the FOB a week before our arrival it seemed to be a few degrees cooler than our FOB near Baghdad, and we suggested the same the day we arrived. Yet the last two days I thought for sure I was either in purgatory if not at the gates of hell itself with the temperatures topping 125 in the sun.

At night things are much nicer. The town rolls up it’s sidewalks partly because of the curfew and partly because the areas surrounding this FOB are rural. At night the temperature plummets to the mid to lower 80s, still warm but not the dragon’s breath of the daylight.

Last night I walked along a palm tree lined walkway gazing up into the stars and at the haze from the humidity around the moon trying to collect the random thoughts floating in my head. I heard almost nothing save the occasional nocturnal creature’s movement. I tasted the dust in the air, and smelled the pungent odors of Iraq, some sweet and some very sour and unpleasant.

I heard in the distance the sound of outgoing fire. The big guns of a Field Artillery battery were letting the locals know to adhere to the rules.

The cocktail of sight, sound and smell transported me to another place. My mind was caught between remembering other places and embracing what I had in front of me now. I was in the Iraq from 15 years ago, and the Fallujah of last year. I was in every back water hole I’ve visited in my career and I was someplace completely new.

I am still continually amazed at the amount of potential here in this country, and then repulsed at the quantity that is wasted. We make so much progress and then recede apparently into a year ago.

The struggles in setting this place up will be formidable given the resistance we are getting from our higher headquarters who simply wants us to move now with out question and without thought to the process.

What is a struggle is that American Officers in the advisory capacity at our higher headquarters seem to thwart our progress, and forget that our role is to advise, coach and mentor, not take the lead. Because taking the lead will result in the Iraqis following, it will result in their receding to a year ago. They respond to American leadership, but we cannot let that be the norm or we’ll be here for many years to come.

I was even ordered to, “make the move happen”, by one of my superiors, not on my team. I responded that it would be detrimental to the progress of the Battalion, and a breech of trust I’ve earned with the Iraqis for providing sound advice and guidance. Moreover, it would be outside the role of the Advisor and more the role of a battalion officer which I am not.

I look forward to spending this time here and observing the small detachment of Soldiers prove their worth to a new unit, and to their peers by working in austere conditions.

“Rogue 3 OUT”

Standing Back

2005-07-03T14:46:00.000-04:00

A week ago, an American helicopter was shot down near my base using an improvised rocket launcher. Since we’ve been conducting continuous operations in the area around the crash site and estimated point of origin, being disgruntled neighbors.

The week has been a blur with days and nights blending. If it wasn’t for the detailed notes about the detainees and patrols that I feed to the intelligence section I couldn’t tell you one day from the next. Events that happened yesterday I might mistake for five days ago. On that note, here are some of the highlights in no particular order.

Stepping out of the HUMVE to search something and the heat hitting you like the heat penetrates and oppresses you like when you step outside on a humid August day from an air conditioned space. It happened several times every day, so it’s not significant but your weather perceptions of Iraqi are currently true.

A lowly E7 controlling fixed and rotary wing assets, along with a scout platoon, and two infantry companies moving towards my position to assist with the search of an area where a high value target ran. That event just made me feel inadequate.

Rolling out of the gate with M1s leading and trailing our convoy for security. That gave me warm memories of being a tanker. The smell of JP8 exhaust and the hydraulic fluids leaking an a track that is in dire need of a maintenance day.

The smell and sweet steady thud of a 240 machine gun firing followed by the sound of brass in links hitting the roof of the HUMVE.

Seeing the dichotomy between homes never ceases to amaze me, and though I try to block it out reminds me how far this country has to go to be considered more than a third world country.

Seeing kids running off a bridge and jumping into a canal to cool off, or the security guard walking down into the canal swimming off and walking out the other side on his way home from a long hot day in the sun.

Watching Iraqi Soldiers dismantle a palate of MREs (Meals Ready to Eat) in the span of four hours.

Warning shots fired after a man running. This is significant because they were firing shots to “scare”. Meaning they were shooting randomly into the air at a target that was already one thousand meters out, as they chased him down. Keep in mind these guys hate running more than five hundred meters with no body armor, helmet or weapon. Apparently, they morph into Carl Lewis when they get to shoot however.

Acknowledgement from the American battalion commander that the Iraqis I advise are good Soldiers, and fully capable.

Diarrhea.

I enjoyed getting Iraqi citizens to trust me enough to provide information on hostile persons and their activities. Almost as pleasing was getting a dog to stop barking simply by looking at it, and of course the jokes about the cow that was totally freaked out with our presence.

Eating three meals in one day, and sleeping eight hours.

I tweaked the settings on our Internet connection repairing our access. Then getting email from my wife, and friends.

Drinking three red bulls® in the span of an hour and still passing out two hours later.

The intoxicating smell of cordite from the “show of force”, consisting of several Hellfire rockets and chain gun fire from the Apache helicopters followed by a few well placed five hundred pound bombs.

The terrifying sound of another American screaming on the radio for a medivac, and then pride of seeing the Iraqi Soldiers fan out to search for the trigger man. Followed by the gratitude of the Americans who observed the Iraqis moving with efficiency and experience to help a fallen comrade.

Being able to tell two completely different stories about the same event of SFC T and I working together to stick an Iraqi medic who passed out from dehydration. He tells how he had to stick the guy four times because the keystone cop-esque medics couldn’t do it or hold his arm down. I tell that part and the part about me asking the American brigade commander who walked by if he was a medic.

Having a very itch trigger finger but no targets.

Watching a new company commander blossom into a good company commander.

“Rogue 3 OUT”

Am I Jaded?

2005-07-01T14:43:00.000-04:00

When I linked up with this Iraqi Battalion there was a Marine Captain M who had been with the Iraqi battalion since day zero. I was trying to work out what kind of person he was when it became obvious to me he was burnt out from working with the Iraqis. I made notes on his behavior and hoped I would never become that fried and jaded. Then again the Marines typically rotate after six to eight months while the Army rotates after a year.

In and advisory capacity the six month barrier is significant. It is challenging enough leading troops in a harsh environment, with the multiplier of different cultural and societal norms along with our own perceptions of how things should be it can be overwhelming to some.

It is even more challenging working through the lens that an interpreter shades all conversations. While the interpreters we have are native Iraqis and they understand English there is an issue with context. It is this context that is most troubling.

With American English and especially within the American Army we are very black and white in our speech, very matter of fact and to the point. We even teach young leaders to speak and write with the bottom line up front. The subtleties and nuances of the English language are often ignored, lost in brief, rapid fire, staccato messages peppered with acronyms and jargon all designed to reduce time and streamline communications.

Arabic is a significantly older language, and Iraqi language is a blending of many languages having taken bits from the Europeans, Turkish, Romans, Egyptians and every other culture and empire that came through the cradle of civilization, for trade or imperialism.

In most human communication eighty percent of the message isn’t spoken. In Iraqi that number is slightly lower with some words having many different meanings depending on the context and still several words to apply emphasis or graduated meanings to words. The changing of one vowel sound might change the context of the word significantly. That and they seem to yell at each other a lot, even when it is a cordial discussion.

Still, with some of our interpreters there is another angle in that they have ulterior motives with what they say. Everyone on my team has used the phrase, “translate exactly what I say,” prior to speaking, and that becomes frustrating, because the impression at that time is the interpreter is focusing on intent rather than the message.

We know the interpreters cannot keep up with everything we say, but they get the meaning. They then have to translate what they deduce is the exact message, apply the appropriate context and then speak in their native tongue.

For the Iraqis themselves I find myself, “blowing up”, over the same small stuff they have been told about a thousand times. I have found myself screaming at a man who doesn’t understand me and watching a helpless interpreter’s brain mashing through the message.

My first senior advisor MAJ Z, wrote to some other advisors regarding an article in the NY Times that called one Iraqi unit, “special” and in the same article quoted another advisor who, “got used to the Iraqis pointing their weapons at you.” MAJ Z debunked the article with his experience and expertise.

That article and the image of CPT M are like the angel and devil on my shoulders with each incident, in which I have to correct an Iraqi. It comes down to showing an Iraqi the right way calmly vs. showing an Iraqi the right way with violence of action.

With the citizenry we interact with on a daily basis and they too can provide both rewarding and tiresome experience. Sometimes it is the child being silly and running around like any other, or the wife or mother who can find humor in a stressful situation of her husband or son being interrogated or detained. Still sometimes the locals aren’t friendly or forthcoming and they cause problems with our work.

I have pictures and some short movies of kids acting like, well kids. They show off for the camera just like American kids and the predictability is comforting. They can make me laugh, and then there are kids who have become accustomed to American generosity and demand a football or a dollar or chocolate. It’s like a welfare mentality that American Service persons will automatically give them something. One of my teammates MSG W has taken to yelling, “shut up” as we drive by, though they cannot hear him.

The mothers and wives who normally would hide in the presence of an American/ strange man/ non-Muslim, are now in some instances showing their faces, weeping openly and inciting their children to do the same.

During one of our searches I had a mother come up to our patrol pleading for the release of her son who was detained a few minutes prior down the road and surely witnessed by her neighbors. She begged us to let him go and unknowingly produced more evidence to detain him, in the hopes it would keep him out of jail. Her son had one falsified and expired ID card on his person, she produced a second.

Here’s the thing though. Any of the encounters could be innocuous or hostile sometimes the trigger between the two is glaring and others a subtlety. I think I need to seek the assistance of a mental health professional. Maybe I’ll just take a day off from them and hide out.

“Rogue 3 OUT”

Continuous Operations

2005-06-28T23:43:00.000-04:00

In the last 36 hours I’ve gotten six hours of broken sleep, so if this doesn’t make any sense and winds up reading like Andy Rooney then you’ll know why.

We started one mission for a nearby American that was to begin at five am, but we would depart at two am to be there on time. Moreover, the officer in charge treated the Iraqi officer present with great disrespect, during the planning phase. It was an embarrassing start to what would work out to be a fairly good mission.

Given the start time I stayed awake the previous night so I wouldn’t be late. We left in darkness and drove as my mother would phrase it, “around robin hood’s barn.” Though I still don’t get that expression we did drive a significant distance circuitously. I was hopped up on caffeine and diet pills. Aside, the department of defense won’t let the PX sell no-doze® and the like but you can buy all the diet pills you want which contain almost twice the caffeine that no-doze® does.

We arrived and began our search. As we neared completion with the sun breaking the sky in front of us we saw six military aged males standing on a rooftop. Sleeping outside is perfectly normal during the warm months here in Iraq, but the number and location was a bit of a concern. We requested and received to continue our search outside our zone to include this house. We found three AK 47s in a haystack and then two more on the roof of an nearby shed. When we asked the homeowner, he said something I’ve never heard since I arrived here, and admission of ownership. He freely admitted the weapons were his. This would prove to be a point of contention later, but I digress.

We detained this man and waited for an interrogation team to arrive at the house. Almost two hours later we decided to bring the man to them. Before I could move him, I had to follow up on a neighbor who wanted to “spill his guts”. This man told us of visits from, “bad men” who threatened and kidnapped people. He also said the old man (in the house with the weapons) was a tribal leader who provided protection for the neighborhood. This bodes well for the man, since he had four weapons too many at his house.

We then spoke to the leader who said he used the weapons to provide security for his family and tribe, and the weapons had to be hidden each morning so they would be safe when the men, his sons, went to work. I told the haji (one who has made the pilgrimage) that I believed him and I would argue this point for him.

The American unit provided an intelligence person who said, “oh sure, they always admit when you catch them with the evidence.” I asked him if he was kidding, and he said no. I told him in the last eight months even when the evidence is right in front of them, and Iraqi man will deny any wrong doing, and I have never had one admit they owned more than one weapon. This was not enough evidence and when we left the man was still in custody along with four of his five weapons. We did leave one for his family’s defense.

We arrived back at our battalion area where another mission was gearing up to leave. This was a scheduled mission, however we received a change of mission at the last minute. We would be providing security and conducting searches for a twenty four hour operation for the foreseeable future.

I finished some reports from the first mission, coordinated some resources and then slept for an hour or so. MAJ B, insisted on going out with the ten pm shift and I would take the six am shift. I stayed awake working with American units until they were well gone. Finally, I slept for three solid hours.

I woke early only to find I was the only one who was awake for the six am shift. I woke my teammates some of whom just came in three hours before. When we arrived at our mission base, I relived MAJ B, and then worked with an American Captain I’ve had success with in the past.

The captain however, had been out on this mission for over twenty four hours already. I let him sleep as much as possible, allowing time to feed the Iraqis, receive the mission and make their plans to execute it, only waking him after fifteen or thirty minute increments.

Finally, we moved to our search area and began searching. The first find was a guy with an identification card that had been tampered with. They took the card but not the guy, which is worthless so I sent them back for the guy, who now had left for work at an unknown location.

Next the second platoon found the brother of a man this Iraqi battalion has searched for in the past. They asked if we could detain him for questioning about his brother’s whereabouts and were given permission to detain him.

I was bouncing in and out of consciousness when my interpreter told me the third platoon had captured some weapons boxes with grenades, and…. I stopped him there and asked where? Once I had the location I found the American Captain and we both went to the house.

We detained one man who had a number of items that alone would be enough to detain him, but combined was pretty damning. We would later visit this guy’s house and siblings to the chagrin of his family.

The days and operations will continue and hopefully we’ll develop a good rhythm of time on and time off. Thus far the details of most operations just blend into one big operation memory. I know I can keep this up, but I don’t know for how long.

No Training Day

2005-06-15T10:31:00.000-04:00

Our team of advisors has grown from our original ten to twenty, with augmentation from our sister American unit. The new NCOs and enlisted are tasked with working with the Sergeants and Officers at the company level while we focus on the battalion staff. We have an experienced group of NCOs who have all served here before and understand tactics and leadership at the company level.

We’ve been integrating them into our daily activities and we’ve seen gains in our productivity as well as the progress of the Iraqis. Our fourth company is perhaps the strongest with a very strong charismatic company commander, and good Sergeants making disciplined well trained Jenoud (Soldiers). We took a risk by assigning SSG P to be the company advisor for them. SSG P, is opinionated and vocal about it. Our gamble was his insistence on standards and action would compliment the “godfather” approach used by the Iraqi commander.

I spent some time with the 4th company’s young 1st lieutenant executive officer (2nd in command) on conducting a map reconnaissance, and troop leading procedures the day before his patrol. I hoped to set him up for success the next day with SSG P.

The morning of was the first morning the temperature topped 115. The wave of heat that envelops you as you exit an air-conditioned space in this heat is not unlike the blast of heat you feel when you open the oven to check on the cookies mom is baking. The difference is the oven provides a dry heat, the humidity here is palpable and the heat wraps around your entire body, not just your face.

You can feel the pores on your arms open and immediately perspire under your shirt sleeves. The heat like an entity in your daily life works its way into your entire being. Your shirt becomes pressed to the undergarment that is already drenched with sweat and clinging to your skin held in place by the body armor, which you find yourself moving to catch the slightest breeze. Even if it is one hundred and ten degree air it is moving and that helps make it bearable.

What was a simple patrol in a quiet village North of our base became a valuable learning tool. On the patrol itself MAJ B drove, SFC F, was our gunner, and SSG P provided his own gun truck and crew while the Lieutenant provided three technical pickups with about twenty Jenoud.

The lieutenant was conditioned to the old Iraqi army in which all orders came from a single source and the officers directed everything. The enlisted no matter their grade were just enlisted. Not to be trusted with more than a can opener, much less the actions of a platoon of thirty Jenoud.

Breaking him of that habit would prove painful, on this day and future missions. Both SSG P and I incessantly commented to him with deficiencies, he with his leadership style and I with the tactics of the mission. I would warn the troops were spreading out too far on one side, and SSG P would get on him about using the Sergeants to correct the problem rather than doing it himself. I would hound him about his position within the patrol, and SSG P would echo the comment then berate the lieutenant for telling the Soldiers in the back to stop instead of telling the Sergeant to have the Soldiers in the front move out.

Unrehearsed, this tactic is how we spent the first thirty minutes of the patrol, the barrage was taxing on our interpreter who sometimes struggled to keep up with us verbally. Sweating, berating, and walking. It was a day in the park. Near the end of the zones we were patrolling, he was starting to get it.

We reached our end point and remounted our vehicles and began the drive back to the base with our HUMVEs mixed in between the pickups. As we moved along the road paralleling the Tigirs river I was lulled by the blast of air conditioning and the hum of the tires on the road. I may have even dozed off, I know mentally I wasn’t there.

I heard the distinctive pop and thud followed by the instant vacuum of air of an explosion. “IED, IED IED” I called out as I quickly returned from wherever my mind was. We turned around and saw a plume of smoke, and smelling of gasoline. I immediately began calling SSG P’s truck on the radio. No response. We stopped and I then heard the distinctive sound of AK-47 fire as I exited the truck.

In my field of view I could see the pickup behind a dissipating cloud of smoke followed by the HUMVE with no damage and SSG P on the ground moving quickly. “Aahguff” (stop) I yelled, my interpreter was on my heals yelling in Iraqi to cease fire, as we moved to the pickup. Next I heard the machine gun on the lieutenant’s truck which was leading the convoy open up. I yelled to the interpreter, but he was already on the radio to stop that, as MAJ B called on my radio to say he was going to stop the lieutenant.

Quickly, we cordoned off the area and began searching, one of the Jenoud was yelling and pointing down into a road side canal when I approached and saw a small boy no more than twelve years old crying out, having clearly soiled his pants. His bicycle lay just feet from his hiding position. I spoke calmly to him and my interpreter translated as I offered my hand to help him up. He kept crying out about his brother. When I found out this information I directed the Sergeant to look for his brother. What I meant was look for his remains.

I consulted with the lieutenant about courses of action, and then directed him with what to do given his lack of a response. I turned around to find the child to question him some more, but the Jenoud (Soldiers) had let him go. I was enraged. I tactic we’ve seen nearby is children being used to emplace IEDs, or roadside bombs. A possible scenario is the boy was using a cover story, or his brother was in fact there, either way he had no idea the explosion would be as big as it was. Perhaps he didn’t know it would explode.

As I came to grips with this issue, I learned the lieutenant was in the house searching instead of leading his platoon on the road. I had the interpreter call for him, when another Sergeant suggested searching the house adjacent the first, and I sent him with a team.

Finally, I thought the situation was under control, when SSG P and his truck opened fire. Just as the AK-47 makes a distinctive sound, American weapons make a distinctive sound as well. I ran to his position and he said he observed two men run from an orchard to a truck and attempt to make a get away. He fired warning shots striking but not damaging or slowing the vehicle.

Meanwhile MAJ B, was calling me on the radio to get a status report. I updated him and he returned with the HUMVE. The situation now seemed more controlled and shortly thereafter we went to the crater to do the blast analysis, using the HUMVE as a shield while we walked.

The hole was no more than thirty inches wide and maybe ten inches deep. The area still smelled heavily of gasoline as before. The date palm showed marks of impacts along it’s trunk and the elephant grass was splayed across the pavement.

We searched the blast area and across the road finding large metal fragments of the same general size and shape. We also found a piece of wire with what could be an arming or detonation trigger, and last we found a two liter bottle blown to bits. All of it smelled of gasoline and we deduced the bottle contained the propellant which was enough to fragment the thick metal pieces but not enough to propel them very far or fast. We took pictures and when in radio range called the report into our higher headquarters.

The valuable lessons learned will make this platoon and their leader better under fire the next time. We constantly strive to use every event as a teaching point. This will be no different. An hour later I was sitting in the dinning facility zoning out, reminding myself there are people out there who still want to kill us.

“Rogue 3 OUT”

The Army’s Birthday

2005-06-14T10:29:00.000-04:00

The Iraqi Army, well the new Iraqi army is just one year and five months old having formed in January. The “Army day” as it has been christened was celebrated locally with a parade, dignitaries and speeches from said dignitaries from both the Iraqi interim government and coalition forces. That and a rocket attack that wounded three.

The United States Army however is celebrating two-hundred and thirty years this June on Flag day.

Resolution of the Continental Congress 14 June 1775

“Resolved, that six companies of expert riflemen be immediately raised in Pennsylvania, two in Maryland and two in Virginia: that each company consist of a captain, three lieutenants, four sergeants, four corporals, a drummer or trumpeter and sixty-eight privates.

“That each company, as soon as completed, shall march and join the Army near Boston, to be there employed as light infantry under the command of the chief officer in that Army.

“That the pay of the officers and privates be as follows: a captain at 20 dollars per month, a lieutenant at 13 and 1/3 dollars, a sergeant at 8 dollars, a corporal at 7 and 1/3 dollars, a drummer (or trumpeter) at 7 and 1/3 dollars, privates at 6 and 2/3 dollars: to find their own arms and clothes.

“That the form of the enlistment be in the following words, “I have, this day, voluntarily enlisted myself as a soldier in the American Continental Army, for one year, unless sooner discharged. And I do bind myself to conform in all instances to such rules and regulations as are, or will be, established for the government of said Army.”

Two hundred and thirty years ago one army was forged during a time of hostilities though not declared war. This army was reformed during a crisis, whose similarities really end there.

Many like to draw similarities between the war in Vietnam and this war, or this war and World War II. I think though that similarities in wars from all ages can be found. Not just in tactics, politics leading up to or during, but also with the Soldiers who fight in them.

Just a few nights ago I was in the mood to watch a movie, and though I have movies I’ve not seen I choose to watch the Patriot again, having recalled the chord it struck with me the first time.

At first I was reminded with the similarities in Mel Gibson movies, man vs. state, man vs. man, and man vs. self. He does well as a character who fights the system, and survives. Then I compared our founding years with the current times here in Iraq, and while there are many disparities there are too similarities to be found.

Both had an insurgent force fighting the best most well equipped army in the world. Both had a civilian population that was mixed about the troops of the larger more imposing Army being on their land. Both had neighbors turning on neighbors. Both had a one side using fear and oppression as a tool to control the masses. Both have foreign Soldiers training a fledgling army.

One was the birth of guerrilla tactics, though it should be argued that title could be granted to the French and Indian war. The other seems to be the pinnacle of guerilla warfare. While both do have some “toe to toe” battle field engagements, the bulk of the fighting is being done wherever the combatants find themselves.

The most glaring similarity is that while both will be portrayed as being fought for liberty and democracy, arguments can be made they are or were fought over a commerce disagreement.

For Flag Day and the Army’s birthday we flew an American flag from our radio antenna against some general’s rule. We didn’t sing the birthday song or the Army song for that matter, at least the team didn’t. There’s no telling what I’m apt to sing while driving in my truck on the base.

“Rogue 3 OUT”

We Can be Heroes

2005-06-08T23:26:00.000-04:00

A couple of nights ago, I couldn’t sleep so I decided not to fight it and get some work done. Around midnight I needed some water and found my team leader MAJ B, was just returning from a detailed time consuming conversation with the Iraqi battalion commander. We were shooting the breeze about plans and upcoming operations when he got a call from the American unit we are attached to, calling him to a planning meeting going on right then and there. I offered to go, but he said he could handle it.

Still not being able to sleep I continued to work on the reports until two forty five when he returned. We discussed this new mission to be executed in a few hours. As we discussed the particulars he told me the target. Let’s just say he is a guy who has killed numerous contractors and American Soldiers having released video tapes of his crimes, he was also rumored to have been injured. He’s the kind of target that’s categorized as a “shoot on sight”.

The reports were he was using a small village near Baghdad to recover and receive treatment for his wounds. At the same time it didn’t seem to add up. There were many things that would indicate this was not valid intelligence information. Still we began the planning process with the Iraqis.

MAJ B, took our Iraqi Operations Officer LTC M, to a rehearsal with the Americans where he presented his plan and provided some key information to the American commanders they were unaware of being American. His efforts were impressive to the Americans and his suggestions were implemented.

Within hours we were lined up and moving towards our staging area where we would link up with the American unit. As we waited for our start time, we received a call that we would delay approximately thirty minutes to ensure all assets were, “on station”.

A line of HUMVEs arrived some we expected, however the number of vehicles exceeded our expectations significantly. The reason for the huge convoy was the presence of some very high ranking officers who wanted to watch the Iraqis, or be present when the target was brought in. Either way it made what is our normal convoy circus look even larger.

The convoy started and moved to the objective area. Attack helicopter and fighters were in the air, and the locals just stood and stared with apparent amazement at the size of this convoy. We passed local children waiving wildly hoping for a gift or perhaps to keep itch trigger fingers from their posts.

We eventually stopped short of our objective not for any tactical reason, but simply the convoy was so large we couldn’t move forward. We moved our assembly area into the playground of the local school that was closed for a holiday. The Jenoud (Soldiers) dismounted their trucks and moved, running in some cases around and in between HUMVES to their search areas.

We went to a clinic and while the Jenoud searched inside we found a bulletin on the clinic’s gate. The bulletin advised locals should cover the faces of young girls in the strict customs of Islam. An innocuous message at first glance, however it was written by one of the more well known cells of insurgents in the area. The good news is the local children and young women largely kept their faces open.

As we listened to the translation from our interpreter Abu Ali, (“brother Ali”, not really his name) the Jenoud came out with a sand bag full of magazines with ammunition, then shortly later an AK-47 and siminoff rifle. Now in the U.S. no clinic would keep firearms on site, it’s like combining an oil change center with a bridal shop.

Here however, there are no security systems and the doctors often live in the clinic so, “home defense”, is his responsibility. Still, two weapons is a violation of the rules set forth by the Iraqi Ministry of Defense, so one was confiscated and he was left with one hundred rounds.

The Iraqis conducted the search of the surrounding village while American forces searched the two target homes. One of the Iraqi search teams finished first and was tasked with researching the target homes to see if their experience in local culture could net anything an American may have overlooked.

MAJ B and I traveled as a buddy team never straying more than thirty meters from each other or our assembly area. One of our HUMVEs reported earlier a problem with it’s brakes and would have to be towed in. In coordinating the tow, I left him at the assembly area moving with SSG C and M to the broken truck, where I found the Americans who were to be providing the outer cordon were about two hundred meters short and the Iraqis had quickly adapted and provided their own outer cordon.

We hooked up the tow straps and as the trucks moved we stared to collapse our security, having found nothing significant except some weapons and an apparatus that could be used for an improvised explosive. I walked back with the Iraqi platoon pulling security, it was good to be out and be tactical with them again. So much time has been spent with the battalion staff I like to get out with the Jenoud every now and then to make sure they see American’s working with them not just directing their leadership.

We linked up at our assembly area and waited for the American unit that was going to escort us back to the base. Meanwhile their elements had found three machine gun barrels on one particular farmer’s property. They wanted the Iraqis to sweep the orchards there with the metal detectors. Having finished our target areas and more we were ready to call it a day. We struggled with the order but struggled even more with justification not to do it.

So MAJ B and I set out with a team of Jenoud. The Sun was starting to lower in the western sky, but the heat was no less intense as we walked. I questioned the land owners and MAJ B searched. He found nothing else, and I found two men in their mid thirties who inherited the land from their father who was a POW in the Iran-Iraq war much like Abu Ali.

They claimed to have no knowledge of the barrels, though any land owner will tell you they know all that goes on with their farms, since it is their livelihood. These two gents were teachers in a nearby school, and as such their orchards had fell into neglect. The evidence pointed that they truly didn’t know and with the hours they kept at school would leave the property unattended for hours daily.

I told them I believed them, and would not hold them responsible, but made them commit to regularly check their land and report any disturbances. They agreed to those conditions and I am hopeful they will do so.

As Abu Ali and I walked through the orchard to meet up with MAJ B, we discussed the plants on the orchard and the gardens my wife tends at home. He plucked a rose from their garden and it smelled fragrant giving it to me.

For a while the chaos of the HUMVE parking lot clearing out and the intensity of searching was far removed as I smelled the scent of the fig tree and date palms, the grapes and grass and heard the sound of children’s voices floating on the air as they played in the neighbors yard yelling to the American troops securing the area. For a while it was a serene respite.

When we finished the mission, as we normally do we conducted a review of the operation looking for ways to improve the performance but struggled to do so with the Iraqis. Sadly, we are not afforded an opportunity to offer the same observations to the American unit we work with.

“Rogue 3 OUT”

Back in the Groove

2005-06-02T23:25:00.000-04:00

While on leave my mother-in-law would fret, though never to me directly that I would become complacent while on leave and experience injury or worse when I returned. The facts are that the insurgents rarely will go toe to toe with coalition forces. They have conducted coordinated attacks and ambushes, but quickly turn and run when our guns face them.

Not to be cavalier but our biggest threats are improvised explosives and indirect fire. Neither of which offer much chance of counter measures except ducking. Indirect fire is aimed in a general direction an estimated distance from a target area, if it hits anything they are lucky. Improvised explosives are a bit trickier but you have to take some risks as a Soldier.

Before I left we were conducting joint operations with U.S. forces, and while I was gone that trend continued however with a new unit. Conducting joint operations always presents special challenges to an operation. Returning from leave just adds another layer of complexity.

We’ve conducted a number of searches on, “point targets” within a zone over the last few weeks, and the intelligence is bleeding dry. The Iraqi battalion I advise is more accustomed to working a zone and developing the intelligence within that zone, so this series of operations was a bit of a step back.

So even though it is their country, and their army will take over the security mission soon enough, many American commanders just don’t get that and refuse to relinquish any control to the Iraqis regardless of their proven competency.

The American’s aren’t catching us at our best either. The companies rotate through a schedule of training, missions, and leave. The company that is doing the missions now is a good company with strong sergeants however the company commander, while a very nice guy is not an infantry company commander. His incompetence leads to a lack of confidence which leads to more incompetence.

The first mission back I was merely riding along not having observed in the planning, nor participated in the operations order. On the second mission I was just getting used to the changes that had occurred during my absence. The latest mission I was back in full swing as the advisor to the operations officer and his section.

The mission was a success in that we satisfied the mission requirements, however with no weapons caches or detainees the Iraqis are beginning to feel less than enthusiastic about these missions, where a battalion becomes a maneuver element for a company commander.

Our goals are simple for the Iraqis, train them to be proficient at specific tasks. To take away the planning process or limit their ability to develop their own intelligence is without a doubt a step backwards, but they’ll recover quickly enough. The planning that we receive smacks of American officers “padding their resume” so to speak. So with this mission complete I was pleased to be heading back to less micromanagement.

As we traveled back the convoy seemed to forget the planned speed and we moved in a jerky fashion back to the base. Finally after about eight kilometers the speed settled , though the convoy had some gaps in between vehicles.

I found myself not paying attention to anything but the speed of the truck in front of me the scenery and the curves of the road. I was enjoying the view of the Tirgis river as we careened through a thick canopy of date palm and willow trees in this once resort community. I would look at the architecture of the homes which ranged from mud shack to mansion.

As we rounded a gentle curve, I remember thinking, “I must focus. We aren’t safe yet”, when I heard the distinctive thud of an explosion on my left. I heard MSG W ask if anyone else heard the noise as he scanned in front and behind us for smoke.

The truck in front stopped quickly and with it the rest of the convoy behind me. We pulled local security until we could determine what happened. I stepped out of the truck to sweep the road and felt the furnace like blast of heat. Returning to the relative comfort of the truck, the radio was busy with traffic from various vehicles calling status reports and information.

Through the wonders of modern technology included on American combat vehicles or just dumb luck, the device detonated in between two Humves and no injuries were reported, but there was some minor damage to a windshield. Likely the trigger man was nearby so we quickly looked for runners or clues to their whereabouts.

We sat in one position for what seemed like an eternity. I advised the operations officer who was in charge of this mission what happened, and had him check on his personnel. He told me his Soldiers and trucks were unharmed, but part of the unit had already made it back to the base. I told him to have the company commander with that element remain there where it was safe until we returned.

As we sat stationary I could feel the sweat beads forming on my brow again. I got a call from MAJ B to go around the truck in front of me. I told him it was the executive officer from the controlling American unit, and I would get him moving.

I approached his door, and said, “Sir, we need to either start searching or move out of here. We have soft skinned vehicles and I am not too happy to be sitting in the kill zone.” The first lieutenant replied he was waiting for guidance from his commander. I told him if he didn’t move we would drive around him. He acquiesced.

We moved quickly and much faster this time, suddenly up ahead I saw one of our Iraqi gun trucks fast approaching our convoy. Quickly recognizing the commander who was told to remain at the base I told my interpreter to tell him to stop and return with us.

Finally, back at base I was going through lists of deficiencies in my head in preparation for the after action review. The Americans seemed to think the mission went very well, and it did, however there was much room for improvement. I inquired with the Iraqi officer why he came back to us. He said he wanted to help. I told him he was brave for doing so, but choose a very dangerous course of action.

Later that night while sending an email to someone I haven’t spoken to in over two years, a rocket landed on the base. As usual the insurgents missed. As usual I was relaxed going about my business of getting back to my house.

Am I complacent? Not outside the base, and not when it comes to base security. Am I worried about attacks? To some extent, yes but I find it hard worry about “what ifs”. I can’t spend hours worrying about things outside my control. Though, I do worry about the things I can control.

We have an expression in the Army, “There is a fine line between hard & stupid.” I am neither hardcore nor stupid. I am just a guy.

“Rogue 3 OUT”

Last Night in Town

2005-05-24T23:24:00.000-04:00

I sat on my new couch with a dog by my side ready to inhale the sweet aroma of the port in my hand. I swirled the fluid in the snifter slowly to let the vapors rise to my nose when another odor suddenly crept in. The smell of a dog with digestive issues ruined what was a beautiful moment, at least briefly. Still the fact I could smell it was comforting in an odd sort of way, just being able to experience by all of the sights, sounds and smells of home.

While here for 15 days I’ve tried to be observant of what is important here in the states. We often think of family while over there and some of us try to think about day to day activities, but when you are in that environment it is somewhat harder to capture all of the details that are a part of normal life.

Here in central Pennsylvania, Joe Paterno’s salary is a huge deal along with the quality of opponents scheduled for the football team. The Penn State women’s basketball program lost at least two players and Mo Cheeks came home to Philly. I did not watch Trump chose a new apprentice, nor any of the NBA playoffs, any NASCAR event, or the season finale of any show, but did exercise my Internet connection.

American Idol a show which used to amuse me I found revolting and so rife with consumerism and obvious subjectivity I had to change the channel. Though, it was interesting to participate in the true American Pastime of watching television for the first time in eight months, by jingo there are a lot of shopping networks on my cable provider.

I read with mild revulsion the headlines about Jenifer Aniston trying to “fight” for Brad while waiting in the grocery store check out line. I also read with horror, the day after I arrived home the U.S. Senate approved a measure to create a national I.D. An incredibly poor idea even if it is something I already do, and specifically under the misguided auspices of national security.

Though I tried to avoid reading or watching it, the national media continues to portray the wrong image of the goings on in Iraq, while the right and left argue over the liberal-ness of the same media outlets. In global politics folks concerned themselves with the Chinese and American’s involvement in Pan-Pacific politics and economics.

Much was made over the Democrats filibuster of one of Bush’s superior circuit court appointees by the Republicans, yet the Republicans threatened to filibuster a bill presented by the Democrats in the same week. The “Republicrats” continue to drive a wedge saying the other side is so far from the center the differences are intolerable. Meanwhile, the BRAC commission decided the fate of several bases and communities in some cases.

West Perry High School students honored the lost and fallen at the wall in Washington D.C.

U. S. Senator Rick Santorum made another remark he regretted and hand to explain and or apologize for. Note to the Senator from Pennsylvania, “say what you mean, and mean what you say.”

Less than twenty percent of registered voters exercised their right to control their own destiny, in local elections. A fact I’ll avoid with the Iraqis when I return. Though most other nations have heard Americans don’t regularly vote, it will be harder to explain that than why my wife and I don’t have children yet to this fledgling democracy.

A highlight of my leave is on the twenty fifth anniversary of Mount St. Helens erupting, my sister gave birth to her first child and my parents their first grandchild. I am an uncle and both proud of my sister and only a bit freaked out.

For me I tried to remember the minutiae of daily life here. The mundane little things that most of us overlook became unique points of interest. The details that barely garner any attention because you’ve seen it a hundred times this week became very significant, like taking a sight-seeing trip in your backyard.

I made mental notes on what has changed and what has remained the same. The sight of the sunrise and sunset in my home was a spiritual experience for me. I appreciated the extremes people will go to just to see the ones they love.

I enjoyed the sound of my dogs just moving about the house, or their snoring and twitching as they dreamed. I reveled when they would search the house when one of us returned looking for the other “parent”. The sound of the neighbor’s kids playing in the street or geese flying north generated warm feelings.

I enjoyed the honeysuckle and fragrance of spring flowers, and the ducks in the nearby detention pond. I smiled to myself smelling the fresh cut grass and the cleanliness of the air.

I learned that the human touch is something you can actually crave. I stood in the rain arms outstretched looking skyward letting the clean Pennsylvania rain drops hit my face.

I remember my wife would promote the fact I was home from Iraq to anyone that would listen. How she let me have time with my guy friends and only twice asked me to help with the laundry. In my mind I see her happy and remember what she sounds like singing to whatever CD is in the car. I cherished how she would slip her hand into mine when we walked together like I’d never left.

It is good to be home.

“Rogue 3 OUT”

Mid Flight Musings

2005-05-10T17:26:00.000-04:00

The trip from Kuwait to Germany was marked with bouts of too hot. Too cold. Elbowed by SFC H a guardsman from Tennessee. Awake hungry and thirsty, then asleep. Sweating, and smelly, one bad movie, followed by another with a thirty minute bathroom break that seems to only last five minutes.

Mostly, I slept on the first leg. It was after all night time in this time zone, and the day would prove to be long when I did finally arrive in the States. The plan was to sleep the first leg then stay awake the last half of the eight hour flight to Atlanta, though I had no way of marking the halfway point, so it was a fluid concept.

The window shades remained closed for most of the journey so the only marker to our progress was the TV monitors which reflected the time at our origination point, time at the destination, ground speed, estimated time remaining, outside air temperature, and altitude. It would then flash this information then flash a regional map with an enlarged airplane icon and giant red trail marking our progress, followed by a larger continental sized map again with the same oversized airplane icon and trail.

Our speed averaged over six hundred miles an hour peaking at seven hundred and the outside temperature hung at minus eighty three degrees at thirty five thousand feet. It was just information and frankly useless. I enjoy being able to look out the windows and see our progress on the ground, sometimes navigating by known points when it’s a local flight. Thus far we had been wrapped in a cocoon of darkness.

After the second movie we were over Europe but I didn’t know immediately. My seat was in the middle so I didn’t have direct access to a window. My traveling companion opened the window and I saw the lights of Budapest and then Prague and finally Vienna Switzerland.

Just seeing the lights was a sudden reminder of a world outside sand, and military orders. Outside extremist religious groups and a culture that is so familiar and yet so very different from our own. I caught myself saying, “oh yeah, Europe.” Here under my seat was the “western world”. The great Satan and all of our technology, progress, and culture lying beneath me in a blanket of midnight darkness and early May cool weather.

When I could make out the city lights of Prague I could see the see the lights outlining major sections of the city in a pattern that was planned and logical. Not like the almost haphazard lighting the Iraqis employ on their questionable power grid. The familiarity was almost something you could touch, but I was forty thousand feet in the air traveling at over six hundred miles an hour.

I wondered if on this Tuesday morning the night clubs were still alive with thumping drum and base and the sweat of humanity, or dying the death that bars die every morning after last call with only bar backs and owners taking stock of the night wallowing in the smell of spilt beer, cigarettes, coffee, and cleaning solutions. I could almost see into the houses I knew were below and the visualize the husband snoring, the wife ignoring it or snoring herself.

I closed my eyes waiting for sleep to overtake me again, and it did quickly.

After our brief respite in Frankfurt we took to the skies again this time seeming to race the sunrise across the edge of the atmosphere. Even at this early hour in the east I could see the horizon color changing from black and dark blue to a crisp light blue line with hints of orange and red further up. I wondered how we would fare in this race trying to think back to my high school science days remembering that we calculated how fast the earth was spinning on it’s axis.

Two movies later and we still seemed to be ahead of the sun. It’s razor sharp rays had not yet cracked the sky though we were loosing ground to the giant ball of fire in the East. I dozed while I waited for the flight attendant to bring coffee.

As I sipped my first coffee outside of Iraq, I pondered the significance of this or lack there of, when my attention was immediately diverted to the glare to my right. The wing of the aircraft was suddenly ablaze with orange and the clouds off the wings seemed to sear my eyes with light. The sun had caught us, and with easily three hours of flight ahead would over take us.

Tuesday was here for sure now, and the East cost of the United States lie in our path. If only I could see the horizon in that direction. Soon. Very soon.

“Rogue 3 OUT”

Rest and Recuperation

2005-05-09T13:55:00.000-04:00

The fact that I am writing this is a blessing and luck to some extent. Not everyone gets mid-tour leave, I am one of the fortunate ones. For 15 days starting from midnight the day I arrive in the United States, I’ll be allowed to drink alcohol, have sex, gather animals as pets and forget about the Army and Iraq. I just have to get there first.

To fly to the United States, even with commercial flights out of Baghdad International airport Soldiers must fly to Kuwait. To get to Kuwait, Soldiers in Iraq must fly or convoy to Baghdad International Airport. The departing Soldier must arrive here the day before they actually fly which is usually late at night or early in the morning. It is more than likely one will sit at the airport for twenty four hours. Mind you sitting at this airport isn’t like sitting at BWI or HIA.

It would be easy to complain about the accommodations; endlessly. However, most are of the mindset, that they don’t’ care because they are leaving either temporarily or permanently and they just want to go.

I was struck with the curse of having an easy to spell and pronounce last name at the beginning of the Alphabet again. I was tasked as the group leader for a gaggle of about sixty Soldiers. Mind you, a lieutenant colonel, colonel and first sergeant’s name were called immediately after mine. No biggie, in fact most will tell you I crave the attention.

My instructions were simple, “If you have to be here then be here, I am not looking for you, nor sending anyone for to do the same. Apparently the austere conditions are the norm, so you are on your own. Don’t miss a formation and don’t die of dehydration.” Then I read the official statements about explosives, ammunition, and war trophies and directed them specifically to the medical corps personnel. The rules about narcotics I read to my combat arms brethren, and dismissed the group.

When you have nothing but time to kill you wind up having conversations with people you might never normally converse with. Friendships out of inconvenient situations are borne, and entertainment is low budget.

Finally, we lined up to fly to Kuwait and upon arrival there began a whirlwind endurance event of briefings and movement with no sleep except what we got on the flight and bus ride to and from the flight line. A young USAR Sergeant who attempted to maintain military decorum instructed me to move my group to a particular building for one such briefing. Even going so far as to provide instructions on the commands I should use to march them. I looked to my right shirt pocket rubbed my “pumpkin patch”, and said to him, “yeah I got that Sergeant.”

Five times I was told to collect the ID cards of the Soldiers in my group, only to redistribute them seemingly minutes later for no apparent reason. Three times we received briefings from individuals who were native English speakers, were not public speakers. So we amused ourselves with trying to decipher what was said and playing with the pencils where we sat.

Around three am, the same young Sergeant told me we just missed receiving “late” chow, so I looked at my watch and reminded him, surely another meal would come soon enough.

After breakfast I got a shower for the first time in days and went to the “South of the Border” of the Arabian peninsula, more commonly known as “Starbucks”. Where I imbibed in an iced coffee that back home would have cost a fraction of the amount I paid. While waiting I looked at an 18 ounce insulated coffee mug which was being sold for 35 dollars.

I slept outside a building for about twenty minutes waiting for the travel itineraries to be printed for my group on a concrete barrier to prevent trailers from impacting the building. I was woken by a battle buddy from back state side who laughed at my sleeping location. As we caught up, they called for us to hold another formation. And so it went until we were moved to customs to have our bags searched and then locked down before our flight.

Finally, we boarded our plane and were greeted by a friendly crew captained by, no kidding, Captain Kirk. The humor apparently didn’t end there as then second leg of our journey from Germany to Atlanta our pilot was Captain Nemo.

Still there was much cheering when the plane took off and landed, as well as many sidebars about no one shooting at us in Germany or Atlanta. In Germany at 1 am their time we were greeted by a very energetic Chaplain who took the time to greet each of us by rank. While we waited for the plane to refuel, we entertained ourselves with sleep, shopping at the PX, calling home or sending a brief email to family.

Before I left someone sent a commercial of Soldiers walking through an airport in desert uniforms to the unplanned applause of the civilians. CPT G on my team said he got that same treatment when he took leave.

As we passed through U.S. Customs we cheered and hugged ourselves, our new friends for the last sixty hours. Though when we did finally enter the traditional terminals at Atlanta there were a lot of smiles, some hand shakes, a few free meals and gratitude less formal than and more genuine than applause alone.

Some were just in awe of the Soldiers as they passed by, others like the group of children that tried to thank us all individually, or the older man who bought coffee for a lieutenant and me at a more reasonably priced Starbucks. A few folks stopped by to ask us questions when in the background Good Morning America reported that some fifty insurgents were killed the previous day.

Initally, I found myself constantly looking over my shoulder, and positioning myself when stationary in a semi-defensive location using walls as cover. Twice I had to force myself to move in a crowd of people instead of around them.

On m final flight to Harrisburg I was joined by three other Soldiers who were given first class seats, and the flight crew allowed us to disembark first. In the terminal I was greeted by my wife, family and friends. The greeting from the wife was the longest and best. The details of that however, are none of your business.

Rogue 3 OUT

Last Dance with Mary Jane

2005-05-05T02:54:00.000-04:00

No mission is routine, but at the same time the Jenoud (Soldiers) are working with a comfort level of far more experienced Soldiers. We have an expression we frequently say prior to a mission, which is a bit of a catch phrase but it focuses the team prior to a mission. “Today could be the day.” It has a number of connotations at the very least it keeps us from taking any mission less than seriously.

The call came in from our American counterpart unit to assist with a cordon and search of a village market just out side our Forward Operating Base (FOB). The Iraqis would be the main search effort with the Americans searching their own zone.

The mission order was prepared with ample time for rehearsals and then briefed to the American unit so all leaders would know where the adjacent unit was at any time. Things were promising, a good start to what should be an easy mission for the Iraqis.

The trucks were lined up, with Iraqi flags on most of them, preparations finalized and Jenoud loaded and ready. They were surprisingly fresh considering they just completed a raid on suspected insurgent homes just a few hours before in the early hours of the morning. We moved to our link up point early for once.

As we cleared the gate for the FOB, SFC T chambered a round in the 50 caliber machine gun atop our HUMVE, the sound never ceases to draw the immediate attention of the Jenoud. With SSG C behind me, and our Interpreter across from him, MAJ B commanded the truck and I drove.

As we headed towards our objective MAJ B was nervous they would miss the turn, but they proved his fears were unwarranted. Seconds later, while I was focusing on driving on a busy road, making sure the Jenoud turned MAJ B announced, “Oooo. That one won’t die. Did you see that?” At this point my focus was solely on driving and navigating traffic not the sheep being slaughtered at the street side market.

My heart rate having returned to somewhat normal we pressed on into our assembly area with the trucks behind us dropping off troops as they progressed. MAJ B and SSG C dismounted to move with one of the search teams while SFC T the interpreter and I moved to our positions.

I observed the setup of the detainee pen what we affectionately call the farm. The perimeter security as established by the battalion sergeant major and the tactical operations center established by the operations officer and his staff. All went smoothly.

Things were progressing well with aviation assets, “on station” observing our movements, Tanks controlling traffic on the main highway, a team broadcasting a message over a HUMVE mounted PA system and over a hundred Soldiers searching this business area.

The market is in a village that has largely been pro American with few incidents in it’s borders. However, the market itself is a treasure trove of resources for anti-coalition forces. The market hosts, several auto part shops, auto body repair shops, and a tire shop in one building. There are book stores, music/video stores, retail clothing, and a pharmacy in another area beside the traditional food vendors. On the west side is a clinic and two barber shops along with a farm supply store, and appliance repair shop.

It is conceivable that one could purchase timing devices, and explosive materials from one end, gather clothing and get a hair cut to disguise political leanings nearby, purchase propaganda from the book or music/video store, or distribute the same, modify a car to carry the explosive materials and gather medical supplies from the clinic or pharmacy to treat wounds from fighting the jihad all in one city block. So we search.

The operations officer put together a good plan and in conjunction with the communications officer developed a good plan using code words, call signs and graphic control measures to prevent easy diction of our intentions, location and direction.

The sergeants had a list of high value targets (HVT) with photographs of these men who are either guilty of or suspected of crimes against the new Iraqi government or coalition forces. One Sergeant spotted two such HVTs in the span of five minutes who both seemed oblivious to the fact the village was being searched.

One was a dead ringer for one particular HVT, though his ID card had a different name. The second had an injury to his hand indicative of a gunshot wound according to our medic SSG C, who evaluated him immediately. The wound had been treated hours beforehand at the clinic. He claimed it was shrapnel from Americans blowing up an IED. SSG C, a paramedic back home, disagreed having seen hundreds of gun shot wounds in his career. They were handled appropriately and taken to the, “farm”.

SSG C would later relate a conversation he had with a young boy who said, “America bad, American’s must go home.” When he pressed the boy for more, the lad said we have too much sex in our country and therefore must leave his, in his broken English. This open anti-U.S. sentiment isn’t new, just new coming from a young boy. It is indicative of a deeper problem of misinformation from the insurgency.

The Americans finished their search first, and the Iraqis shortly thereafter. They collapsed security correctly, mounted the vehicles safely and lined up leaving the assembly area quickly. As we passed the American commander of the operation they waived which isn’t unusual, but the fact that they didn’t honk their horns is, and a mark of improvement. We entered the FOB, cleared the weapons without a single negligent discharge and quickly stored the equipment for the next mission.

With my mid-tour leave fast approaching for me, I wanted to end on a good note and this couldn’t have been better. Was there room for improvement? Always, even in our army there is room for improvement. This day, however was a day to celebrate the successes of this battalion on a job well done.

I told the officers and NCOs I was proud of them and their efforts that day, and for the next several days, when asked I would tell anyone that would listen, “my guys are doing awesome.”

Rogue 3 OUT

Promises Kept

2005-05-03T16:53:00.000-04:00

The small village north of Baghdad is like most other villages outside the three major cities, easily confusing one for another. It has three mosques a school for very young children several shops selling basic wares to the residents and the people that pass through on its only paved road.

One side of the road is mostly homes and the other mostly orchards and date palm groves. The homes can be categorized as big and very modern, small with some modern facilities, or little more than huts. The dichotomy is novel at first but wears after a few visits. The smaller homes maximize the use of their land with gardens and stables for their livestock.

We have visited this village many times before and this visit wasn’t unlike those in which we came there to accomplish a specific task, search for weapons and detain specific targets. In the midst of our search we stopped to talk to one of the home owners. His wife had given us bread on a previous visit, their generosity was overflowing. This time the wife would give us fresh yogurt, and by fresh I mean it was recently in the cow that was mere feet from me now.

During our discussions a neighbor came up to listen and input his two cents. With him was his son Ali. My boss MAJ B, noticed it first and clued me in to Ali’s hands. His fingertips were swollen, we then looked at his sandaled feet and his toes too were swollen. His father said he was nine but he looked no more than five or six. We asked if he had a medical condition and if he had been treated.

The father said yes and departed for a few moments, returning with a folder with markings from a U.S. medical facility. Apparently a physician’s assistant had seen Ali before but no follow up had been done. As neither MAJ B nor I could read all of the doctor speak we called our own resident expert, our team medic.

I jogged down the road to our assembly area walk with him back, the weight of the body armor felt heavy today as the heat was getting cranked up. We headed back to the house and a small crowd had gathered around MAJ B our interpreter and the few Jenoud (Soldiers) that were there.

SSG C our team “Doc”, looked over the kid checking his pulse and various other tests I won’t pretend to understand. SSG C, is an army medic as far as the Army is concerned, but he is a paramedic back stateside and works with various special first response units in his home town adding experience most active duty army medics don’t get.

He read over the charts and took copious notes. We then discussed the treatment options with the father, which at that point to our knowledge were severely limited in Iraq. Fortunately, one of the doctors who just rotated to our base is a pediatric physician back in the states. We assured the father we would investigate further and return with news.

A few days of searching and investigating, later we knew we could complete further tests on him but to what end? Moreover, how would we get him on base? We discussed the options and formulated a plan. Ali and his father could get on base with our help if we brought them in, however we would have to cover their eyes for their protection.

I spoke with SSG C. after the tests were done, and he reported, “Ali has a Transposition of the Great Arteries with atrial Septal Defect. In English, this means the blood vessels in his heart are switched around and he's got a hole in the middle of his heart.” The diagnosis was confirmed but the procedure to correct it was not. Ali was born with the ventricle valves of his heart reversed, that much we knew.

The extent to which his heart and lungs had adapted to this condition were not known because of the limited tests we could perform. “Most MDs think it's a miracle that he's made it this long,” SSG C. continued. “He needs heart surgery that is not available here in Iraq nor will it be available anytime soon. According to the peds MD here, Ali has maybe, 2 years at the most to live.”

Thus began SSG C.’s quest to find treatment for Ali. The goal, to find a doctor who was willing to perform the surgery at no cost, and an organization willing to pay the hospital bills and transportation fees. He began with the Army’s bureaucracy, the pentagon, humanitarian agencies both here in Iraq and in the United States, the U.S. Senate, and the UN.

While no one agency has come forward to spearhead the operation, several groups have pledged their support. British Airways has donated two round trip tickets fly the boy and his father to the US. A pediatric cardiologist in St. Petersburg, Florida has volunteered to do the surgery for free. Members of the American Iraqi Alliance have offered their services in Florida with housing and interpretation services. The one remaining piece and perhaps the most expensive piece is the hospital bill itself.

We did find support from an organization in Delaware from Operation Air Conditioner (http://www.operationac.com/). A non-profit charity run by a really nice lady who procures things for deployed Joes & Jennys in Iraq and Afghanistan. She has been posting updates to Ali’s story and his condition as well as collecting donations, though the donations are trickling in for a kid who doesn’t have much time.

Why would we go through all of this effort for one child? It’s pretty simple. At the lowest level it is good PR. From a geopolitical level, it is a clear demonstration of our intent which is to improve the lives of Iraqis. We win more hearts and minds when we beat the insurgents at their own game.

The insurgent plays on the fears that America is here to make Iraq the fifty first state, to destroy Islam, and Muslims. How then does the insurgent compete with, “the Americans: improved the road in our village, brought school supplies to our children, cleaned the water we drink, helped us get jobs, saved the life of a boy.” All they offer is death and destruction. We offer that too, but we start with the offer of hope, and peace.

My job is to train Iraqis to do for themselves, to train them to fish rather than give them a fish so to speak. I know they won’t be able to do everything for themselves right away, and some things we’ll still have to do for them for a while. This is one of those things.

This kid needs our help, so he can live, so the adults in his village start telling their kids, “hey the Americans aren’t that bad.” Or, “we have fresh water because of the Americans, Saddam or the Sheik never did that for us.”

There are donation options available on the Operation AC website listed here:

People can donate via Pay Pal and they can say "For Ali Heart Operation" in the message field and we will track the funds and provide reports directly through our accounting firm. Checks can be sent payable to: Operation AC, Inc. and mailed to us at

Operation AC, Inc.
Attn: Save Ali Fund
560 Peoples Plaza #121
Newark, DE 19702

Go on Take the Money and Run

2005-04-26T08:09:00.000-04:00

Where to start on this one. I guess sequentially would be best, but I do need to provide some background.

Under Saddam’s regime the dinar was propped up to hold the same value as the dollar. The banking systems was controlled by Saddam like everything else. They used antiquated systems, some of it computerized though most not. Because Saddam controlled the banks only his friends used the banks as it was easier for him to seize assets that way. Most farmers lived off the land, and what money they did have was kept at home. Now essentially everyone uses the at-home banking system.

Pay in the U.S. military is controlled by defense finance, whose massive computer systems pay the four branches, retirees benefits and so on. However up until the 90s we still had “pay day activities”, meaning we would report to our company commander, render courtesies, and pay would be distributed. Soldiers would then take the pay to the bank, western union the bookie they owed money to, or their spouse.

The Iraqi Army is pretty close to the American army of the 80s. Pay comes from the Ministry of Defense to the base, then to subordinate units. In the case of the 5th BN, the pay is distributed directly to the BN from the base support unit (BSU) a civilian run organization. It should be noted the person in charge of this base support unit is the brother of the person who is the base commander. Nepotism aside these two shouldn’t be in their positions for incompetence alone.

I received a call from the base operations sergeant (NCOIC), twenty four hours prior to provide security for a single HUMVE traveling with the BSU and MPs to collect this bases’ pay. We debated the mission, having the right to refuse it, but couldn’t let Americans ride to Baghdad in a HUMVE with no fire power.

A sergeant major said he was in charge of the convoy and we took our orders from him. We had coordinated to be a maneuvering security element, meaning we would trail the main body providing over watch, and mechanically engage any threats. A failure on our part was not forcing the sergeant major to do proper troop leading procedures, and not discussing our actions on contact or contingency plans.

As soon as we hit the gate the convoy was breaking apart. The power to weight ratio of a Nissan with four Iraqi Soldiers is significantly better than a HUMVE with weapons, ammo and crew. We attempted to call on the radio but couldn’t reach the convoy commander.

Once a convoy goes through traffic, the miasma of cars and trucks collapse behind causing driving conditions worse than any rush hour you have seen in the states. We now had no communications with the lead element, and shots were reported in our vicinity, but we couldn’t identify their location. We pressed on.

Sidebar, the horn on the HUMVE was designed to be quite for tactical reasons. The thinking that it was a close quarters safety measure. On today’s modern battle field, the main supply route, having a quite horn is not a good thing.

While the power to weight ratio impacts acceleration, it does not impact the ability of a HUMVE to move traffic with or without impact, though impacts are sometimes necessary. Drivers here are used to American convoys, and largely when a military convoy approaches they get out of the way. In busy traffic, they only partially get out of the way. So I can attest that at least four vehicles had their paint scrapped off.

Realizing the horn was ineffective I waived one of our Nissans around in front to blaze a trail. His horn was more effective than mine, however few took him seriously until they saw the half inch thick, four inch diameter steel pipe as bumper of the HUMVE, immediately behind.

One man driving his late 70s vintage orange Toyota corolla however headed no such warnings and seemed to be oblivious or ignoring us. It was clear his car had seen better days and today wasn’t going to be much better. The Nissan honked and cleared traffic. The corolla cut in between us. I uttered a discouraging word. Then said to my crew I was going to hit him. SFC G responded, “just tap him.” So I did.

Suddenly the man awoke as if from a dream, having regained his composure and awareness of what was going on, he changed lanes and we passed him on the left. SFC G noticed he had a neck brace on. We amused ourselves with the cause and how it was messed up to hit a man with a neck brace, but necessary, and a little funny.

Shortly thereafter we were in the heart of Baghdad and passing the Baghdad university. Now our necks were craned not looking for shooters or traffic but at the girls. Leering is another national pastime, right after soccer, shooting rifles into the air indiscriminately, and sleeping. We were disappointed when we then crossed the median to get past traffic. As we drove around and over the shrubbery the scent of rosemary filled the HUMVE which was a pleasant but temporary distraction.

Eventually, we did make contact via radio with the lead element who was already at the bank and talked us into our positions. The leering continued, along with the banter that Joes share when waiting in a semi secure environment.

MAJ B, made contact with the sergeant major and took over as the convoy commander for the trip back. We changed the order of march so we could ensure the convoy would move with the slowest vehicles, and then asked the Iraqi MPs if they understood the changes. The responded yes, but immediately upon departure followed their agenda.

We stopped them lined up properly and continued until we were just outside of the city on a road infamous for attacks on coalition forces. The civilians from the BSU decide they weren’t going to follow the convoy and exited the highway. We stopped and with us all traffic moving in our direction. The Americans we were sent to protect were there along with half of the money and our Iraqi Soldiers. Having no radio contact with the BSU trucks, I suggested to MAJ B we should press on without them. However we waited.

The eventually returned and MAJ B dismounted to get everyone on the same page. The Iraqi civilians attempted to threaten MAJ B, who was covered by several Americans and our interpreter. The interpreter a POW from the Iran-Iraq war is very passionate about the success of the new Iraqi Army. He is also very concerned about his friends and includes the American advisor team in that elite group.

There was much shouting, lots of finger pointing, more shouting and some shoving. I watched all of this via the mirrors of the HUMVE unable to leave the driver’s seat. SSG C and SFC G were there with MAJ B, and under the rules of engagement we matched force for force. The shove resulted in holding ground and pushing the assailant back. One put his hand on his pistol, which caused the muzzle of the M4 to be raised to chest level.

Culminating with MAJ B and SFC G putting our interpreter in a HUMVE for his safety and that of those around him. He was not the problem only reacting to the problem, though later I would find there was an implication on his part the BSU personnel were attempting to lead us to an ambush or just steal the money outright.

They talked the Iraqis down, while our Soldiers pulled security and the Iraqi MPs were dumbfounded. Here was the brother of their base commander who acts like their battalion commander getting into a fight with the Americans, who clearly had superior firepower. The looked to their Iraqi brethren from the 5th BN and wisely choose to stay out of the fracas.

The rest of the drive back was uneventful and run the way a convoy should have been run. Until we hit the gate. We stopped just inside to clear our weapons and again the BSU civilians were in our faces questioning our every decision. It was like watching a drowning person pull at their rescuer.

The sergeant major said to MAJ B, the 5th BN will not provide security again for the pay run, but we had already come to that conclusion long before. In the aftermath, the American who advises the Iraq base commander wanted our interpreter fired, which he has no authority to do. Moreover, he cannot replace him and we are short on our allocation of interpreters. Other empty threats were made which we ignored.

The good news out of all of this is the Soldiers have been paid and the Soldiers in 5th battalion executed a flawless mission and will be recognized for their efforts. The MPs did well, and as our eventual replacement for base security that’s an important stepping stone.

Rogue 3 OUT

Mail Rocks

2005-04-16T10:35:00.000-04:00

The one good thing about age is it grants the wisdom to reflect on a past that youth simply lacks. Granted, at the time of this writing I am a mere 32 but I would wager I’ve seen my share of the world and people in it. I’ve also done some incredibly dumb things in my past, but any situation you can walk away from saying, “that was dumb” isn’t all that bad. As one of my fellow Drill Sergeants says, “I was better yesterday than I am today.”

We don’t often get the news from back home over hear, though most Soldiers do so we enjoy reading past editions of newspapers and periodicals when we do have down time.

Recently, I read an article from a major newspaper, though I don’t know that it ranks much higher than the National Inquirer for quality content or accurate reporting. Still it is a newspaper and I read it for pleasure, though I found little in this story.

In the February 22nd edition of the New York Post a story was written about a young GI from New Jersey who is stationed in Korea who received a writing assignment from a social studies class from New York City. These students wrote letters asking the young GI about his political beliefs, his belief in the mission over here in Iraq, the war on terrorism, and so on.

The inflammatory ones published included one girl who believed Soldiers are, “being forced to kill innocent people.” Another girl predicted catastrophic casualties. A young boy accused Soldiers of, “destroying holy places like mosques.” We didn’t destroy it, we only destroyed the minaret that was being used as an observation post to observe convoys and detonate explosives. At the same time, the insurgents destroyed a five thousand year old minaret in Samara, however I wouldn’t call them Soldiers.

Though even these writers struggled to do so, they did show support for the troops albeit not the best example of support. The rest of the little excerpts that were published were naïve questions, and seemed pretty innocuous, at best they were uninformed questions, sent to a Joe who isn’t even in theater. Then again, I am not 18 anymore, so how I view events now is different from how I viewed them in the past.

When I was 18 I was in the first Gulf War I received a similar letter not from some stranger’s son or daughter, but from a fellow student who graduated a year ahead of me and at the time was in college. This letter also questioned the necessity of going to war, made bogus claims on lives lost, as well as the destruction of property and innocent lives.

At the time, I wrote a scathing diatribe rebuking the claims and challenging this young person’s patriotism and love of country. I also sent a letter to some other friends who knew this person why they would do such a thing. I argued with myself if I should even send it, knowing I wouldn’t be able to maintain any sort of friendship with this person hereafter. I argued because this person knew me, or so I thought, so it seemed like a personal attack.

Keep in mind young readers, at that time communication via paper took much longer than instant messaging and email. So I had the opportunity to dwell on these things for some time before I heard any reply.

Reading the article brought back some memories good and bad, and I largely felt the sensationalism of the Post was much ado about nothing. It did make me think that I owe the person in my past an apology. I could have handled it a myriad of ways, all of them more professional than what I did. I could have taken the high road, but didn’t.

On a brighter note, my mother drives a school bus, and some of her passengers have sent cards and letters to me. Thus far they are all from a Girl Scout troop (10 year olds), and a Daisy Scout Troop, apparently they are 5 year olds. I freely admit I am not up on the latest nuances of female youth civic organizations. The five year olds I try to keep the responses simple; thanks and I am doing well, the cookies are good but the chocolate melted. I try to describe the weather here and the environment.

The 10 year olds sent letters that were a bit of an interrogation, and it made me feel like I was in Mr. Chanos’ fourth grade class responding to a note from a girl asking for another girl who wanted to know if I liked her friend’s friend. “What do you like?” “How is everything there?” “Do you have computers or TV there?” “What sports do you like?”

My favorite was, “how many girls are on your team? You don’t have to count, but what’s your guess?” This same young lady had a very realistic picture of the time constraints I have asking what I do in my free time besides sleeping.

For them, I tried to keep the answers fairly simple but not demeaning. Children never seem to amaze me with their comprehension of the world around them. So, while I don’t dumb it down, I tend to stay away from complex analogies. I even challenged them to learn something with my responses.

These are the letters I enjoy reading. I get a chuckle out of them and sure my penmanship is pretty poor these days, I try to write them back. At the very least I try to send typed letter to the adult leadership.

I relate these two events because if anyone adult or youth wrote to me about their opinion of the war or my role therein, I would be glad to reply and politely provide another side that perhaps they have not considered. Frankly, it would be disingenuous as a defender of the constitution not to.

I would not stop someone from voicing an opinion against the war, our presence in Iraq, Bush or plaids and stripes worn together positive or negative. It is simply their opinion, and while it might feel good to rant and rave against someone whose opinion differs from mine on this soapbox, I try to recall this analogy:

If the entire world were of one mind save one, we would have no more right to silence the one than the one would have to silence the world.

Rogue 3 OUT

Advisor of the Day

2005-04-03T12:23:00.000-04:00

As a service to the parent unit that oversees base operations on the Iraqi side of this installation, we provide one advisor to be on call to manage issues with the battalion’s soldiers and officers. No other tenant unit provides such a service, but then no other unit is responsible for perimeter security.

With the full team, it seems like a sizeable time in between turns on duty. However, with two gone on leave, the rotation seems to take much less time. On the one hand it makes time go much faster, but on the other hand it makes time go much faster.

As a rule we make at least one check of the towers during daylight hours and two more during the hours of darkness, one before and one after midnight. Originally, we took on a role of “sergeant of the guard”, addressing the guards concerns directly. Now we verify the Jenoud (Soldiers) are doing what they are supposed to do, then bring it to the attention of the actual sergeant of the guard.

In the late afternoon, I was making rounds with an interpreter checking the Jenoud’s readiness and equipment. We inspected weapons and through the interpreter and a series of simple English and Iraqi words and charades were able to get to most of them. I then stopped at one guard shack disturbed by what I saw.

Standards are nonexistent in the Iraqi Army. There are no standards for anything unless we as Americans either Marines or Army, impose them on the Iraqis. So, it is not uncommon for officers to wear whatever uniform they choose. Apparently, there are a number of uniform stores in Baghdad to choose from. One problem with procuring uniforms on the economy like this is the risk of being observed by anti-Iraqi forces. In our battalion alone there are three variations from the standard uniform alone.

Most of these infractions are by officers and while I would prefer they wear the same uniform as the Jenoud, I can only ask for so much during my tenure here. However, I was disturbed, livid, insert adjective here, when I saw a Jundi wearing a dark camouflage patterned uniform. I stopped the HUMVE to discuss the uniform.

Me: “why are you wearing that?”
Jundi: (via translator): “I only have two uniforms.”
Me: “OK, why are you wearing that? That uniform wasn’t issued to you.”
Jundi: “I bought it in Baghdad, it’s very nice.”
Me: “You have not answered my question, why are you wearing it?”
Jundi: “it is fine, those (Gesturing to the standard uniform his buddy had on) are no good.”
Me: “No good huh? Who told you, that it was OK to wear it?”
Jundi: “It is OK to wear it. What is the problem.”
Me: “The problem? Do you see that fence over there?”
Jundi: “Yes”
Me: “Then you realize it would be easy for a sniper to take shots at you then.”
Jundi: “Oh”
Me: “You know that snipers look for uniforms that are different from the others. That uniform makes you stand out, and makes you a target.”
Jundi: “Oh, I will put another uniform on tomorrow.”
Me: “Why take the chance, why not put it on now?”
Jundi: “I don’t have my uniforms.”
Me: “Where are they?”
Jundi: “I sold them in Baghdad.”

Author’s note: At this point in the story I’ll strongly recommend adults turn your child’s attention to something less violent like say, the Nintendo game Grand Theft Auto or the like.

Upon hearing the translation, my stupidity gasket blew and I reached out the window of the HUMVE, and pulled the Jundi into the side of the truck, screaming expletives in a rant most people couldn’t keep up with much less an interpreter.

I think to prevent me killing the Jundi the interpreter said it was his error and that he translated he sold the uniforms when what he meant was he bought the uniforms. Either way, it prevented the unnecessary death of a Jundi. It’s bad enough the Jundi regularly discard uniform parts like people discard a tissue or gum wrapper.

A few days later I would have the same duty, and I sat atop the water tower overlooking one of our towers , after sundown waiting for the shift change. The companies change the tower duty once a week, and the company commander had screwed up the mission earlier in the day by only putting one guard in each tower, so I was watching to see if the requisite number were sent to this tower.

Since I had last been here at night a generator run flood light had been erected to light an interior fence that was being constructed. The illumination from the moon was about 40%, so it was pretty dark but not pitch black by any standards. Fortunately, I had my night vision device affixed to my helmet to observe.

The truck came and two got on and four got off, which was a good sign. The four Jenoud stood at the base of the tower and lit cigarettes. I supposed a little discussion amongst the group would be in order to determine who would man the PKC machinegun in the tower and who would man the observation bunkers on the ground.

About five minutes had past, the cigarettes discarded, yet they continued to stand there. Finally, some activity, when one took out a blanket, which they are not to have since there is no sleeping on duty, and he spread it out on the ground ala a picnic blanket. All four sat on the blanket and lit up another round of cigarettes. Smoking is another national pastime, next to soccer (football), and shooting rifles indiscriminately into the air.

I pulled my cell phone and attempted to contact someone to tell their boss to fix the problem, but the network was down, a common occurrence in Iraq. I waited and watched some more. Still no movement towards the towers.

A car approached from the North and slowed to clear our speed bumps then went on it’s way. Surely, they’ll occupy their positions for a car I thought. Sadly, again I was defeated by the easy route.

Again I attempted to call, with no success, again, they did not move. So I weighed my options. I could shoot into the air to get their attention, climb down and contact their boss via the radio which was in my HUMVE, or climb down and berate them.

I decided against the shot, because it was far too quiet this night, and telling their boss isn’t as much fun if you can’t call it in and observe the panic when they figure out they are being observed, so I choose last.

I crept down the ladder and through the tall grasses and weeds surrounding the bombed out building. I realized errantly the only protection I had on was my helmet having left my body armor in my room since I should have been done a while ago.

I walked up to their position, and stumbled on a rock. No movement on their part. How could they not see me I wondered? I began to increase my pace as I wanted the opportunity to actually berate them rather than let them think an immediate correction was enough. I looked to the floodlight and realized I was bathed in light. A quick look to the Jundi would reveal their surroundings were the farthest thing from their minds.

I began to run at them, now angry they had not noticed my approach. Within seconds I was on them, screaming in a mix of English and Iraqi to get up. I am sure the only thing they saw or heard was an American with a weapon charging them, so they did what came naturally, and threw their hands into the air, immediately surrendering.

I froze momentarily torn between laughing at them and continuing to blow my gasket. I choose the latter, and ripped the blanket from under their butts sending a small FM radio flying into the air, and two Jundi rolling on the ground. “Get up in the tower,” I yelled in English, and they seemed to understand. However their movement was too slow for my satisfaction, and they left their helmets on the ground, so I began throwing them at them so they could catch them.

I’m pretty sure there were a few more expletives in there too, but I couldn’t recall them if I had to. It is security like this that helps me sleep at night, and laugh at the FOB dwellers (Soldiers who do not leave the wire…ever) on the American side of the installation.

Personal accountability will be the biggest hurdle to overcome by the follow on teams.

Rogue 3 OUT

Sheik Down

2005-04-01T12:22:00.000-05:00

Some of the villages nearby are friendly to us and others very much not friendly. The easy clue is the behavior of the children as we pass through. If they are forward and waive or rush the convoy, the village is either neutral or friendly. If they are restrained either on their own or by their older siblings or parents, it would follow not that friendly.

Iraqi children unabated will run to American convoys and ask for footballs, or generally beg. Around here it’s been footballs lately, but in other areas further into the country side we’ve seen them gesture towards their mouths for food or candy.

We’ve been doing a lot of patrolling and work in one particular village lately because of its proximity, intelligence the Iraqi’s have gathered and because we’ve determined the rockets & mortars came from the orchards and palm groves of this village. Both Americans alone, and Iraqis have had discussions about the new government and the new Iraqi Army, as well as carried the threat shoot at us again, and our response will be ten fold, to the sheik. We’ve not been able to reach the Imam yet though.

There usually is only one leader of a village serving both as spiritual and political leader. In some wealthier villages, there is an Imam for religious leadership and a sheik for political leadership and adjudication. In both cases if you talk to them they will tell you they know everything that goes on in their village that nothing happens without their approval. Unless of course you are asking them about buried weapons or launch sites in their palm groves. Then the answer is, “gosh. I just don’t know where they came from mistah.”

About a month ago, the Ministry of Defense (MOD) decided to advertise job openings for former officers and NCOs from the old regime. Sidebar, did you notice the powers that be in Washington, still refer to Saddam’s government as the, “former regime”? I digress; this ad was in radio, TV and on billboards. My old advertising director at the Sentinel would tell me that’s, “top of mind awareness”.

It was effective advertising because unbeknownst to the base staff about three thousand people showed up at the gate last month. Large crowds with Soldiers do not mix well under the best of circumstances. Short story, they were told to go home, and the mob/ riot/ crowd dispersed.

This month it was to happen again on the first but we were more prepared, even though we expected a crowd of up to five thousand. One of the missions tasked to the battalion I advise was to secure the backdoor road into the base and deny the use of the palm groves as launch sites.

Given the short time to implement this plan we acted like the higher headquarters giving them the warning order and the specifics of the mission so they could develop an operations order of their own quickly. The parameters which we gave them offered little room to second guess our intent which was also clearly stated. Still, they surpassed my expectations dereliction of duty as leaders.

The mission was to secure about three and a half kilometers (two miles) of road that split this village and a bridge to ensure no one was transporting rockets or mortars to previously used launch sites. A secondary but important mission was to listen to the messages broadcast from the mosque speakers for messages that weren’t favorable to the new government, new army or Americans.

In Iraq the daylight savings change occurred on the first which was briefed in the operations order. So when we loaded our trucks and found the only movement in our compound was the sentries we knew they wouldn’t make their start time. Fact is they didn’t make their start time even if they clocks had not been changed.

In the old Iraq, Saddam would dictate if the clocks would move forward or not so they would watch the news in the morning to see if an announcement was made from Baghdad. The battalion commander blamed the operations officer for not telling him, and we corrected him. He then said the operations officer was confused, and we again corrected him.

We had developed a communications problem and were working on that when we sent the Iraqis out the gate without us. We wanted to make a point about our disappointment with the time and test their ability to execute the mission even though they were behind the eight ball.

Our two HUMVEES exited the gate ready for a fight as we always are; still our internal communications were busy with the banter between Soldiers poking fun at each other. Dawn was still almost an hour away when we entered our secure zone, and in the predawn darkness we could easily see what was and was not going on at each location on our road, and the targets of our banter became the Iraqis rather than each other.

The Soldiers setup their traffic control points along the correct road, but the leaders at the lower level had not done a pre-combat inspection because they were hurried out the door. Their company commander would then lie about the inspection being done.

The operations order stated specific instructions about vehicle searches, but either out of a frantic need to recover from the late start or from a lack of understanding of the mission and commander’s intent, they were searching every vehicle at every traffic control point. Given we normally run two additional traffic control points outside the base, the possibility existed that a car could get searched nine times traversing this road.

When we arrived at the assembly area the site was secure and the detainee holding area, which we’ve christened our insurgent garden was setup though empty, so some things were going well. As the advisor to the operations officer I approached him to get a situation report. Things looked better than I had anticipated. As I was about to leave he asked me via the interpreter what I thought about this morning.

He was looking for approval, angling me like Iraqis do. I stopped took a long deep breath and let out a sigh looking down. Turning my head to the side to see him, I said, “things seem to be going well now. But the fact remains, you were late, and that failure has caused a number of other failures.” I didn’t wait for the interpreter to translate and I returned to my truck.

As the sun broke the horizon the burner in the oven was cranked up. The temperatures were in the nineties, but we had a strong breeze out of the East. Still the sun baked our fair skin and we sought shade whenever we could.

Throughout the day we would move from the assembly area up and down our zone observing the actions of the leaders and noting both successes and failures. As we returned from one such trip we found the insurgent garden had grown in population. Apparently, three vans with two or three passengers tried to run past our control points, only to run into another a few hundred meters down the road. Their names came up on our target list and they were detained.

Shortly after noon the Mosques began their call to prayer, and an hour later we would get word the message at one of them was anti-coalition, and the Jenoud had already cordoned off the area around the mosque. Within minutes of our arrival, they had raided the mosque, detained the sheik and the computer looking for propaganda.

As the battalion collapsed their security around the patrol base, my watch chimed signifying the two o-clock hour. The battalion took in ten detainees not including the sheik, a sizeable haul by most standards. Thoroughly baked from the sun, the only thing that kept me awake on the trip back was the radio traffic attempting to get the Iraqi MPs to open the gate for us.

Based upon the mission statement and the commander’s intent the mission was accomplished, however the task of training the officers to take responsibility will be a difficult one in this culture.

ROUGE 3 OUT

The Numbers Game

2005-03-20T15:02:00.000-05:00

Since the fall of the Iraqi Army the intent has been to rebuild it. First plans were for dedicated trainers to build the first battalions, then there was another plan to train Soldiers to become trainers themselves. Next the plan was to have dedicated advisors to teach, train, coach, and mentor individual units at a battalion level. This is where I came in.

Immediately prior to the elections the plan was to recruit former Soldiers and Officers process them quickly with a two week refresher course, and get boots on the ground rapidly. This was an abortion of an idea because the product was no more trained to soldier than they were prior to the training. However, the troop strength from a strict roster perspective was immediately better than before the program started.

Most recently the plan is to have the units that are either semi-operational or fully operational marry up with a coalition unit. These units would then use coalition supply systems, operations and intelligence sections to conduct day to day operations and planning.

The problem with the latest plan is there is no plan to get the Iraqi units that are spread all over the country to their brigade headquarters or even in their division area of operation. There are some units operating with little to no support in areas they were sent to as a stop-gap measure.

Some units have adapted well by seeking the support of coalition forces which provides the same with another asset to maneuver or asset that can operate in areas coalition forces cannot.

Looking at the plans each one seems to simply satisfy a general’s need to look good for the Pentagon and therefore the White House. Sure we’ve put thousands through these crash courses, and sure there are fully manned units who have been trained. The issues are they capable of fighting an insurgent war? Are there really 750 or 800 Soldiers in the battalion as the pay roster says or is it more like 450? Are the Soldiers skilled enough to maintain the training they have received and train others?

Are we making progress? Yes some days I am amazed at their unguided efforts, and other days I feel like I am teaching them to tie their shoes. Sure they can write their own operations orders, but when they execute the mission, they forget to maintain the mission back at garrison. They still bend the rules all the time and constantly try to test the “system” to see what they can get away with.

I constantly remind them, they aren’t getting over on me, they are only cheating themselves. They aren’t doing the right things to manage their own affairs, thereby forcing further involvement with coalition forces. They are torn between what they knew as the way an Army should be run; poorly, and they way we are guiding them towards independence and success.

We, at least on our team, recognize we aren’t going to change five thousand years of culture in a year, nor are we going to change generations of abuse and mistrust. What we are trying to do is take just a few tasks of the many they are expected to know and ensure they can accomplish them well and without too much guidance.

Hearts and Minds

2005-03-16T15:01:00.000-05:00

The mission started much later than we normally would, but this was a different sort of mission. With the sun almost midway in the sky, and the temperature rising we set out to make a difference using sugar rather than bullets. We had coordinated a mission with a Civil Affairs (CA) unit that works in this area. So with the moisture being cooked out of the vegetation 3 U.S. trucks and 8 Iraqi trucks of various sizes set out to win hearts and minds.

Near this base there are villages that haven’t seen an American since the initial push north through Baghdad two years ago. We recently started using some roads as thoroughfares to other areas. On these roads the people would glare at us and prevent their children from waiving or collecting any candy that might be thrown their way. Once such child kicked a lolli-pop away disgusted at such a peace offering.

Once civil affairs officer described it to me as such, “imagine you are out of work because of the war. You can’t provide for your family, and your brothers have been killed by Americans. The imam preaches Americans are evil and will lead to the ruin of Iraq and are here to destroy Islam. Then an American Soldier throws candy at you from a moving vehicle as it races by and that is supposed to make you feel better?” He included a colorful expression at the end that I’ll emit.

Our mission this day had three purposes: One, to provide protection to the civil affairs team. Two, gather some intelligence about the villagers, the local Imam and Mosque in relation to the U.S. presence. Three, show the citizens of this village the Iraqi Army was here to help them and find out how the Iraqi Army via the U.S. Army civil affairs team could improve their lives. As an added bonus we would provide children with shoes, toys, soccer balls or candy as we moved.

We stopped at our appointed location and dismounted outside a farm whose palm groves had been used by insurgents both with and without the farmer’s permission. The farmer was neutral towards the Soldiers, citing frustration with the Soldiers for searching his farm regularly, but also frustration with the insurgents for using it to begin with. A second farmer complained the rounds from a range on post were skipping into his fields and wanted to show us the damage caused by them.

The CA captain was nervous being this far out from his truck. I attempted to quell his fears reminding him we had several well trained Iraqi Soldiers with us and a couple of shooters too. Still, he was nervous until we returned to our trucks.

We then pushed North to a village that was known for anti-coalition sentiment. The walls had graffiti that read, “Saddam lives, down with America, traitors will die”, and other gems. The headmaster of the village school was teaching Americans were bad and the Iraqis that joined the military were just as bad and would be punished by Allah, until an Iraqi officer corrected him.

I would take a dozen Captain Muhammeds and stand up an army quickly. His fiancé was killed by insurgents as a message to get out of the army, but he soldiered on. At the time of this writing he found his brother was killed by Insurgents and he can never return to Mosul to his family or he too will be killed.

Outside, the CA officer’s team was making a bad situation worse. His crew was handing out soccer balls to the youths with no sense of order. Iraqis being Iraqis would want all of them if you let them. They would find out what criteria were being used to get a ball then attempt to meet or circumvent it. One of the CA Soldiers, whom we thought would be expert in such matters almost caused more than one riot.

I reeled one of them in showing him a technique to, “create space” without looking like a violent shove. I also had to correct their tendency to open the humvee door to distribute candy, or balls as the children would literally rush the truck and swarm like piranhas.

We walked and attempted to keep the peace. The children would speak in various levels of English repeatedly asking, “mista, mista! Ball! Fuutball,” while gesticulating wildly. They would run from one of my teammates then to another and so on returning to me eventually with the same question as if I wouldn’t recognize them and my answer would change. At one point one of my interpreters in a semi-mocking tone imitated the children asking me for a football, then laughing as we joked at the situation.

As we walked a problem with this mission became apparent. The erratic pattern in which we would disperse fuutballs or candy, caused a swarm of children who would follow us like rats to the pied piper, waiting for the opportunity to again ask for something from the American coffers. Sadly, the mission didn’t go as planned with the Iraqi’s handing out the gifts.

My focus was forced to shift from mentoring the Iraqis to baby-sitting the CA team as well. The Iraqis I reasoned with my senior advisor could manage themselves, so we focused on the CA troops, and became a personal security detail for them.

Normally, I wouldn’t mind interacting with the Iraqis and often look forward to the same. The Soldiers also looked forward to the opportunity to share their pride in the new Army with the citizens they protect, by wearing their uniforms in public. They quickly sensed the change in mission and the officers were quick to point it out to us as advisors, which made me proud of them as Soldiers and Officers to make the recognition, and at the same time embarrassed to be affiliated with the other American Soldiers.

There has been much written about Soldiers wearing sunglasses in the desert, how the black lenses let the Soldiers hide their emotions from the Iraqis that very much rely on eye contact as a part of their communication. For me the sunglasses became like a personal shield, a wall to erect when I want to disengage from the locals. Behind my sunglasses I can remove myself from the situation and focus on the task at hand.

The switch from being nice to someone to putting sights on someone in that situation has to be lightning quick. From behind the sunglasses I can watch the hands without someone watching my eyes.

From an outsiders perspective it was a thing of beauty to watch the company of Iraqi Soldiers own the ground they trod, interacting with the locals even the little that they did while Americans took a back seat role.

Night Ops

2005-03-04T13:04:00.000-05:00

They say the night time is the right time, to be with the one you love. Here, it’s a good time to observe more than what you observe during daylight hours. It’s been long held that most people follow circadian rhythms, sleeping at night and rising with the dawn. It is also a truism that you can catch people off guard at night.

For three days the Intelligence officer in the battalion I advise reported shots being fired at a specific tower in our sector. Not a volley just one or two shots. I paid no attention to this report initially because there could be any number of reasons a tower would think they are being shot at in a country where randomly shooting weapons into the air is the national pastime after football (soccer).

After three days of the same I discussed the matter with another teammate SFC T, and we agreed to go conduct counter sniper operations. If someone was shooting at the tower we would be able to see the muzzle flash and hopefully return fire from a position hidden from the shooter.

We scouted out a good position atop a water tower near the tower in question. At least we told ourselves it was a water tower. It likely contains some sort of petroleum product, but it could have contained fermenting milk given the smell in some parts of the base. We had great visibility for well beyond the range of our weapons and our position was concealed unless you were specifically looking at said tower, and knew to look for the silhouette of a human.

We set in just after dark, creeping our truck into position without the lights on into an area near the towers. The abandoned buildings had been used as refuge for animals, Soldiers and insurgents alike. The trees and shrubs were overgrown and reclaiming the land for their own use, but it added some concealment for us.

The air at sundown was warm and filled with the fine powdery dust that is the bulk of this desert. The air smelled like the dust and diesel fuel from the nearby refinery whose burner looked like an Olympic torch against the darkening Eastern sky. The fingers of darkness crept in and around us like a thief. The mildew of old buildings and rotting sewage from humans and animals alike mixed with the diesel and sweetness of the date palms into a scent I’ve become familiar with.

Loaded up with our gear we climbed the tower and set up our positions. SFC T a caffeine hound carried with him several “red bull” beverages, and kept asking if I wanted one, and I declined, each time. Though I was entranced with the Mike & Ikes which I was introduced to just that evening.

As complete darkness fell on the area we realized we would not be able to see the towers and the risk of shooting at our own personnel was somewhat significant, so we climbed back down with three “Cyalume snap lights” or what we commonly call “chem lights”. While SFC T climbed one large tower I emplaced two lights on two smaller bunkers towers, all three were hidden from the enemy’s view. Their glow however, would be easily seen from our hide. As I suspected the Jenoud (Soldiers) were entranced with the lights and started playing with them once we left.

Now from our tower position I could see the bright green lights dancing around as the Jenoud shook them, tossed them and generally made fools of themselves. I called their commander on the radio and told him to have the Jenoud put the lights back, which they did.

Within minutes their sergeant of the guard came to take the lights away a decision I still don’t understand, because when I questioned the sergeant he said he only took lights from a tower we didn’t even put lights on. I called the commander again and asked him to have the sergeant return the lights, which never happened.

Our time for suspected fire was fast approaching, so I called another advisor to put up some infra-red chem lights. These provide a bright beacon for persons wearing night vision apparatus, but not the naked eye. Thus the Jenoud, if they did see them wouldn’t mess with them.

Again, the Jenoud proved to out smart me with idiocy. They again shook the lights and tried to make them glow. Defeated they threw them away. SFC T and I contemplated a well placed shot in-between the towers to get their attention. However, any action on our part would give our hide away, so we sat.

The time passed and we rotated watching, to ensure our eyes were rested and our vision clear. During which I would either lie back or look at the stars or the horizon of trees. The lights from the homes in the distance reminded me of farms back home with a cluster of sodium and fluorescent lights separated by vast expanses of darkness.

Several times during the hours on the tower we heard shots, though none pointed in our direction or the direction of our lines for that matter. Across a river that marks the eastern boundary of the installation are several farms. The pets and feral dogs would work themselves into a tizzy barking at each other and the moon or whatever happened by.

The farmers would periodically shoot a round into the air to shut them up, or so we surmised. The dogs would silence while the report of the shot would ring up and down the river banks, through the palm groves and across the country side. Then slowly they would start again, working up to a cacophony. This process continued for several hours until the farmers would succumb to sleep or frustration.

After one such shot, one of our towers discharged one round in the direction of the farms, violating our rules of engagement. Largely, after that the night was quiet. The insurgency however doesn’t like to fight at night, so in the wee hours of the morning we crept back down the tower and back to our “house”, armed with lessons learned

For me the juxtaposition of this place is awesome. If you let yourself, you can get lost in the natural beauty of the place, the stars at night or cloud formations at dawn or dusk. It is easy to see how an opium or dehydration induced sunrise could make a simple nomad think he is having a vision from God. Or you can get sucked into the quagmire of politics and worst of human nature. Sometimes I think God puts those things out there for us to notice for our own sanity, not a vision, but a gift.

Rogue 2 OUT

2005-03-01T10:44:00.000-05:00

This was a response to a gentleman who inquired about my thoughts on the following editorials:
http://cumberlink.com/articles/2005/02/21/news/news08.txt
http://cumberlink.com/articles/2005/02/08/news/news03.txt

Regarding the renaming of a local high school in honor of medal of honor winner SFC Randall Shughart who lost his life in Somalia in 1993 saving a downed helicopter pilot.
-----------------
I read your email a couple of times and I have had different reactions each time. Part of it depends on the level of lunacy I’ve been forced to endure prior to reading your email. Part of it depends on the success I see with the Iraqis I advise, train, and mentor.

I see corruption here everyday. It’s so rampant it pulls you down and you have to fight to rise above it. Back room deals with contractors, Iraqi Soldiers making shady deals with contractors and Soldiers to get by. Iraqi Soldiers lie about pay and food. NCOs and Officers use finger pointing, irresponsibility, circular Logic and red herrings when you question them about anything. Death threats, theft, lies and deceit are the norm rather than an abnormality.

Because of the Soviet style doctrine Saddam imposed on his military the officers do not trust the NCOs to lead the troops. The NCOs don’t trust the Soldiers with their duties, and the Soldiers don’t trust the Officers will pay, feed or lead them.

On the civilian side we have families that war, worse than the Hatfields and McCoys, with each other until their tribe tells them to war with another tribe. Here there are tribal leaders manipulating the people, the system and the coalition forces to gain regional power.

I have come to realize I cannot change five thousand years of culture by myself or in one year. This is going to be a long process of indoctrination and inculcation to different values and norms. What I can do is help them see what a different place Iraq would be if they made a few changes. Then when my replacement comes, he can do the same progressing a little each time.

On the one hand it’s a pretty bleak picture, but on the other they make progress every day. The elections were amazing. Soldiers in the battalion I advise were cheering, dancing, embracing and celebrating whenever a truck came back into our compound regardless if the truck carried Soldiers who just voted or were returning from some other mission. Shias and Sunis embracing, or Kurds and Arabs dancing and cheering, truly a beautiful image. I cannot help but think it must have been similar some 229 years ago back home.

Our government is a collection of elected officials who represent a myriad of special interests and agendas. Even if the special interest is the very people who granted the freedoms we enjoy, their agenda must be weighed against the needs of the community.

Granted, my knowledge on the subject is only the editorial in the Sentinel and what you have provided, but I find no reason not to follow through. The reluctance to even discuss it is more infuriating than unnerving.

Still, given the information I have I am left to think the local representative government is not working for the people. I feel appalled, sickened, saddened, and dismayed at the political process that should be the benchmark for all government by the people, in this instance is not.

I took an oath to support and defend the constitution of the United States from all enemies both foreign and domestic so help me God. My chain of command is the obvious NCOs and Officers directly in my world. It also includes the President as the commander in chief, and he answers to the People of the United States who elected him and the other 253 elected officials of the Federal government. So, I am inclined to remind the school board of Big Springs to whom they answer, that they and I both must answer to the citizenry for our actions or inactions.

Too often parents want someone else to instill values and morals into their children. As a U.S. Army Drill Sergeant I see this all the time. As educators, or more correctly I am sure the educators the Big Spring school district employs can attest to the same. Do we not owe it to the children of our community to offer them heroes who embody the very morals we wish to instill?
More importantly, what lesson are your students learning from this? That values mean nothing. Or that elected officials are above the majority they serve?

Randall Shughart offered his life to protect one of his comrades. He knowingly subjected himself to enemy fire to defend the defenseless. He offered his life not only to protect the interests of the American government, and for the future of Somalia but most importantly he offered his life for a brother.

Randall Shughart in one moment defined the seven Army core values of Loyalty, Duty, Respect, Selfless Service, Honor, Integrity, and Personal Courage. These are not catch phrases but words we live by, words he lived by. Words he should be remembered by.

One final thought to elected officials everywhere, your career is dependant upon your attentiveness to your constituents, so I’ll part with a message I read on a number of barriers here as I exit any number of coalition bases. The barriers read, “Complacency Kills”.
Very Respectfully,

SFC Andrew Brown
U.S. Army Advisor - Iraqi ArmyIraq

Final Hurrah

2005-02-26T10:42:00.000-05:00

As units rotate in and out of Iraq, there are different perspectives on what their actions or involvement in a given mission should be. One school of thought is to focus on simply getting home, while another is to focus on the mission accomplishment. A third is the “tourist”, that is the individuals or units that look at their last missions as their last chance to take pictures, and movies of life outside the wire.

Personally, I don’t know which camp I fall into because it depends on the mission and the circumstances, though I am no where near “short” enough to even be considered in these debates.

For the non-military types a short jargon explanation. Both Inmates and Soldiers share common language perhaps because there is a common mentality of imprisonment, or perhaps because for many years criminals were offered go to war or go to jail sentences, meaning they serve in the military or serve time.

When one claims to be short they are counting down the days until their release or rotation back to the world. For me, I have to count backwards in order to avoid massive depression. So instead of thinking I have 50 days to go, I think I have completed 95 days. Or I look towards major events or dates, and think 25 days until St. Patrick’s Day. Not that date has any meaningful significance to me, it’s just a date.

Some days when events aren’t going as planned I remind myself that Mickey’s hands keep moving, referencing the Mickey Mouse watches of my youth.

We’ve been working with a coalition unit who is very short. Their first elements have already rotated back, and the rest are in a sequence to depart. Still we planned one final operation in a village they’ve “owned” for some time. That is until recently when they stopped patrolling it in favor of other “hot” spots.

The areas of responsibility were designated to various units, ING, IAF, and coalition forces. The good news from this operation was for the most part, the units worked well together. The Iraqis demonstrated to many coalition officers a marked improvement in their ability to operate. The battalion I advise found a significant cache of mortar rounds and rockets, a few rifles and assault weapons, and detained several persons for questioning. They operated with speed and skill. I was an remain proud of their efforts in planning and execution.

We had some tourists taking pictures and generally getting in the way until we as advisors stopped them. A couple of times other units both coalition and Iraqi would enter our zone and conduct their own operations at inopportune times, much to my chagrin. My Iraqi operations officer handled the situation well with the Iraqis but was reluctant to address the coalition forces, which is where I came in.

End state, The battalion executed a good mission, sure we have some points to improve upon, but it was a good mission. The coalition forces both out-going and in-coming that were observing this battalion were impressed with the capabilities. This bodes well for us in the future.

Rogue 2 OUT

Working Without a Safety Net

2005-02-22T10:41:00.000-05:00

The temperature kicked up to a balmy eighty degrees but with the body armor, no water, Kevlar, and movement I was working up a sweat. I was glad I chose not to wear my thermal underwear in the cool of the morning. My first real sweat from operations since Fallujah and it felt good, though this time was more movement in thick foliage than in an urban environment.

Rewind four hours and it was a brisk low forties predawn morning. The battalion I advise was preparing to conduct the first mission they planned and would execute with no intervention from our advisor team, only advice and suggestions for success. They appeared to be on their way to actually leaving on time too, but that was not to be.

The building with their arms room had no power and they did not react well to the glitch, so the Jenoud (Soldiers) were not ready on time, the vehicles weren’t manned and the operation subsequently did not start on time. This time it would not be that big a detriment to the mission’s success, but it’s something we’ll have to work on for the future.

Rewind two days and we connected the dots on intelligence reports, information I cannot report here and presented it to our Iraqi staff as a potential mission. It surprised me no one else saw the information come together the way we did. Once we saw they were on the right track for planning we turned up the burner and gave them a very tight timeline in which to conduct the operations.

As an advisor one of my duties is to coordinate fire support or air support should the operation call for it. I was disappointed in the CAV for blowing us off to even hear the plan. I guess it figures when the unit is short and their operations officer is from another branch. During the initial meeting with the CAV, I told the officer we would execute the mission regardless of their support but because of the scope felt it would be good to have their assistance.

For the Iraqi staff, our intent was to see what they would do to plan for contingencies given such a short time to plan an operation. What would they do if they encountered heavy resistance? What would they do if they detained a large number of people? We were focusing on the process more so than the execution.

For a variety of reasons they felt they weren’t prepared to execute the mission, that they had not conducted enough reconnaissance of the area and the targets. We continually reminded them they would often have to conduct operations with very little information on their target, however they have the advantage of knowing the terrain and the people far better than any Americans would.

Their operations order presentation was detailed and thorough. Unlike Western culture in which we present the bottom line up front, and we are very matter of fact, they are not. An American operation presentation would have the situation and mission clearly stated up front, then provide supporting facts and information. They presented the information in reverse.

The morning of the operation we lined up and started moving thirty minutes late. I called in to our higher headquarters, “Be advised Rouge elements are conducting operations outside the wire BREAK. Departing with two-five vehicles and one-five-five personnel at zero-five-three-zero, HOW COPY?” In English I told them who, what and how many were going.

Our convoy followed the twisting road that paralleled the river, and from my back seat I could see the pre-dawn light reflecting on this ribbon of pink, red orange and silver that cut through the palm trees like a neon sign cuts the blackness of night on a lonely stretch of highway.

We drove North expecting our mission had been compromised and eventual contact which did not occur. The level of alertness of the Jenoud was not as high as ours, to them they were simply moving at an ungodly early hour, which was apparent when we stopped at our objective and they moved lethargically.

Intelligence had reported this town has possibly harboring foreign nationals here to fight coalition forces, possibly weapons caches and more. What we found was a sleepy village that had been disturbed by road blocks and Soldiers with guns.

Of the smattering of houses every one contained at least four military age males, which could be bad news, then again this is Iraq and it could be just a collection of families trying to make ends meet. Only time would tell.

The Jenoud split their forces to cordon off the area, and then search specific targets, and then conduct a general search. We only made a few suggestions and offered little guidance letting the Iraqi’s enough rope to hang themselves.

I spoke to a few of the citizens asking what they did in the village and if they voted. There were way too many men working in construction for such a small village for my comfort, but we had to let the toddler learn. I spoke at length about one man’s cows and livestock, via interpreter.

The Jenoud were quick to detain a number of people until our intelligence officer smartly said the Jenoud need to process the detainees before he got them at the interview site. Suddenly, there wasn’t as much impetus to detain anyone.

There were a number of points on which they can improve, at the same time I saw them operate in ways may American units fail to do. They exemplified the buddy team concept, moving in pairs when searching and crossing obstacles. The officers lead the search teams and the NCOs trailed to police up any stragglers. It was poetry in motion.

We moved into the third phase of the operation and began searching fields and palm groves surrounding the village. Two new members of our team MAJ B, and SSG C (our medic) were following the search companies with me across fields. Like a moron I neglected to bring my water having left it in my room.

As we walked we discussed the farming techniques they used, some of them over five thousand years old and some modern methods. They used some sort of nitrogen compound to fertilize the fields, but would let the local shepherd’s sheep graze on the luscious greenery and ground foliage.

We moved into a palm grove and several times would move past a low tree to find ourselves on an access road. I looked around me on these roads and could have easily mistaken my whereabouts for say the Bahamas. Some of the palms were only a few inches high, while others were almost fifty feet high.

We crossed several aqueducts and fences and I figured we would have stopped sooner, then suddenly on one such road I gazed through the low branches to see a structure and heard the sound of traffic. We had moved south to the perimeter of the next town. This place was definitely not friendly to coalition forces.

Here the local police were working with both the Iraqi National Guard and the insurgents alike, so Anmar citizen was caught in between a genuine rock and hard place. We would be back here too.

The result of our operation we detained and questioned about a dozen persons, but only one was willing to offer any information, and that seemed shady. We captured no vast cache or encountered any resistance. To me and the rest of my team the mission was a huge success that cannot be overstated. They planned and executed this. I was very proud to have been a part of this operation and this team of Iraqi officers and NCOs.

Are we making progress? Undeniably yes. If only I could get them all to show up on time, wear the same uniform, and stop asking me about pay and leave.

Rogue 3 OUT

Traffic Control Points

2005-02-18T10:40:00.000-05:00

After a day of recovery from the DRR exercise in futility, we returned to a normal pattern of operations, including patrols both mounted and dismounted, and traffic control points or TCPs around the base.

SFC F, and I went on one such operation in which we were to conduct a TCP at a bridge that has had some violent and terrible crimes committed as an omen to all passing over it. The company commander exercised a bit of creative license with the mission and turned this into a high speed patrol, to a TCP, with another high speed patrol to an overpass-as-turn around, to another high speed patrol back to the base.

Driving on some of these village roads is challenging enough, but in a humvee and at speed is a white knuckle experience even for skilled operators.

A bit of history of this battalion and this bridge; when the battalion was first deemed operational, they were moved from their training site to Taji to conduct base security operations, which they did with high marks for 60 days then trained for operations in Fallujah while continuing to conduct security operations.

The insurgents had terrorized civilians and contractors in Baghdad and Taji, and had executed several leaving their decimated bodies on the bridge as a marker for coalition forces and locals. The battalion conducted a series of patrols which lead to information which led to the capture or ultimate destruction of the murderers, and to that point what was the largest weapons cache in Iraq. These weapons were being modified to make IEDs in a welding shop in the nearby village.
The Iraqi’s setup a TCP at either end of the bridge and we parked our humvee and two gun trucks on a strip of dirt in between the roads leading to the bridge and the bridge itself. There was a small mound of dirt there which we used as a small berm, as many other coalition forces had also done. Just a few days later we would get a report of an IED that was buried but discovered in that very berm.

We stayed on the south side of the bridge for some time and watched the Iraqis work. We made a few suggestions but largely observed quietly letting them run their own show.

Some children were walking to school and asked for candy, having none, I took my interpreter to a store nearby and purchased for 5 U.S. dollars what would have been over 20 dollars of candy for the kids. I handed it out and took some pictures of their smiling faces. They thanked me in Iraqi and some even tried a few words of English.

Some wouldn’t take candy from strangers, and I didn’t blame them, but wondered what the motivation or more properly the lack there of was about. Was it that they were raised to distrust strangers with candy as we teach children? Or was it a distrust of Americans based on some information from the home front. One young girl quickly changed her mind when she saw “her” portion was going to go to someone else.

After about an hour we moved to the North side where I again disbursed the candy to some children there, and attempted to communicate with them in Iraqi, which they find humorous, not because of my pronouncement but rather the notion of an American speaking Iraqi or so I am told.

I found serenity in the blue waters of the canal the bridge traversed. This canal feeds the Euphrates river and is likely a natural disaster by DCNR standards but the people here lived on it and profited from it.

While observing the company commander run his company I felt it necessary to correct some problems immediately and was in conversation with him when I heard children running up to me yelling, “mista mista”, as many Iraqis use to show respect. Of course they say, “sista” to show respect for females. I turned to see three young boys and a little girl running to me with two pieces of bread. I know that culturally making bread here is like toasting a pop-tart back home, but the significance of children offering what could have been the mainstay of their meal was not lost on me.

At first I refused the gift saying I couldn’t accept it, but they insisted and my interpreter and the company commander also insisted I take it so as not to be rude. So, I did but shared it with the interpreter and SFC F. A bit more salty than other homemade breads I’ve had here, it was a meal unto itself.

To show my gratitude when the children asked for footballs, I said I would bring them, “inshalla”. Though I truly did mean I would try to get them the balls. It seems fortune has smiled on me because I have found a supply of soccer balls, which we’ll use to satisfy this immediate need and for other kids around this base.

They are like kids anywhere. They are smaller counterparts to their adult family members. They are bright energetic and playful. They survive in a world of violence most Americans would never understand and for the most part, they come out OK. Their situation, their lifestyle, which has been going on for much longer than Saddam Hussein necessitates adaptations or perhaps more correctly fewer adaptations and more concessions than what we in the western world are accustomed to. Still, they are kids, and kids will be kids.
Rouge 2 OUT

Trip back from Nieumenyiah

2005-02-15T10:39:00.000-05:00

It would have been a jail break if our teammates didn’t come down with a convoy to secure our travel back to Taji. We would have left regardless, but it was comforting to know they were there.

It was good to see them, and our reunion was like we hadn’t seen each other for much longer than a mere two weeks. The fraternity of Soldiering is a tighter bond than any contractual obligation and more meaningful than most will know.

Of 1800 Jenoud (Soldiers) we were to collect 187. Of the 187 we were departing with a mere 14 the morning of our departure. The rest were on leave, and instructed to return the day after we departed, not good planning on the Iraqi’s part. The good news is, as we lined up the vehicles and made our final preparations we suddenly picked up 50 or so more Jenoud who were returning from leave.

We made them change and issued them a weapon, helmet and body armor. We set a cut off and anyone who arrived after that cut off would be stuck there for the brigade to figure out how to get them to their duty stations.

Because of possible hostilities we went West to go North. We rolled through the desert, farm fields and a few small towns. I was up in the turret reliving my days as a tanker, and providing rear security.

As we rolled West we passed fields some with grasses others fallow. Ironically, the fields on the northern side of the road were greener than those on the southern side. The grass truly was greener on the other side. We passed a flock of sheep, then a flock/ herd/ gaggle/ cluster of camels being herded by a young boy. They are unruly beasts but with traffic whipping by even more so.

I looked up to the sky, it was crystal blue clear to the West however it looked ominous to the North and East, and observed a thunderhead in the Southern sky that looked like it was pouring it’s contents onto the earth, stretching from the earth to the highest heights in an wall of water bent by the winds. I was reminded of the rainy season 14 years ago that turned into a battle that ended with the destruction of several hundred Kuwaiti oil fields that blackened the sky for months and that memory depressed me.

The towns we passed through were a bit surprised to see Americans and Iraqis moving together so our reception was more confusion than joy or anger. The children would waive wildly sometimes shaking their entire bodies to garner our attention, in hopes of some candy or food. The parents would sometimes glare, sometimes smile, sometimes waive and others would ignore us all together.

Seemingly across the country the towns are a mix of new and old construction. Bombed out and decrepit mixed with new and repaired. Being the end of the haji there were banners and flags signifying religious devotion and others signifying nothing.

We pressed on North towards the now infamous Abu Graheb prison, where as the Iraqi’s call it Americans conducted the nice kind of “torture”. As the trail vehicle I was responsible for securing our convoy from aggressive drivers from behind. Apparently 60 miles an hour wasn’t fast enough for a few cars, so I would waive them off. At this point most Iraqi’s know to avoid American convoys, and especially to avoid their gunfire. Road rage here will get you killed.

Conventional Iraqi wisdom would be to pass a slow moving convoy by crossing the median and going against traffic in the opposite lanes of traffic. If there is a guard rail or barrier I am not worried because they cannot break back into our line. If however there is no barrier, I waive those drivers off as well. One particular man in a white late model Chevy Silverado knew instantly my spinning of the turret and shaking my head no was a clear sign to back off and resume driving behind us.

The trip was otherwise uneventful until we reached the only real danger area of our trip the heart of Baghdad. Our journey was being guided by an Iraqi officer, a young captain in the second vehicle who had the unfortunate habit of directing our lead vehicle to make turns as they were on top of the intersection or already past it. More than once this happened but this time put our lead vehicle all alone.

Thus we stopped the convoy and blocked four lanes of North bound traffic and forced them to do a U-turn some across a median and curb so our vehicle could catch up. The Jenoud quickly dismounted and secured our perimeter under the direction of the battalion sergeants and officers.

When we finally did arrive, I was still vibrating from the road and hyper from the adrenalin. It was good to be back in familiar surroundings even if that meant getting back to the silliness here. It’s funny, for all the crap I deal with daily, I still look at trips to the “regular army” side of this post as a little vacation.

Rogue 2 OUT.

News from the...side

2005-02-10T15:04:00.000-05:00

I can't really call this news from the front. There really isn’t a front here, old doctrine taught forces could be massed in a particular direction for the best effect. Given we are fighting an insurgency that uses guerilla tactics, there are two tactics, one spread the combat forces to protect the combat support/service support forces in a “defensive” posture. The other is to spread the combat forces, but use the speed, agility and superior firepower to provide an offensive posture.

Am I safe? Well safe is a relative concept. I am safer from direct or indirect fire than I was in Fallujah or Taji. Still, I do things on a regular basis here that would terrify most Americans, but it's normal to me. I did however just spend three days in a close quarters marksmanship (CQM) range with Iraqi privates who’ve claimed to be in the former army and therefore know how to operate the AK47 safely. That was scary.

I witnessed several Jenoud (privates) who were quite terrified of the weapon, and others who were just stupid. I get the same reaction with many American Soldiers, the difference is the threat of an American Soldier gunning me down for religious glory is significantly less than here. That, and I made sure they knew I was a safety switch away from defending my life.
I am well, mostly. I had a terrible bout of the flu a few weeks ago, and now have I think just a head cold. I am loading up on vitamin C and Soldiering on.

We are finished training and through classic Iraqi planning, (read none), the Jenoud were paid and allowed to take leave. First, if you don’t know, there is no banking system in Iraq and it will take years for the citizens to trust it, so the Soldiers are paid and allowed to take the money home to where it is needed their families. Problem is the Iraqi officers didn’t tell them how long to take.

Prior to the pay day, the Jenoud would come to me in throngs asking about pay, their first priority, followed by leave, and food. They would lament, “no pay, must the home. Have baby.” To which I would reply, “I don’t control your pay, you need to see your sergeant or officer.” My interpreters became very good at recognizing these requests and would shoo them off before I had to say anything. My personal favorite is when they lament that they haven’t seen their families for 3 or 4 weeks. I’ll clean up the expletives that usually come out of my mouth, but generally they get the idea that I am apathetic to their pleas in this regard.

The power goes out regularly, there is no central water system, nor sewage system. So, the power we endure. The water we make requests for the tanks each building has to be filled with non-potable water, and the sewage, well that’s where the incense comes in. I’ve also actually used my chemical protective mask in this regard. One problem with the water was the contractor who filled the tanks would either not fill them, or leave a valve open so he would have to make multiple trips thereby increasing his revenue. This type of craftiness is everywhere.

I was discussing with some of my interpreters the current situation. Some saw only the huge load of work to be done, and the idiocy of the military and became depressed. Sinon, my good friend said, “these guys are the low class.” To which I replied, “true, but if we can get them to work together, and the educated and upper class follow suite, there is nothing limiting Iraq.”

It truly is amazing to see the potential for these people. It will just take some time, and a lot of patience. We as Americans are used to instant gratification, they are used to maybe leaning towards no. We have expectations of them running, when in reality they are just learning to take their first steps. This is why I am really proud to be here. I get to see this Army and this nation pick itself up after taking some pretty good punches most self inflicted.

The people are incredibly warm and inviting. Whenever you enter their residence, even if it is a barracks room shared by 20 they will invite and insist that you sit. They will offer you their food, and the best they have to offer too, not the scraps. If it is their last cigarette they will offer that to you, and insist even if you don’t smoke. The food is simple fare, usually relying on the food’s natural flavor and it is usually incredible.

By far my biggest struggle is with the American forces here who do not understand or make attempt to understand my role as an advisor. Many Americans expect us to own and control the units we advise. This is a slippery slope. If we take control, we’ll most certainly have it, and they won’t progress. If we let them fail, they will learn, they do learn and adapt quickly. Their problem solving skills are pretty good for small groups. We need to get them to think in terms of larger groups and in the future tense rather than consistently being reactive.

Basic Training Iraqi Style

2005-02-06T20:46:00.000-05:00

Basic Training Iraqi Style

Jenoud (Soldiers) are trained in one of four different basic training programs. There is a program for the Iraqi National Guard, which has been rolled into the regular Army, at least for the time being. There is a basic training program run by the British Army, one by the Americans and an abbreviated program for former Iraqi Soldiers. None of these programs are any where in length to American forces, but it is just a fledgling Army, and there are troop strength goals to be met.

I am not sure entirely how they are recruited into the Army but they are arriving in the thousands with promises of pay and a stable job, which is why most are hear rather than altruistic intent.

At this point there are enough battle tested Sergeants the training is conducting with them in lieu of coalition forces as the instructors. So several ad hoc programs have been setup using Iraqi sergeants as instructors, one of which I am in support of now.

They are doing all of the planning, poorly. All of the administration, also poorly. The execution? To suggest that the execution is poor is both wishful thinking and far from the truth. They will tell sergeants they are training a particular class, but the sergeant will not prepare, rather citing his experience in the task as adequate preparation. The sergeants have frequently changed classes to something more interesting or sexy if they don’t like the class they’ve been assigned.

After the first two of three days of what amounts to class room instruction and they were still running into roadblocks due to poor planning. For example, the intent was for a round-robin style program. At first the sergeant major in charge of training, didn’t know what his responsibilities or authority was so he did none of the preparation. His intent was for the instructors and students to rotate, then settled on just the instructors, until we pointed out they would be constantly setting up moving and tearing down training aids.

The content is largely correct. From a doctrine perspective they are teaching good things, however there are many things that are not correct. I could cite a myriad of things, but suffice it to say our stance has been to let them go to the edge of the cliff and pull them back before they go over.

Some things are just amusing to watch but I realize are a product of their environment. I observed many Jenoud moving laterally like they are playing soccer rather than in a straight line. They also move like actors in a Hollywood production weaving, bobbing and ducking from imaginary enemy forces, when learning to patrol.

The good news is the Sergeants that do teach are eager to teach and flex control over the Jenoud. Most, require little maintenance and are easy to work with, receiving corrections professionally and providing clearing feedback to my questions. Their instruction is sound and their techniques beyond what I expected.

The last two days we’ve been running an indoor live fire range, whose purpose is the culmination of several skills, including individual movement techniques, room clearing, reflexive fire, and others. Going into a concrete building with live ammunition and unskilled shooters is not high on my list of fun things. I bet however, some adrenalin junky would enjoy it. The only mishaps we’ve had are weapons on full auto rather than semi, resulting in “manual control” from their sergeants. Meaning they secured the private and the weapon, and rarely was it gingerly.

In fact the sergeant I was working with was all but pushing me aside to teach and control his teams as they navigated the building. That is huge. That is what I am looking for the Sergeants to do. The NCOs were issuing commands for corrective training, like making Jenoud do pushups or other exercises to refocus their efforts.

As we passed the end of the month here, constantly I would be asked about their pay. As if I an E7 in the United States Army have control over pay operations of the Iraqi Army. They make faces and charades trying to tell me they have a child as if that will some how help their cause. My interpreter’s help me on this. When the Jundi (Privates) asks about pay, they know to tell them I don’t control pay, to go away and see their chain of command. It’s quite freeing really.

My Interpreters are very good and good people too. Most of them are educated beyond the Saddam public education system, and a few have been outside Iraq. One has helped us with cultural things and we’ve exchanged small gifts. We’ve discussed the potential for Iraq at length, and one commented about the Jenoud they are the low class. I countered, if we can get them to accomplish the building of an Army, what’s going to stop the upper classes when they feel secure? I will be sad when I leave them here.

A problem we face is the inability of the officers or NCOs to plan. They react very well, but they cannot think in terms of contingencies or “what ifs”. We asked them for their plan to pay 1800 Soldiers and they replied, “we’ll just pay them.” The “how” never enters their minds. So I am torn between focusing on the NCO corps that I know can be a powerful tool for the Army in terms of execution or focus on the Officers because they will ultimately be planning the operations in the future.

The positives from this mission give me hope for our return to the battalion we advise, but at the same time the negatives are the same regardless of the Iraqi officer in charge, and that means we’ll be here a while.

Bush Announces the Iraqi Elections a success

2005-02-03T15:02:00.000-05:00

Washington D.C. 2005
Sunday afternoon, the election results were in and George W. Bush announced the elections in Iraq were successful. He went on to say he would happily accept the Prime Minister of Iraq and immediately named his Deputy Prime Minister Tony Blair, making Iraq a wholly owned subsidiary of KBR and therefore Haliburton. Iraqi officials were somewhat confused, but not as much as the Bush daughters who thought moving from the white house to one of Sadam's palaces would be, "all icky and stuff...ya know?" Vice President Dick Chaney was on hand and immediately said his stock was sold months before the elections hoping to prevent another Martha Stewart Fiasco.

Help the People of Iraq

2005-01-30T01:09:00.000-05:00

Here's something you can send.

The Army is trying to stand up 10 medical clinics around Baghdad, however there is a great need for medical books in Iraq. Many of the medical professionals get through medical school using photo copies of books. They don't have to be new, used books would suffice. Any help would be appreciated.

You can send them to
MAJ Woods, Angela
CMATT - 98th MOS/OES
Camp Taji, TMTB
APO AE 09378

Trip to Numaniyah

2005-01-28T01:24:00.000-05:00

Ideally we would have started at 5 am using darkness and the sleeping habits of Iraqis to shroud our movements. An assumption led to the 8 am start time, which was delayed by a classic Jundi moment, but that comes later.

Still not sure exactly how this happened, but the picture is clearer now that I am here than what it was leading up to this mission. Short version, the advisors of our battalion got a short notice order to send 3 of us to Numaniyah to train new Jundi in a condensed boot camp program called direct recruiting or DRR. I know there are two Rs there, but no one seems to know what the 2nd R stands for.

The program as it originally was explained was to take former Soldiers and re-enlist them in the new army, give them a refresher in basics then ship them off to the new units for further training.

Couple of issues, it’s a numbers game program, meaning someone gets to report to the President, via the pentagon that x number of troops have been enlisted and trained and are current members of the Iraqi Army. Problem is not all of the DRR soldiers are prior service, and the number of Soldiers on the ground is a far cry from the number of Soldiers on a unit’s roster.

Some Soldiers don’t return from leave, some Soldiers never show up to their duty station, some Soldiers have more than one ID card for pay purposes, and some Soldiers quit upon arrival, but that person can still tell the President we’ve trained x number of Soldiers.

Almost a week before the movement date we were notified about the mission. The outgoing battalion commander knew about the mission before we did, and rather than plan transportation, likely told the Soldiers to take some time off and arrive in Numaniyah on a certain date to train. This was about as smart as air brakes on a turtle, and the commander left that night himself.

No coordination with the coalition forces could have meant arrest for these sergeants, no housing, no food, and most important, no uniforms. The Soldiers don’t leave post with a uniform or weapon unless part of a convoy to prevent theft/sale of the government issued equipment. The morning after getting our notice we found out five sergeants were gone, when we needed eight. Inshalla, “if God wills it”. A phrase that has become the bane of my existence was the excuse.

I pressed the staff to come up with three more sergeants to complete the mission and have them ready on the appointed date for a two week absence from our normal base. That morning they arrived with two more sergeants and a private. I told the operations officer to get the original sergeant. He said, “he didn’t want to go when he found out it was more than a day mission.” Classic Iraqi

After replacing the gasket in my head, I advised he doesn’t have a choice, but the operations officer did have a choice. He could promote the private to sergeant, something he isn’t empowered to do, or get the sergeant in the truck, something he is empowered to do. He chose wisely the latter.

We linked up with our security element, several other humvees, and rolled out on a clear bright Friday, with our singular Nissan pickup surrounded by the much bigger more powerful humvees with turrets and weapons.

Some Soldiers are terrified by the notion of a convoy, and will do anything to avoid them. Sure, there is an element of danger to any mission, though anymore I am not afraid of convoys, not from complacency rather confidence. I am loath to quote George W. Bush, but he is famous for saying to Al Qaeda, “bring it on.” Thus when we go out I want to drive or gun. I want to be able to use a defined weapon system or as a last resort use the vehicle as a weapon.

Being their Sabbath there was little traffic, which helped us speed through Baghdad. The CAV’s Apache helicopters were out in force, but not for our direct benefit, though their presence surely aided in a few instances. I remain somewhat awestruck at the utilization of space here, when I see people using the ground in traffic circles and road sides for gardens.

We sailed out into the country side and periodically I’d ask our interpreter what a sign or symbol meant, which he gladly instructed us. We saw several gatherings of citizens which at first were viewed as a potential threat, until we saw the white and green flags indicating families waiting for a Haji returning from the Haj. I greeted individuals in each group in Iraqi and waived to the children.

The children are amusing to watch. Some linger around the entrances of the coalition bases hoping for food or candy from the Joes. Most of these kids don’t need the food, being close to a coalition base means there are jobs for dad. I imagine a mother scolding a child being chastised by their mother for hanging around the Americans or taking candy from strangers.

Out here in the country side, however the jobs aren’t as plentiful and the families work on their Sabbath. So when the children run to the convoys hoping for some food, they generally need it. Out here the aren’t as used to the convoys as the citizens in Baghdad, so they often stare with any number of emotions. I try to waive to them to show I mean them no harm, unless provoked. Of course the same could be said for them, they waive to get my hand away from the trigger.

We passed several families walking to their Mosque for prayers wearing their Friday best, women and children in bright colors and men in simple dress typically dark colors. The more conservative women wore the traditional black burkas while others wore only a scarf around their head with their face fully exposed.

We rolled past aqueducts, canals, farms and fields some tended others not. I watched women gathering vegetables from gardens and shrubs for cooking and fire wood. As I looked out over the barrel of my weapon to the horizon several times I was reminded of stretches of highway in Lancaster County, or larger sections of Nebraska, Texas, Indiana and Missouri. One particular break in a large grove of palm trees on the horizon reminded me of the road leading south into Gap, PA.

Power lines ran parallel to the highway we were on and I was reminded of what one Iraqi man said to me, “Why can’t a country as great as America that put a man on the moon, get power to our homes?” I thought about what I would say to that man if he asked me today and I became lost in my own thoughts, but never too far from the mission at hand quickly scanning back to the greatest threat areas.

We turned and the greenery was slowly replaced by more and more desert and fewer and fewer trees. The houses were increasingly smaller and more closely resembling mud huts than an actual structure. The sky out here presents a visual oddity. The dust in the air, usually so fine it can’t be seen close creates a haze in the distance on the horizon. Because it is everywhere it also shades the sun making the skyline look like there is an umbrella overhead. There is an apparent dust cloud on the horizon, bright blue band then a bit darker overhead in all directions.

This was the desert I remembered from so many years ago, almost depressingly bleak, but not. Almost devoid of life, but not quite, still it is beautiful in its simplicity and vastness.

Rouge 2 OUT

Corporal, This is not Your Fight

2005-01-25T01:16:00.000-05:00

While in Fallujah the four advisors from my division had to come up with call signs for radio transmissions. On standard military radios there is an alpha-numeric combination to identify each unit, like W35H which is pronounced “Whiskey tree fife Hotel”.

However, for convenience most units use what are called “Hollywood” call signs. Some examples are “Red 4”, “Saber 6”, or “Hammer 5”. I could spend days trying to explain some of the logic in the naming schemes, so I won’t.

The symbol of our division is an Iroquois warrior with five feathers representing the five nations of the Iroquois nation. Being a subset of this unit we choose Mohawk as our call sign, since it is easier to say than Iroquois and we are attached to another unit. Moreover, these call signs would be used on hand held radios rather than formalized radio networks, hence the Mohawk 2 at the bottom of many of my postings.

We had three sets of call signs to use on our advisor team, one for the Marines, one for the Soldiers from the west coast division, and one for those from our division. Upon returning from Fallujah we continued to use these call signs for our security mission, communicating with our higher echelon on hand held radios.

At this point I should note the Marine Corps major (Maj G) who was the advisor to the Iraqi officer in charge of base security didn’t exactly get along with the Marine Corps major with whom we worked (Maj Z). Perhaps it was a personality conflict, or simple antagonism between the officer skill branches. Either way, it evolved into a bit of a pissing contest and things got ugly for us in the middle. Not that we NCOs didn’t antagonize either. Still it resulted in me being the target of verbal abuse during daily meetings.

When the new Army Colonel arrived to replace Maj G, he quickly could sense the animosity, and strongly suggested a, “come to Jesus” meeting. During this meeting while grievances were being aired, Maj G said, “you have to come up with a single call sign. It’s confusing with 3 different call signs. I like Mohawk, but I don’t care what you use, it could be tweedledumb for all I care.”

Sitting next to another fellow advisor, we looked at each other and whispered almost in unison, “it aint’ gonna be Mohawk.” Both out of our own animosity and knowing Maj Z wouldn’t allow it. Immediately we heard Maj Z say to the assembled group, “tweedledumb it is.” So with some remorse and at the same time sense of satisfaction, I called in for my radio check as the advisor of the day with, Tweedledumb 1.

When I arrived in the operations center as is my daily routine, I ensured the radio operator understood my call sign. A corporal indicated he thought we were supposed to be Mohawk, and asked me if I thought it was professional to use tweedledumb. I asked the corporal if it was professional to use a call sign that memorialized the race of people who were victims of genocide. I also counseled him it was a call sign on an non-official radio network. Last I counseled him it was a decision by an officer well above his or my grade.

While waiting for fuel later that afternoon, I thought surely, someone will issue a cease and desist order, and I should be prepared to offer some other call signs that are, how shall I say this, more innocuous. Here’s an abbreviated list: Pink Slipper, field mouse, light bulb, woodchuck, gopher, clown shoes, giraffe, martini, consultant, advisor and my personal favorite Ms. Cleo. The last is because you have to be a visionary to be successful in this job.

The folks manning the radio in the operations center had some trouble calling us on the hand held radio. Perhaps they felt stupid calling tweedledumb. To which I would reply, you should try answering to it. This resulted in more phone calls rather than the much more efficient radio traffic.

A few days ago Maj G took a trip on a freedom bird to the land of the big PX. That would be the U.S. for all you non-military types. I approached Maj Z about changing our call sign, hoping for something a wee tad less humiliating and I suggested Rogue because we seem to be the advisors on everyone’s radar screen as mavericks. In reality I was thinking of beer and there is a really good microbrew called Rogue. I miss beer, but not enough to buy near beer.

This new call sign was received with much more enthusiasm than the previous call sign by all parties involved. Crisis averted, continuing mission.

Rouge 2 OUT!

The Yin and Yang of an Army at War

2005-01-22T01:20:00.000-05:00

I suppose this happens in any industry where too many middle managers and senior personnel are ineffectively utilized or have way too much time on their hands. Look at your local D.O.T. photo center for example. What’s that expression about the devil and idle hands? I don’t recall right now, but I now think idle hands beget bureaucracy.

Too many times since I’ve arrived here I’ve seen a confused command group. The feel obligated to ensure Soldiers in their command have the appropriate amount of, insert your choice of adjective here: terror, or discomfort, or security in their lives. This sometimes creates a juxtaposition with their desire to create a sense of normalcy. With some careful wording to protect the troops, myself included, I’ll cite some examples.

Some officers get upset when you don’t salute them here. In my mind if we are wearing field clothing, (I’ll save the lay person with the nuances of garrison clothing vs. field clothing) then we are in the field and should not salute officers to protect them from being identified as leaders. Sure I’ll give them the greeting of the day, but surely that is sufficient respect in an environment where said respect can mean the end of their days.

We are required to carry our weapons everywhere on this installation so that we can react quickly to enemy fire. However, in some areas it is acceptable to not carry ammunition at all for said weapon. In some areas we are required to wear body armor but some folks get upset when your body armor has grenades and other weapons attached to it.

I was lamenting these and some other things I cannot say here to my uncle who is a Vietnam veteran himself on the phone. I would mention some event that was frustrating for me, and he would laugh. He found these things humorous, because the parallels between his wartime Army and mine were uncanny. We then chuckled that there are those that almost refuse to believe there are any similarities between the two wars.

He reminded me there has been idiocy in the military since the dawn of organized warfare and will continue to be so. We then discussed one of my favorite movies, “Full Metal Jacket”. I used to only really enjoy the first part, the boot camp part. All Soldiers, Marines, Airmen and Seamen can lament and sympathize with the events in a basic training environment. As a Drill Sergeant the first part always gets me in the “mood” to deal with Privates, though we don’t hit them or degrade them anymore. At least not as obviously as was done back then.

Until now, I didn’t really like the latter part of the movie because my war, the first Gulf War was dramatically different. Now, to me the scenes of boredom, the long pauses of inactivity and then bursts of super charged fear, danger, anxiety and stress are the same. The leaders who have the best intentions but poor execution, and even the missions are strikingly similar. We have to win hearts and minds, and crush the rebellion.

We’ve been told not to expect much if any attacks during this Islamic holiday, which has been described as “Christmas, New Years and the Fourth of July all rolled into one”. Sounds like the Tet holiday, which is a line from the movie.

I understand that complacency kills and in no way do I condone or promote complacency. What I truly find frustrating is the insistence of a garrison mindset, which is really one of complacency in a combat theatre of operations. Either your head is in the game or it’s not. I’m merely suggesting some of the policies I see here at a local level will promote heads not being in the game.

Better than Yesterday

2005-01-18T01:13:00.000-05:00

Walking into our billeting the smell from the latrines almost knocked me off my feet, but I didn’t care I had mail! Three large packages and a smaller one, this is a good day. It would have been a good day regardless but the mail is icing on the cake. The unit has been performing better than we expected. Even though they have problems with the obvious rudimentary things they appear ready to take on bigger missions.

Last night the Iraqi battalion we advise responded to direct fire, and responded very well, collecting praise from American forces and somewhat less from the Iraqi staff that thinks every unit but their own is a worthless band of unkempt thugs and thieves.

Daily at these meetings I would get negative feedback from the Iraqi officers and in some cases Americans who don’t understand the role of the advisor. The Iraqi Colonel who is essentially the base commander has accused our Jenoud of steeling, fighting, sleeping on duty, and littering. All things they have done, just not to the degree this officer would have you believe.

True, they did steal fixtures from buildings when we moved across post before Fallujah. So have other units. True they have been caught sleeping on duty. They were sleeping on duty in Fallujah where they routinely got shot at, so it would be difficult to create a sense of urgency in this “safe” area. True they have been in fights. Two of “our” Jenoud vs. five military police, and one of the military police was disarmed in the mêlée. I like that they are scrappy. Who wouldn’t want scrappy Infantrymen. True they littered, but poor sanitation is a national pastime, right up there with soccer.

Moreover, the battalion I advise is at a critical juncture where their officers are beginning to take an active role in the leadership of their unit. If we American’s assert authority more than advice it could seriously retard the progress of this battalion. So I just think of water on a duck’s back side during the colonel’s diatribes.

I digress. The smell was pretty bad so I lit some incense in my room. I am told the water into the base has been cut off, but I’ve heard conflicting reasons, none of which make much sense. Still the latrines are beginning to smell. The septic system in Iraqi is little more than a hole in the ground with some water to flush in a tank.

Since the hole in the ground is, as you might expect, at ground level things have died in the septic system, to include a very large, very dead rodent that was extracted a week ago. With the water not flowing the smell returned to our dismay. We’ve also come to find a leaky toilet pipe has caused significant damage to an interior wall making the smell worsen as the wall expels water.

My cheap eight dollar chair purchased to replace the cheap eight dollar chair that was stolen; broke today, but I have mail.

Every day is a new challenge and a continuing list of existing challenges. Each day you take some good and some bad. If you focus on the bad, you just get run down, and that’s where your battle buddies come in. The end seems so far away, and every day gets you a little closer to home.

Yes, it was a good day.
Mohawk 2

Animals Were Harmed for This Production

2005-01-13T20:45:00.000-05:00

Blue is a big dog, a male mutt who exemplifies all definitions of “dog”. Blue was here when Americans first took the base, and he has sired many a litter. His pups and their pups roam the base on the Iraqi side.

When we first arrived here we were warned not to feed the dogs. An American officer said, “don’t feed the dogs. They’ll get healthy, they’ll reproduce and we’ll have to shoot them.” To which another officer countered, “don’t give the Iraqi’s cigarettes they’ll get lazy and we’ll have to shoot them.” Still many in my mobilization increment feed the animals, and they became our guard dogs. They protected our building and barked whenever Iraqis came near, because the Iraqis offered nothing but abuse.

Since we returned from Fallujah a number of bitches have let their litters out of their dens, and our morning runs have been marked by the sound of yapping puppies. While making my rounds at the towers they could be seen romping with each other like puppies are apt to do. I was reluctant to touch these animals not because of a fear of disease or fleas but because they remind me so much of my own dogs.

Some Americans have adopted these animals as pets providing them care, shelter and food to the dismay and joy of others. I’ve seen some Americans positively afraid of cats and dogs. Like any cross section of America some folks are animal lovers and others are not. Though many speak of some mythical “General order number one” which makes illegal the care of animals as “mascots” or pets, I’ve never seen it in writing or in a formal briefing.

The thing is no matter how cute a puppy or dog is, at some point in this country they are going to feed on carrion. Sometimes that carrion is human, though not as much lately. You can tell the animals that have eaten human flesh. They look at you differently than other animals. It’s not entirely predatory, but they are sizing you up.

Recently, one of the American officers on the Iraqi side of post said no pets, and issued a contract for civilians to trap and euthanize the dogs roaming free. He also issued an order for the Soldiers to give up their pets. One staff sergeant asked me to take her puppy to the civilians for processing. I told her I wouldn’t do that, she took the animal in she must care for it including the animal’s destruction if necessary. I told her if she was so concerned about the welfare of the animal she should release it, chances are it will do better on it’s own than she could care for it anyway.

I was reminded of so many pet owners back in the states that get pets and then dump them at the Humane Society because they don’t realize or want to care for their pet.

Sick Call

2005-01-09T09:33:00.000-05:00

Wearing only thermal underwear and boots, I just locked myself in my room with two loaded automatic rifles, a loaded pistol, 3 hand grenades, and a controlled narcotic. Cool! Perhaps, I should start at the beginning.

Being sick anywhere sucks. Being sick in a combat zone is surreal at best. Two days ago, I felt crappy, but carried on. I increased my fluid intake and took some multi vitamins but that wasn’t enough. Yesterday, my Iraqi counterparts couldn’t understand me, and even the translator had trouble with my scratch voice. I was ill. After one particular meeting, my OIC (officer in charge) noted this and sent me to my room, which sounds worse than it is, because the intent was for sleep and recovery. I didn’t make it to see medical personnel yesterday, but did go today.

Sick Call is a block of time set aside for non-emergency treatment. Colds, aches, and various other pains are all treated during the hours of sick call. By the time we were done with the meetings, I was barely coherent enough to drive myself to my room. I decided to rest for a spell, then drive over to the U.S. side of the base and seek treatment. I however slept past the hours of sick call and continued to self medicate.

The day started, or was supposed to start with the employment of an Iraqi platoon to provide security at the entrance to one of our gates. In classic Iraqi style they were an hour late. They might not have shown up at all if I had not returned to their billeting and woke their officers. They rely heavily on the actions of others, but know no one takes any responsibility for their own actions. A conundrum in deed, to which they often respond, "inshalla" or if God wills it. I often find myself saying, "No inshalla, you make it happen". Sadly this falls on deaf ears.

Had we been on time, we could have maneuvered the unit easily, now however there were trucks and cars lined up to gain access to the post. The contracted security force was already there doing their job. In reality the Iraqi platoon is just a show of force, but one that can be called upon to react quickly to hostile forces in that area. Driving through the miasma was hampered because I had to stop, tell my interpreter where to tell the Iraqi lieutenant where to place his troops. Then move again, and so on.

I left there to attend a daily meeting about the post security with the Iraqi colonel in charge of post operations, the Iraqi battalion commander I am attached to, his staff, and the American counterparts. I managed my way through the meeting but could tell if I stood I would be like the fighter who just got his clock cleaned. My muscles ached and knew I’d be doing the "Bambi-two step". I must have been flushed as well, because MAJ Z, seeing a glazed look, sent me to my quarters without much protest, when I offered to carry out another mission.

I returned and cranked up the heat, put on a knit cap, wrapped myself in my poncho liner and attempted to sleep. Two hours was about my limit, not entirely by choice or body function. To assume this guard mission our team was issued cell phones, which I used the previous day and this day to coordinate the hand over. It rang incessantly.

Three calls from the same office with the same question, which I did not have the answer to. Three more calls from concerned Soldiers asking if I was OK. I was reminded of that show that lasted ever so briefly in the mid 80s, Max Headroom. The computer generated voice/character would bemoan, "please let me sleep", when queried by his human operators. Wow, that was an obscure reference, it must be the percocet talking.

It’s hard to tell time in my room, the window is mostly blocked by a mattress, but some light from a street lamp shines in replicating early morning or late evening shadows. Even at 2 am this light show is confusing. The only telling sings to the actual time, are lights from the hallway entering under the door, and the noise of my teammates moving about their business.

This morning I awoke in time for our daily team meeting, in which I was chided for not making sick call yesterday. I got an update on the security mission, which was about as dismal as I had expected, Jundi sleeping on duty, leaving their posts, hanging out with their buddies, burning standing trees for firewood, when a felled tree was not more than 20 meters away.

Unfortunately, this is not my unit, I am not in their chain of command, I hold no official power over them. Officially, I can only make recommendations and offer advice to the leadership. There are two caveats to this rule: if my safety or the safety of my team is in jeopardy. Their mission failure means the loss of life for Americans. We sometimes bend this rule and instill American values in them.

After the meeting another sergeant with an eye infection drove me to the aid station. I thought to myself, he can only see with one eye, and I can’t stay awake. Enroute SSG F, who is originally from Boston chided me not to tell the medical staff I was a Steelers fan, as they were all Pats fans. Turns out that unit left and the doctor and nurse that treated me had ties to PA, and central PA at that.

Staring at the ceiling while waiting the decorative trim reminded me of one of the many houses we took down in Fallujah. I nodded off occasionally waking to see that design over and over again in my sleep. 2 liters of fluid and a pain killer via IV later, I was released with a plastic baggie of pain-killers, and the percocet.

I returned to my room stripped down to my thermal underwear and slept off and on throughout most of the day. The weapons were there before and will remain here at the ready, they are part of my normal day. The boots to protect my feet while in transit to the latrine. The narcotics, well that’s a new colorful addition to the contents of my room. Finally, I lock the door so the Jenoud don’t come in unannounced.

I did just get a visit from my Iraqi operations officer. A young Major who wished me a speedy recovery. They aren’t all bad, still the door remains locked at night.

If things were different

2005-01-09T09:31:00.000-05:00

On January 3rd, I woke early to travel to Baghdad via helicopter for a memorial service for MSG Paul D. Karpowich, a fellow unit member, advisor and friend. There were almost 300 people at this service. Some were advisors like he and I, some were just there to send off a comrade in arms. Possibly some used it as an excuse to get out of work. Their reason for being there does not matter to me.

I saw a number of my fellow advisors with whom I trained with during mobilization. It was good to see them, just whish it had been under other circumstances. Reunions are frequently bittersweet.

The flight out was smooth, though I was nervous riding in a Blackhawk helicopter, which have been nicknamed "crashhawk". The pilot was smooth in his approach to land, the crew chief quick to prepare the aircraft for our loading with the motor running. To them it was just like any other flight.

We took off from the helipad and turned west then south towards Baghdad. As we cleared the installation, the crew raised their machine guns to scan for potential threats. We stayed relatively low, such that I could see cars, pedestrians, even the sheep moving across the farmer’s fields in the early morning light.

The aqueducts delineated the fields and the crops grew green with winter desert rain. Many of the homes had palm trees around them, and some were buried in a canopy of palm trees. In one of our cultural classes, the Mesopotamian valley was described as a lush green forest. I could see how from this vantage point. We flew over sections of what surely was once this forest.
We continued flying at low level leap-frogging over power lines in the beleaguered and questionable power grid, fixing on the Euphrates river and then followed that into the city.

Seeing civilians in this number was new to me. Fallujah was pretty well destroyed by the time we arrived, and was even more so by the time we left. The civilian population was living in shelters and barely surviving. Here in Baghdad, there were active schools, businesses and factories. Traffic flowed in both directions on major thoroughfares. Houses were like every Hollywood depiction made of block with flat roves, most with laundry air drying in the slight breeze.

People rarely looked up, having now become used to the sight and sound of American air power. I was torn by feelings of appreciation for nature and the beauty of the landscape versus the notion that every vehicle, every person is a threat.

We banked again, and the crew lowered their guns as we were over the much ballyhooed green zone. The open ground was covered with a collection of tents, trailers used for billeting and showers and traditional buildings. All with sandbags covering windows and blocking doors from vehicles. The major building Saddam’s Baghdad palace, an enormous structure, was on our right.

We exited the air field following our guides who had made this trip many times. We stored our gear having packed for an overnight visit on the very plausible chance we couldn’t coordinate a lift back that night. Then our group went into the palace, to get a light breakfast. The entrances were well secured with heavy electronic doors, and we were scanned and evaluated more than once to gain access to the compound and again the building. Security was tight.

As we traversed the compound the grounds were clearly well kept until recently when military necessity took a priority. I was reminded of the Bahamas and parts of Florida. The mixture of ritzy and poor was an interesting dichotomy. I couldn’t help but think it might be a nice place to vacation; someday.

One of the atriums was flamboyantly elaborate, with a series of inverted blocks that looked like steps. It reminded me of the early video game, Qbert. The chairs in the chamber were designed like late Victorian chairs with gold pain on the wooden arms and legs.

My first reunion with two of my buddies from my battalion back home occurred over breakfast. We embraced caught up and laughed at each other, told stories and enjoyed the details of humanity. As the day wound on the series of reunions continued.

Eventually, we had to rehearse the event, and my heart sank as we entered the courtyard where the service was to take place. There on my right was the "setup". The M-16 placed muzzle down, with a pair of boots in front, dog tags hanging from the charging handle and a helmet with Karpowich’s name printed on the band. Below was the picture used in his promotion packet and the medals awarded to him posthumously. I wanted to weep.

We were briefed on our role. We as members of his battalion simply had to stand when our name was called and sound off with, "here First Sergeant". I wasn’t sure at that point I could hold it together.

At the ceremony, our former Battalion commander spoke, she nailed Karp’s personality, citing, "when he bested you, you didn’t feel bad about it. His easy going manner just made you want to do better next time."

A new member of our battalion wanted to be a part of the service and she sang Amazing Grace, which brought tears to many including myself. As if on a silent queue we the four members of the 1/417th held hands and openly grieved, for likely the first time.

At the end of the ceremony everyone was allowed to say their final farewell to Karp. For me, I expect a pint waiting at "Fiddler’s Green". Honors were paid by Soldiers, Sailors, Airmen, Marines, and members of the British, Polish, New Zealand, and Australian military. Regardless if Paul met them, they were paying homage to a man whom they would have liked.

At the conclusion of the ceremony I met with one of the colonels we mobilized with who commented, "If this is how we have to meet, then I don’t want to see any of you again, until we demobilize." I couldn’t have agreed more.

As much as I didn’t want to, we parted our separate ways, I and SFC W, to coordinate a flight back to our base. I smoked in Paul’s honor and enjoyed the cooling breeze as I looked skyward to a clear night sky, then watched some shop keepers pack their goods away for another day of sales to Soldiers and civilians in the green zone.

Our flight arrived and we boarded quickly. Night time made me more nervous as you could only see lights not people, now any shadow could harbor danger. I was seated in the back but my view was directly out the front windows. As I gazed upon the lights it could be a flight anywhere other than Baghdad. The cars lights streamed in white one direction and red in the opposite. Houses were illuminated and surely contained families settling for the evening. I was reminded of the flight into Fallujah in which I observed only one car and few lights in any buildings.

I tried to imagine all the Mohammed’s and their families going about their business. Were they listening to music? Were they listening to American radio? Were they looking up at our flight? Were they frustrated with our presence or ambivalent or angry? Can we someday relax here?
If only things were different.
Mohawk 2 OUT.

Happy New Year 2005

2005-01-02T11:46:00.000-05:00

My mother has coordinated the production of Christmas cards for Soldiers I am deployed with from a Daisy Girl Scout Troop 2243, a Kindergarten class, and possibly 1st grade class. Likely, there is some duplication in this group.

In my early youth we weren’t a country at war, so the notion of sending a care package or cards to any Soldier or a specific Soldier was foreign to me until I was deployed the first time in the early 90s. The first time I received a “to any Soldier” letter, I responded to it. My platoon sergeant gave me a few more to respond to. Apparently, the word got to the chain of command, and when the unit received a bundle of “to any Soldier” mail, I was tasked with responding to it all. “We can’t have Delta company looking bad to the folks back home,” my First Sergeant said.

I received the cards in three envelopes on New Years Eve 2004. Most were simple pictures sometimes with a message. The pictures included images from Santa stories, the three wise men, and generic things like mistletoe. The occasional misspelling only warmed my heart, though I joked about it with my peers. “Merry Christmas, and thank you for protecting all of use,” one read. Anther read, “I hope you have the merriest Christmas ever,” the fact that having a “merry Christmas” here is challenging, much less the merriest ever. Note, any quotes reflect the exact spelling on the card.

I got a tall order from David who requested we, “win the war!” I hoped he wasn’t directing that to just me. Kaitlyn, wrote, “Have a great Chanika[sic], kwanza, or Christmas.” That made me chuckle. Sarah from the same package wrote, “Happy holidays! Thank you for keeping us safe and things. I hope you have a fine time over the holidays!” Followed by Amber who wrote, “Hi, my name is Amber. You are very important to me. Thank you for all you have done for us.”

All I’ve done? Well, in the name of operations supporting and defending the constitution, I have mechanically engaged enemy forces. I have blown stuff up. I have strained my marriage. I have neglected personal hygiene to accomplish the mission. I have trained some of America’s finest men and women to fix on and destroy the enemy with extreme malice and prejudice. I have cussed, ranted, and caused Soldiers to evacuate their bladders. I have conditioned bodies and minds. I have given them mantras like “the spirit of the bayonet”, and tried to teach them the values of honor, respect, courage, selfless service, loyalty, duty, and integrity. Now I am trying to do the same against a culture of selfishness, deceit, apathy, and a black hole of accountability.

One child wrote about “lights being on houses, and joy all around.” It took me a while to figure out they meant lights on houses. I had momentarily forgotten about lights on houses. Here lights draw fire, so lights = bad. But for just a moment I thought of pictures and my own memories of houses decorated with lights. I remembered a house in Mechanicsburg that annually sets up an elaborate light display that draws cars from all around. They usually leave the lights up into January and the snow adds a greeting card effect. For just a moment I was in a car with my wife driving at night to see that house, and I was happy.

Garett wrote, “I hope this Christmas card really cheers you up.” It’s not so much the cards themselves that cheer me up, it’s the details. The shoe print on the paper, the sketch in pencil colored in with markers, the eraser marks from mistakes, or the use of lines as borders for letters, those things are cheerful. They are reminders of youth, home, and a safer place. What should make me home sick just makes me feel good.

Several cards used the closing, “your friend”. I find it interesting, that when they write that, it too makes me feel warm. Do you remember when you could just walk up to someone and say, “I am a helicopter, you be a lion, let’s play”? Do you remember when you could make friends that easily and race or gender didn’t matter? Relationships should be so simple. These kids at this age have few real cares in middle class America.

One of the teachers included a brief but sincere letter but only signed it, “a concerned teacher.” This teacher also hoped the letter would bring a smile to my face. It sure did.
The last one in this package made me tear up a bit. It was from Evan who wrote, “I hope you are OK. Thank you for protecting our country. I bet your mom and dad are proud of you.”

Yeah kiddo, I am sure they are. Happy New Year.

Mohawk 2 OUT

Agents of Change

2005-01-01T08:13:00.000-05:00

After arriving from Fallujah we’ve had about half of the Jundi here while the rest rotated on leave. Since there is no banking system in Iraq, the denar was propped up to equal the U.S. under Sadam’s rule. In the absence of the core officers a skeleton crew has been left behind to manage and lead their affairs. Some are dealing with the new responsibility well while others are not.

The 5th Battalion has lost a few to hostile fire, a few more to injuries, several who just decided to quit, and a very small group who have quit because their families or their lives have been threatened by exsurgents.

Every officer in the 5th Battalion has received a death threat. One major attempted to trick the exsurgents by swapping cars with his brother. This ploy lasted for a week, and the major found his brother dead. He quickly resigned his commission and left. Another officer was forced to fake his death using a body in his home town and then burning the face beyond recognition, and placing his ID papers on the body. One of our interpreters has been assassinated, and several officers and sergeants have also been assassinated, simply for serving in the Army.

Some of the resistance is composed of religious extremist, who urge the citizens to avoid the polling places with threats. They use the guise that democracy is the path to un-Islamic thoughts, and eventually laws which will destroy their way of life. To an educated person their logic is circular, however almost 80% of the country is illiterate.

The battalion which now has a proud history of combat success has just received 78 new recruits from the new army 4 week basic training. This group of Jundi are young and old, some having served in Sadam’s army. Some served in the Iran-Iraq war. Integrating them into this battalion will be a challenge.

The original plan was to move the battalion to Tajhi for R&R, at least for the Jundi. Then move to Kirkush Military Training Base (KMTB) to receive the new recruits and begin training them along with their counter parts in basic infantry skills. Now the plan is for this battalion to stay in Tajhi, receive the new recruits and apparently 200 plus more “direct recruits”. This new batch are apparently all former Soldiers who only needed rudimentary training and new equipment and uniforms. This too should prove to be a challenge since they will expect the army to be like the army of old, with bribery, back room dealing and scandal.

Additionally, we are to pickup missions outside the wire in preparation for a total hand over of base security. This battalion will be responsible for manning the towers on the perimeter, running the traffic control points to ingress and egress the post, the traffic control points inside the wire, and of course additional missions outside in the local community to ensure the presence of the new Iraqi Army is felt.

The Big Picture

2004-12-28T11:44:00.000-05:00

I am a wreck. Well I was a wreck when I completely understood the circumstances in which I find myself. Sometimes you have to step back and look at the big picture. On December 21st 2004 an explosion ripped through the dining facility on a Coalition base outside Mosul Iraq.

Initial reports indicated an RPG or mortar attack and 20 dead U.S. Service members. We had just arrived from Fallujah where RPG and mortar fire was normal. So normal we didn’t flinch when explosions were close by, we didn’t always wear the protective gear when out of doors and snickered at newbys who did.

We were enroute to our evening meal on Camp Cooke in Tajhi Iraq, our second hot meal in 24 hours when we were turned from the gate separating American and Iraqi forces because we had to have our body armor and helmets on. We thought it was silly since we felt no threat here, but complied. While eating we heard the news on CNN about the attack and made small talk about the situation like any Joes would do.

You know it’s a risk everywhere in this country. You just don’t talk about death that much unless it’s inflicting it on the “enemy”. There is a natural mental separation that needs to occur. If you dwell on it you’ll be paralyzed. If you can release the tension with a joke or comment you can move. Sometimes the comments are at the expense of the dead. It is morbid, but we are in a morbid business.

In the back of our minds we all knew our brothers and sisters had just died and we might know some of them. The stresses of this environment, this lifestyle have created a culture the military has been perfecting for 200 years. You and I may disagree on many points or just one point, and I may not like you. I may even tell you so. At the same time, if you are in need, because you’ve sworn the same oath to defend the constitution, because you’ve endured basic training or boot camp, because you are in a combat theater with me, I’ll help.

On the 22nd I went to our forward headquarters “the Alamo” to find some information regarding supplies we would need in our future operations. I found the officer in charge of those supplies had departed to resolve an emergency in Mosul.

December 23rd started like the previous two. A bright warm sun drenched day. I planned to call a friend back home who was celebrating her birthday, and finally check my email. Perhaps I’d go to the PX and purchase some things and get some laundry done.

As I logged into my email I read a few messages from my comrades here and at home with subjects like, “We’ll remember him in our prayers”, and “he lives on”. My heart sank and my fingers tingled as I opened one of the emails. My breath shortened I knew what I was about to read before I read it. The first email was cryptic and didn’t list any names.

There are seven Soldiers deployed from my battalion, two of us are advisors to the Iraqi Army, three directly train Jundi. One of the emails came from a Sergeant and good friend, another Sergeant sent an email with pictures of his activities, apparently unaware of this event. Three more were accounted for on this post. Tears welled in my eyes, as I read the second very clear and concise message.

One of my brothers has fallen, the first advisor and it happened while eating a meal in what should have been a safe area. I must have muttered “Oh God” a hundred times and wrung my hands an equal number of times. I fought back tears and tried to remain composed.
He was two years younger than I, married only a few years and had just purchased a property before the mobilization. I met his wife at a family readiness briefing in October at Ft. Dix, NJ. We prepared for Drill Sergeant School together but he went ahead of me. We completed the Level one Combatives course together last year. To say we were very close would be inaccurate, but I knew him. When you spend 5 days rolling on the ground practicing submission moves and you can say you know someone pretty well. He recently submitted a promotion packet and had been selected to hold an E8 position with a pending promotion in January.

He loved the Army. He never said as much to me, but you can tell the Soldiers that are there to fulfill a contract and those that are there for something higher. I recall whenever his name was called in a roll call, unlike the traditional, “Here”, or, “Present,” he would answer his last name with, “Paul D”, his first name and middle initial, as if there was another with the same last name. The first time I heard him say it, it sounded like he said, “all D” like some sort of fanatical football fan cheering on his team’s defense. I can hear it now his voice rising on the first name and accenting the initial.

He talked about returning to an Infantry unit, likely in the Guard and lead a platoon. Then this mobilization came up and plans change as they often do. He was a shooter and a good troop. He was working on a storied career that was far from over if he choose.
Master Sergeant (Posthumous) Paul D. Karpowich, was killed in what now appears to be a suicide bombing incident in Mosul Iraq.

I had no difficulty reporting the facts of this incident but have difficulty saying how I feel. I cannot begin to imagine how his family, his wife feels. It is a nightmare for most and their harsh reality. It is even harder here, since reaching out to comfort someone is a greater challenge.
To his family, I send my sincere and deepest condolences and prayers for your peace of mind. I wish I could tell you everything I know about what was going on here before he died. I wish I could help, perhaps this small token of my time, will suffice.

Just Another Manic Monday

2004-12-24T09:46:00.000-05:00

Driving in Iraq is hazardous to say the least. Imagine the worst gridlock you’ve ever witnessed times five, include lines at every gas station that make the gas shortages of the late 70s look like lines for a bake sale, include automatic weapons, and some hallucinogenics and you might come close to the insanity that is driving in Iraq.

The roads are bad enough from three decades of war, no money for infrastructure repair and a population that has trouble operating anything motorized yet feels endowed with the skills of a F1 driver at birth.
We set up a convoy from Fallujah to Tajhi the night before, we staged our vehicles and posted guards. For this trip, I was driving the historic M35A2 two and a half ton truck with food and our team’s gear and personal gear, along with SFC J. Warner of Seattle WA. This model truck, affectionately known as a "duce & a half" with minor variations has been in service since World War II. The truck is loud hard to steer at slow speed and has an odd gear pattern for it’s 5 speed transmission.

It is a light skinned vehicle meaning it has no armor. We strapped Kevlar blankets to the doors which meant the windows had to be down. I should note this model has no heater. We put in Sand bags on the floor to protect from IEDs in the road. Last touch; two Halloween masks, one of the guvhenor, "Ahnold" Schwartzenegger over the right head light and Shrek over the left.

We awoke at 5 am to ensure everything was packed and the vehicles were lined up ready for our security escort. Originally, our security escort was scheduled for 4 am, the logic being the exsurgents are just as lazy as the Iraqi Soldiers so chances are good that they will not be awake. Mostly however, our convoy support rescheduled for a 7:30 departure.

While we waited, SFC Warner & I decide to decorate this truck that belongs to the Iraqi Army, with graffiti including "driver carries no cash" by my door, and "El Diablo Grande" for the Jihadists on the hood.

The early part of our journey was on a quiet stretch of highway connecting the two once proud cities. The road snaked through the Fertile Crescent and with the frost and early morning fog could have been any road in Lancaster County. There was even a haze in the distance to the north that had a blue shade to it reminding me of the southern face of Blue Mountain as it catches the suns warmth any given day. I witnessed children walking to school or a bus stop, parents watching closely from cars nearby. It could have been any school morning in America, except with Palm trees and occasional burned house.

The crisp air ripped through my clothing tugging at my core. Each turn brought in the wind from another direction. Each bump unleashed a cloud of dust from the ceiling momentarily limiting visibility and causing fits of coughing.

As we passed the famous Abhu-Ghrabe prison we slowed to hand off our security detail. One team took us half way the next the later half. Prior to our link up with the new team I saw the vehicle in front of us swerve dramatically in a construction zone. The light, the frost played a trick on my mind and I knew I would hit what looked like a crack in the pavement. The crack was a 2 foot rise as a result of explosives placed under the pavement from a previous IED. Again the Duce doesn’t steer well so we were briefly airborne.

Our new team stepped up the pace a bit, which was both a blessing for security reasons and a discomfort given the windows were down on this frosty morning. We rapidly approached an interchange in a somewhat built up area. Civilian trucks would occasionally stop and watch us well within range of most weapons systems, to my chagrin. Could have been simple curiosity or not. There is no way to tell beforehand.

As we rounded the ramp from one highway to the next it seemed every ten feet there was a burn mark or bent guard rail from a previous IED explosion. My bladder was screaming at me now, with two caffeinated beverages in my system, and the constant pressure of my body armor resting on my pelvis.
The duce was the third vehicle in our convoy, so I could see clearly in front of us. I witnessed cars and trucks attempting to merge with our lane of travel only to be waived off by the security trucks in front of us. The waive was some times a simple hand gesture sometimes the barrel of a weapons system, depending on the responsiveness of the driver. I took to aiming the beast we were operating directly at the drive’s window, and double clutching the gear; the noise and visual of this massive albeit benign truck is enough to make most drivers think twice about cutting into our line.

The civilians have learned a while back to stay out of the way of the American convoys. We no longer stop for pedestrians or cars, will hit anything in our path to continue our progress and will use deadly force to protect our own.

As we entered Tajhi we passed under several overpasses a harrowing experience given our security detail couldn’t possibly clear them all before we went under each of them. Moreover, one pedestrian bridge showed the bent steel of a bomb that had blown down on traffic.

One bridge turned as it merged two roads and evidence of IEDs was every 5 feet. I looked down on the traffic snarled below and my stomach tightened into a not. Every vehicle a possible threat and there were thousands of them. Not to mention the rooftops, the citizens, the buildings. I noticed our lead trucks step up the pace, so I gripped the steering wheel, dropped a gear accelerating and slipped the clutch back into 5th gear.

Another road merged to our left while one on our right merged 100 yards ahead. Traffic wasn’t initially slowed at all until the lead security truck swerved at the traffic to our left and fired a warning shot near the vehicles to our right. One car still attempted to merge, so I turned directly on a collision course for the driver’s door. He promptly stopped.

A few times drivers attempted to cut into our line, while hundreds of cars waited to get fuel. I was initially concerned but there were children in the cars and in the streets, a good sign but not telltale sign we were safe. Safety being a relative thing.

Then I grabbed the brakes hard as traffic came to a complete stand still. I cradled the AK 47 that had been resting on the steering column in my left arm, while steering and shifting with the right. The M16 I had been issued is entirely too long for close quarters work and convoy operations. With no prospects of an M4 carbine ever showing up, I secured an AK47 with no stock, and placed my M16 on the top of the bench seat in the truck.

Drivers were fighting for any open space on a section of 4 lane road with gas stations on either side. They drove across lanes of travel, against traffic, and even backed up into lanes with moving cars and trucks. We eventually crossed the median and drove against traffic until we could remerge on the original side of what we would find to be a minor fender-bender, then another, then another.

On the one hand it was worse than anything I’ve been in, and at the same time kind of a let down, since I expected every piece of trash, every bridge, every car to be a threat. Next time, we’ll have armor welded to the cab, and a new bumper designed to push cars off integrated with the frame. If only my Driver’s Ed teacher could see me now.

"Mohawk 2 OUT"

Games People Play

2004-12-24T09:45:00.000-05:00

There is a scene in the movie "Blackhawk Down" in which a Delta Forces operator is chastised by a Ranger commander for having a magazine in his weapon and the weapon on "fire". The exchange is brief and except for military folks, likely meaningless. The point of the scene is to show the difference in Rangers and Delta Force operators. Rangers are poster boys for expert "by-the-book" Soldiers, while Delta Forces are experts at unconventional warfare.

Prior to my arrival here, I’ve heard stories of the senior sergeant or officer who chastised a troop for a minor uniform infraction in a combat zone. Some were obvious issues that should have been fixed while others were just off the wall, in which the Soldier walks away thinking the individual making the "correction" is either playing some sort of power game or a total tool.

Until recently I had not seen any major infractions. Sure, there was the rule to not have anything hanging from the uniform while in the dinning facility in Kuwait, and the rule to clear all weapons which had not seen a magazine much less ammunition for some time, at Camp Virginia as well. I could understand both of those rules, and they were widely enforced to the same standard.

Mind you, I’ve been in the Army for 14 years and I’ve to adapt pretty well to some bizarre situations. If you tell me to perform a specific task, I’ll do it. If you play games with me, I’ll only get irritable and play games as well. I’ll find a error in logic or loop hole and exploit it.

When you enter any of the Army camps in theater you see signs or you are specifically told to where you can and cannot have clear weapons. There is no question because; frankly the Army gets some "stellar" academics in our ranks.
I’ve long held the U.S. Marine Corps in high regard. Their operations from an outside perspective seemed to be smooth and professional. With rare exception, the former Marines I’ve met have maintained a high standard of professionalism.

USMC Major Zacchea of Brooklyn NY, received word there would be a meeting to discuss our relief by another Iraqi Army unit in Fallujah. We drove to a compound within Camp Fallujah and parked our vehicle then began in earnest our search for the meeting on foot.

Upon completion we sought out our vehicle in the dark, returning to an empty parking place. As we debated if this was the right place a door opened, and a civilian contractor looked out at us then returned to his quarters. The disappearance was pretty shocking, since this was a Marine camp. Surely, it was moved or something. We just have to find out who and why. I suggested starting with the civilian and knocked on his door.

"Excuse me sir, you wouldn’t happen to have seen the Humvee parked here an hour ago", I querried. He sharply returned, "You mean the one with the 50 cal pointed at my building?" He continued before I could answer, "the one with the three grenades in the front seat?"

I pondered his question and obvious anger. I recalled I did in fact have 3 grenades attached to my body armor which was in the front seat. Perfectly natural since, we didn’t have to wear the body armor in the compound, and I normally carry such a load while patrolling and searching homes in the city. I replied, "yeah that sounds like it." Perhaps he mistook my self analysis as flippancy because his demeanor changed and there was no question he was angry now.

"Well I don’t know what happened to it," the man continued. I pressed, "Did you see who took it?" "They took it," was his terse reply. "Who is ‘they’?" "The Marines." "Which Marines?" "I don’t know they all look alike to me," was his final answer. This was going nowhere fast. I could sense he knew more but wasn’t budging.

For almost an hour we searched and inquired and finally found someone who knew of the whereabouts of our truck. Then the games began. First the Master Gunnery Sergeants had to question us about the vehicle being secured. Then another took us on a wild goose chase past other unsecured Humvees. Back at the office we then had to wait for a Colonel to talk to us to get the location of the vehicle.

The Colonel, his Lieutenant Colonel executive officer, Major Zacchea and I were in this meeting. The Colonel began his questioning, "are you missing something?" "Yes our Humvee, replied Major Zacchea. "what else," the Colonel continued? "There was a 50 cal on top," Major Zacchea answered, while I responded, "Three grenades." "What else?" I thought to myself, this is going to be painful. I didn’t give the full picture in the hopes that he had not looked in the trunk area which contained two more crew served weapons and ammunition for each. I did however answer, "two radios and a night vision device."

"Gentlemen, I have 500 Iraqi civilians working on this post. What if one of them had gotten a hold of those munitions?" He raised a valid point, but did he have to take the circuitous route to get here? Never mind the fact that literally dozens of vehicles are left unsecured at the dinning facility and shower points daily. This technique of asking leading questions that forced us to be masters of the obvious wore on me.

His counseling didn’t last much longer after that, still I operated with the wisdom passed from my retired Uncle, "just say ‘Yessir’, bite your tongue and get out as quickly as possible."

Was he right to be concerned? Did he raise a valid issue? Was I wrong? Could this have been a lot worse? Could he have made the same point without demeaning a senior non-commissioned officer and field grade officer? Yes on all accounts.

I had already decided given the lack of standards, we would simply park our vehicle amongst the other unsecured trucks at the chow hall hence forth. Sure, I would ensure the obvious things that go boom were out of site, but with only two people who have to be away from the truck at the same time, we didn’t have many other options.

As we walked out he said, "I hope you gentlemen have learned your lesson." In my head I reminded myself of the expression, "It isn’t a lesson learned unless it changes behavior." I had already changed my behavior, but I’m not so sure it was the change he was looking for.

"Mohawk 2 OUT"

Lunch with Tony Sa'ad

2004-12-24T09:44:00.000-05:00

Colonel Sa’ad is the 5th Battalion Commander and ultimately the guy we report to. I’ve had interaction with him on a few occasions but largely they’ve been brief and professional in nature. I heard him waking his troops on occasion and got the impression he was not the kind of guy you want to annoy.

He is a large man, broad shouldered but his girth and head seem to bee too big for his frame. His head is huge with a large mandible but actually small forehead giving his skull a conical shape, which makes his neck almost disappear. Like most Arab men he wears his emotions on his sleeve and his voice is loud and booming even when he is trying to be quiet. When he smiles you can almost see him with his wives, laughing and doting on his children.

Given he was an officer in the old Iraqi Army he surely has some connections, quite possibly connections to Sadam. In fact, the leader of his tribe or clan. He used to have a thriving gun trade business under the Hussein regime. His power over the troops is not just military but can wield some power in the civilian world as well. As a commander he is unlike other colonels, including U.S. commanders in that he displays deep caring for the welfare of his troops. He visits them at their guard posts and will barter even approve of stealing for his troops if it improves their welfare.

This saccharine façade is a bit of a political game because he doesn’t fight for his troops when pressed by a superior officer. This is part of the reason his battalion is still in Fallujah while others have moved on. It’s the reason his Jundi pay him from their monthly wage. The blackmail is something we try to limit but realize it along with the looting is something we’ll have to accept while this Army and nation attempt to get back on their feet.

Two nights ago he stopped by to discuss military matters with our officer in charge. He made several jokes in his limited and broken English. Debunking the theory that Arab’s don’t have a sense of humor. Sarcasm isn’t as big here as it is in the U.S., but they still have humor.

Today he came by and invited Marine MAJ Zacchea, my boss and I to eat lunch, the biggest meal of their day with them.

MAJ Zacchea’s name in English has two different pronunciations, one with the emphasis on the E and the other the emphasis on the As. When you emphasize the E, the name means feminine in Iraqi. The Iraqis pronounce it with the emphasis on the E either in jest or simply out of habit of pronouncing their word.

We sat at his desk with chairs placed around. Another battalion commander had arrived with two of his officers. The 5th battalion training officer and we two Americans rounded out the group.

As guests we were given the largest portions of peas and bread. It is best to accept their generosity rather than insult, even though I had already eaten a light lunch. The main dish was a yellow rice with some onion and saffron served on a flat round tray. At each seat there was a spoon for each person dining, and a small pile of peas, diced olives, tomato and onion. As a side dish we were served a salad of sorts, consisting of fresh cucumber, tomatoes, and onion chunks with salt and garlic. Lastly, there was a broth or soup that was poured on top with similar ingredients and of course their flat bred. Each piece of flat bread is the size of a personal pizza and is served warm. The meal was simple and delicious.

In our cultural training prior to arrival they warned us against using our left hand in communal settings, yet tearing the bread with one hand proved near impossible. They listened to an Iraqi news program on the colonel’s short wave radio. I could hear it, just not understand much of it.

After the meal everyone was served a glass of Chai. This Chai tea is not like what you would find in your local grocery store, perhaps because of culture, or more likely because of necessity. The tea seemed to be the Lipton black tea. The Iraqis take a bunch of sugar and then pour in boiling water and then add the tea leaves. The sweetness would send most diabetics into glucose shock. I’m fine with the sugar, I am just typing this really fast.

After the meal we played an unofficial geography game of name the capital. Some of the countries I was able to keep up, mostly European nations, but some African and Asian as well. I momentarily thought to quiz them on state capitals, but then reconsidered. How arrogant would that be? It would be like them quizzing me on the street names of Baghdad. Something we take as so mundane here in the U.S. would be both impossible and likely insulting to residents of most any other nation.

We excused ourselves and I mentioned to MAJ Zacchea how much it felt like I was eating with Tony Soprano and his lieutenants. A man of power in this world, and we were a part of it. I didn’t feel threatened but he is in charge.

Time Check

2004-12-24T09:42:00.000-05:00

A few days ago I had to coordinate some things with an adjacent unit, so I went to their firm base. I spoke to their commander for a while but we had to get a decision from his higher headquarters, so we waited. During this time, he worked on other things and I stared into space, until I found a recent copy of Stars and Stripes.

Stars and Stripes is the only true Department of Defense newspaper, and the only time I see it is in foreign countries. Installations in the U.S. and overseas may have their own newspaper but they are more like newsletters rather than newspapers.

I read an Associated Press article regarding the January elections for Iraq, and troop strengths required in Iraq. The policy has been; rather than rapidly deploy additional troops, keep the same deployment tempo and simply hold troops that are scheduled to rotate home. This is the Department of Defense’s gift for the Soldiers and their families who were planning on returning home for the holidays.

In this article Secretary of Defense, Donald Rumsfeld was quoted as saying the boost in strength was needed for force protection. Previous instances the reason was because the Iraqi Army lacked sufficient troop strength. There was an implication that the number of Iraqi troops trained is up to par, and the rebuilding of this force is on schedule.

The truth of the matter is the correct number of troops have been trained, but they aren’t all on duty. There is no sense of national pride here, so often the Soldier Officer will simply leave or not return from a scheduled leave. The troops that are trained are ready to be attached to Coalition forces, but they are not ready to stand on their own, or run missions with attached Coalition forces in support. This will take time.

I also read about the NFL standings and saw my two local teams Philadelphia and Pittsburgh shared a 10-1 record with the defending Super Bowl champions New England. With only a few weeks left this season has been nonexistent for me. Penn State’s Joe Paterno wants a little more time, but the fans want less of his.

When you arrive and the troops you link up with are immediately talking about or actually processing out, it makes the mission seem that much longer. Then you come into contact with a news source after working in the field for a while and time has flown by. It shouldn’t but it usually does surprise someone here on base when I ask what day of the week it is, having completely lost track.

Physicists think of time not in a linear sense as most people do but in a constant ever present sense. Desert nomads are similar in their non-linear approach to time. The expression in-shallah (if God wills it) correlates directly.
Fourteen years ago, my father gave my address to a co-worker who sent a care package under the guises of a random, "to any Soldier" campaign, but it was addressed specifically to me. We corresponded and I remember feeling a connection to this person that was perhaps greater than it should have been. I still remember vividly what it felt like to talk to another American that wasn’t my family and knew nothing about me. Just that I was serving.

Tonight, well midday for those on the East coast, I attempted to call my mother’s cell phone on a satellite phone. My fat fingers dialed the wrong prefix and I connected to a woman, who also happened to be a mother. "Hey mom," I began. She replied, "hello?!" The voice sounded different. Sounded like my mother with a cold which she did have the last time we spoke, but different. Background noise was not what I expected either. "It’s your son," I continued now hesitant. "You don’t sound like my son," she responded inquisitively, "who is this?" I was now pretty sure this was not my mother, but felt obligated to make a polite exit rather than freak out some woman. "I think I’ve dialed the wrong number, do you have a son in the Army? "No," came the reply. "Well, Ma’am greetings from the United States Army in Fallujah, and I apologize for the intrusion," I said hoping to make a hasty get away. She said quickly, "your mother is lucky to have someone like you. Thank you for what you are doing." I mumbled some grateful reply. Then she blurted out, "Merry Christmas." I thanked her and wished her one as well, as the words ran around in my noggin.

"Merry Christmas," I said to myself again. I forgot that was coming up. Then again I knew it was coming up, just didn’t think about it. Time. Time to train, eat and sleep. Time for our replacements to show up. Is it time to wake my replacement on guard?

"Mohawk 2 OUT"

It’s 3:30 am in Iraq, do you Know Where your Children are?

2004-12-24T09:41:00.000-05:00

Time flies when you are having fun, and crawls when you are not. This advisor gig is a mix of frenzied activity and near comatose lulls. Not unlike other units, however this is different for a number of reasons. Mostly, though there is stability knowing the people around you are there for the same reasons.

I know some schmuck is on guard duty now, and someone else has their finger on a trigger and eye on a scope or night vision device. Someone in Kuwait waiting to get here is still on eastern standard or central time and can’t sleep. Another Joe or Jane is listening to the rhythmic hum of a generator, motor or the hiss of dead air on a radio, only to be startled from their dream-like stupor by a keyed mike or radio traffic.

Some newby is ducking from incoming rounds not sure if they are friendly or foe, while the jaded stand tall as if they are immune to the shock wave, or fear when one gets a little close.

Someone is so comfortable in their environment they worry about complacency. Still others even find pleasure in it, while many are so uncomfortable they can’t get enough sleep, can’t get clean enough, can’t deal with another fly landing on them, but they will.

The Iraqis are asleep. I am surprised when I hear noises from their radios, that someone might actually be awake performing their duty. I surpassed my threshold for stupidity on a supply run with them today. Rather than use a chain to load the truck, or actually stack the supplies in the truck they simply have two or three Jundi throw the supplies in the back while the rest stand around and watch.

I displaced a Marine captain, who to me was jaded and burnt out. I know how he got that way, and to think I only have 10 more months of this.

In an effort for sanity, I sometimes play a game and look around to see what is normal and what is definitely not normal for "joe" back in the USA. For example, as I look around me now, there is an black office chair with arm rests and lumbar support with a white kitten curled up in a ball. Periodically, the kitten will stretch out change positions and curl up again - normal. There is a table with some seasonings, Worcestershire sauce, hot sauce and a can of walnuts on nearby, perhaps unusual but normal. Fly strips hang over hand held radios charging their batteries and a case of sodas are beside me – not homey but plausible. Satellite images of the local city – that’s just a bit Michigan militia. Sand bags stacked six high covering the windows with paper and cardboard covering the gaps to prevent light from escaping – that’s not normal.
I play this game throughout the day. When I hit "not normal" I have to start again. Things like: RPG impact, spent casings and misfired rounds make the game pretty challenging. Next time you’re deployed to a semi-hostile country you try it. I’ve already contacted Milton-Bradley about my idea.

Earlier this evening I played the game after realizing I did possibly the dumbest thing of my career. Our radios stopped working so I attempted to link up with some Marines who were parked at the corner. I put on my body armor, helmet and grabbed my rifle. I walked out of our compound and into the darkness looking for a couple of trucks some 100 meters from our position. About 10 meters into this I realized the folly of my logic. Walking alone in Fallujah at night beside high buildings and a mosque, that’s either incredibly stupid or the act of someone with a lot of sand. While I strive for the latter, I am most definitely in the category of the former.

There is a poem by Rudyard Kipling titled "The White Man’s Burden" that strikes me as very familiar.

"Take up the White Man’s burden –
Send forth the best ye breed –
Go bind your sons to exile,
To serve your captive’s need;
To wait in heavy harness
On fluttered folk and wild –
Your new-caught sullen peoples,
Half devil and half child.
Take up the White Man’s burden –

In patience to abide,
To veil the threat of terror
And check the show of pride;
By open speech and simple
An hundred times made plain
To seek another’s profit
And work another’s gain."

There is more, and I am not sure what prompted him to write it, but I am sure that any of my brothers and sisters, be they black, red, yellow or green can relate to much of it.

It’s 4 am now, there is a feral cat in the hall that won’t stop crying, and the smell of diesel exhaust is giving me a headache. Hell can’t be that much worse.

Mohawk 2 OUT.

What is your Pain Threshold

2004-12-24T09:40:00.000-05:00

I’ve lived in the field for an extended period of time. I’ve lived in the desert, in fact this desert before as well. I unlike many of my peers had no blinders on the harsh reality of desert life. When I returned to Germany from Iraq the last time, I spent 45 minutes in the shower washing scrubbing and washing again. It took several days of long showers for me to feel remotely clean. The thing is it doesn’t matter what environment you’ve trained in, what matters is what you are willing to accept.

How long can you go before you have to change clothes? Socks? Underwear? How much dirt are you willing to have on your hands while you eat? How much sleep are you willing to go without? When are you repulsed by your own smell?
How many flies can land on you while you type before you freak out cursing and flailing your arms in some sort of samurai-esque fly killing spree?

I know the answer to these questions. Many Americans today don’t. Those who spend significant time outdoors are familiar with what I am talking about. Even in Middle America we face these decisions daily; however we know the answers are self-evident in many cases. Fresh clothes daily, showers daily if not twice a day. Why would you consider anything else?

I recall reading a short story in 7th or 8th grade, which was placed in the early 20th century, and the advent of deodorant. A character rode on a street car with an advertisement in the car that posed the question, "Do you offend?" There was some double-entendre for this character that I don’t recall, but I vaguely recall the self examination that followed.

When you begin operations in the field you try to stay clean as long as possible, your threshold is pretty low. However, you start to make concessions out of necessity. Soon your reality changes your perspective. Still you might see someone who has a higher threshold you think to yourself, "that guy is dirty." Then you realize you aren’t far off from their mark. Having hot water, a clean environment and time shapes a lot of your decisions.

The bulk of my cultural training during the first Gulf War was, a list of "don’ts", such as; don’t use your left hand, don’t show them the bottom of your feet, don’t use either the "thumbs up", or "OK" hand gestures. Then again we expected very little contact with the natives.

This time around we received significantly more cultural training. Still no set of generalizations will prepare you for what one will see when they work with Iraqis on a daily basis. I’ll use the word "Iraqis" but to some extent, many of the forthcoming observations can be applied to other nationalities.

Most Arab men, and a lot of GIs smoke so there is the constant smell of cigarettes. Basic oral hygiene is nowhere near what it is in America. If you let them, they’ll defecate in most any corner or out in the open. Trash is everywhere, no matter how many times you tell them to not litter. They attempt to stave off their own smell by drowning themselves in women’s perfume which they looted from any number of stores or homes.

A few days back I walked into a cloud of feces, diesel, perfume, garlic, body odor, wood ash, and cordite. The only thing that kept me from vomiting was the challenging of identifying all of the odors.

They’ll burn just about anything to cook flat bread. They’ll use 2 liters of water when 1 will do. They’ll waste food and water and then complain there is less than a months worth of food.

In their defense, this battalion has been in a combat zone for over two months without much in terms of creature comforts. The four line companies live in what are affectionately called, "sand castles". Reinforced bunkers made of timbers, plywood and what are giant sand bags called HESCO barriers. This battalion was with the U.S. Marines in the breech to retake the city. You would have problems with most American battalions in the same situation.

Their sister battalions in the brigade arrived later and have already departed, leaving the 5th to hold down the fort until one of the new brigades being formed can take their place in late December. I won’t pretend to explain the logic because I don’t understand it myself.

The sergeants are learning the hard lessons of leadership during what might be their most difficult time. They see their field grade officers returning to the rear for showers and a hot meal on a regular basis. We are asking them to do things that were unheard of in the old army, and strange for their culture. We are asking them to think about themselves and their role differently. We are telling their officers to step back and trust the sergeants who have only proven themselves to be unreliable and operate in the old army mode unlike the model we have explained and displayed.

The Jundi have reached their pain threshold. There have been two incidents of "intramural fire" fortunately; no one was hit by these rounds fired in frustration. Discipline is down, but from what standard is difficult to say.
The break cannot come fast enough for either U.S. or Iraqi forces.

Mohawk 2 OUT.

Block 346

2004-12-24T09:38:00.000-05:00

The city of Fallujah is broken down into sectors or blocks. They don’t follow city blocks because the city isn’t exactly laid out that way, and it prevents enemy combatants from determining our locations. We reside in block 346, the mosque we were in was in block 400 and they are separated by a street width, so the numbering isn’t exactly predictable either, again for good reason.

On the 6th of December I took a squad of Jundi along with SSG Faulkner, of Warsaw NY to patrol our block and search houses. My intent was to observe the leadership of the Iraqi sergeants, whom I had mentored on their role earlier that morning. Our plan was to move to the Eastern edge of our block and begin patrolling West on the streets. If a house was not searched or had been secured, via lock after a search we needed to go in.

For the bulk of the patrol we found nothing. We swept a few homes with clear line of sight into our compound, ensuring no one had returned. Some of the homes had an obvious European influence, one with grass and a garden up front. The bathrooms featured both western amenities as well as a separate room to accommodate the locals. Much of the architecture was a blend of old Europe and Arabic.

The biggest problem was the tendency of the Jundi to pilfer whatever they found. Frequently, I would have to tell them, "la" no. and "dheb" drop. Afterward, I advised all of them, if it serves no military value, then we do not take it, so sunglasses and broken cameras do not fit that criteria.

Initially we split the squad into two teams so each sergeant would be able to control his little fire team. I took one and SSG Faulkner took the other, we then split the sector into two East/West corridors in which we would operate. SSG Faulkner’s team had more houses so they didn’t progress as quickly as we did, additionally, his team found 3 AK-47 machine guns in his sector. We rejoined them on his street, and as we were about to depart we found two homes with padlocks over the gates.

"MARINE 6 this is MOHAWK 2, we have two homes that have been secured, request permission for dynamic entry," was the radio call I sent to my higher headquarters. They inquired what method of breech I would use. My initial response was small arms on the locks, secondary choice was a fragmentary grenade because of the layout of the homes made truly safe locations prime real estate. "MOHAWK 2, this is MARINE 6, you are a go for dynamic breech using frag, OVER," came the reply.

The two gates were adjacent to each other, so both SSG Faulkner and I affixed grenades at the same time. We cleared the Jundi to safe areas and began preparing our grenades. SSG Faulkner wedged a masonry bit, we acquired, in the lock, then the grenade on top of that. I used cord to tie the padlock and grenade together, being careful to gently work the cord under the "spoon" of the grenade.

SSG Faulkner had a covered position in the house immediately behind him. I had to button hook around the fence of the house I was attempting to gain access to. We both removed the pull pins at the same time, then the thumb safety, both holding a death grip on the spoon. "MARINE 6, MOHAWK 2, Dynamic entry in 3 0 seconds, OUT", I called on the radio. On a three count we released the spoons and ran to our cover.

Let me note at this point, the gate was about 3 feet higher than the road, as in many homes in Iraq. The ramp to this gate, however was an steep 450 degree angle, which I neglected to take into account when planning my escape route. I took one step and was flat on my belly well in the kill zone. I "high crawled" as fast as I could around the corner, laughing in both terror and amusement at my predicament.

BOOM! Both grenades exploded simultaneously. I heard the crash of the gates and debris coming to rest on the ground. Then immediately, I heard SSG Faulkner calling, "Brown?! Are you OK?" Apparently, he’d seen my graceful exit. "Yeah, I’m fine," I replied as I spit dust from my mouth, then rolling over to yell at the Jundi to cross the threshold. Later in the evening the bruises on my elbows from the fall would become painfully apparent. Two Jundi stopped to inquire in broken English if I was OK as well. One even brushed the dust off my sleeves. I laughed again, as we entered the courtyard. The door was locked until I butt-stroked the glass and opened the door.

On the way back to our base camp, SSG Faulkner taught some of the Jundis the term, "spazz" in reference to my spider walk.

In this house we found nothing but some chickens and a duck. "MARINE 6, this is MOHAWK 2, we are indexing now, we have secured, 3 AK-47s, 4 magazines, 2 hens, 1 chicken and 1 duck, OVER," was my transmission back to base. Military necessity, was they were food for exsurgents, or would die without care and attract vermin so they had to be destroyed. Lucky for us SSG Faulkner’s Cajun roots prepared him for living off the land.

As night fell, the Jundi’s enjoyed a little cruelty watching the chickens literally run without their heads. The rooftop security forces observed lights in the building immediately outside our compound. We called our higher headquarters to see if any friendly forces had moved in, none had.

Marine Major Zacchea, of Long Island, NY is whom I report to and the two of us were the only ones available. I agreed with the Major’s assessment that he & I along with an interpreter would move much faster than a squad of Jundi to asses and clear the threat. This would prove to be a very wise decision.

We approached the courtyard of the building which was a power station before destruction and cleared it quickly and with stealth. The occupants made no effort to shroud their noise or light. We approached through a hole in a block wall surrounding the building. My every movement calculated so as to not make our presence known, while the major covered my movements.

I looked in the door and heard 3 distinct voices to my left and observed two persons move to the right side of the building. I was out in the open looking through the door and had no cover, much less knew how much light I was bathed in. The major asked me if I had any grenades, I responded "yes". I confirmed the some of the occupants were wearing Iraqi uniforms, and one passed by my position in what looked like civilian clothes, which made my heart pound even harder. I could feel it reverberating against my body armor. I wasn’t paralyzed but apprehensive just doesn’t seem an adequate description.

The Major seemed calm and collected, as he approached the door.
Once he crossed the threshold he moved left and a calm came over me. He entered the first room and I quickly swept a room on my right and proceeded to the kitchen in the back. The two in the kitchen looked up and genuinely surprised to be on the wrong end of my M-16. "Iraqi Soldier" they exclaimed in broken English. "irfaa ei-dayk" Hands up, "la tet Har-rak" Do not move I commanded. I examined them for weapons and listened to the Major questioning his quarry. I directed the persons to my front to move toward me and into the empty room.

The Major directed his three into the same room, and our interpreter quickly entered giving directions. Two more were atop the stairs and I directed them down. I asked if that was all of them, and got a reply of yes. I heard movement, and found a Jundi had joined us from the camp. More noise from upstairs, rifle noise. I commanded "ir mi siliheck" drop your weapon. He came slowly down.
Eight in all, they all claimed to be Iraqi soldiers dropped off there specifically by an American Advisor and the Marines. But they couldn’t tell us the unit or the advisor’s name. They claimed to be on a security mission, but none were on any sort of security watch, else we would have been stopped much sooner. The Major charged them with looting, and their sergeant said he could call his unit. I followed him to the kitchen to retrieve his radio. He used the same model as we did.

Our interpreter translated his radio traffic. His advisor was on the way.
While we waited, again Major Zacchea attempted to verify no friendlys placed in our block. None was the reply. These apparent Jundi would continually interject comments, to which the Major or I would tell them, "is-kut" be quiet. Our Interpreter would echo our commands as he is trained.

In a few minutes I heard a voice outside I recognized from Army CPT Powers of the 98th DIV who mobilized with me. We resolved the situation and released the Jundi.

Apparently, an Army Civil Affairs Unit coordinated with the Marines/Iraqi Army in their sector to secure several key buildings for the returning civilian population. This one however was outside their sector. The Marines warned the advisor, CPT Powers, you are outside our area of operation.

The Jundi we’re upset, however any Soldier or Marine after confirming with their higher headquarters no coordination was done to put friendly forces in their sector would have done the same.

Mohawk 2 OUT.

Operation Snoopy

2004-12-24T09:37:00.000-05:00

In Iraq there are thousands of feral dogs and cats. Specifically, in Fallujah there are thousands roaming the streets looking for food, and shelter in this destroyed city. Some were domesticated animals while the majority are wild, adapting to the circumstances in which they find themselves.

The liter of war as well as the liter of military operations provides much of the food for these creatures. Their water comes from broken water mains and sewage lines. Shelter is found wherever they are. Animals killed by shrapnel, errant rounds or drivers become a necessary food source for starving scavengers.

Makeshift packs and more permanent packs are established with clear boundaries and a hierarchy of alpha males. Turf battles consist of a lot of barking, snarling, and occasionally fighting but not much more. The cats find their hierarchy with some hissing, screeching and brief physical contact.

The noise is substantial to keep newcomers to the city awake at night, and make perimeter guards jumpy. Operations would normally be halted to quiet a barking dog, but they are so rampant it is unnecessary, and provides additional cover for movement.

While the U.S. troops largely use designated trash pits, they sometimes do not; following whatever standard they held at home, or the example of the Iraqi Army. Which itself follows the example of the U.S. troops. The cyclical pattern generates rubbish in the streets and alley ways. Further complicating matters, the animals are not aware of boundaries set by man and frequently invade trash pits to satisfy natural needs.

There is no humane society of Fallujah or Iraq for that matter. Iraqis don’t view "man’s best friend" as a friend at all. Often they can be seen beating or abusing dogs. Cats are supposed to be held in higher regard, however from this perspective, it isn’t much higher. What would constitute abuse in most civilized nations is normal here.

Many units adopt dogs or cats, by feeding them, and different commands have varying opinions on such mascot animals. The response of 4 million years of evolution is immediate and bonds quickly form. The animals differentiate quickly which humans offer protection, shelter and food and which humans offer abuse. They develop new territory boundaries by protecting the turf of those that feed.

The reality is the animals present a significant health hazard to the citizens of Fallujah, and the forces stationed here. A plan has been established and started to destroy the animals. Letting Marines, Soldiers or Jundi shoot any dog or cat they see would be problematic, for a myriad of reasons. Thus, a team of Soldiers has been tasked with the destruction and removal of said creatures, in what has been dubbed, "operation snoopy". Having grown up with dogs, one named Snoopy, & cats, and as a current owner of three dogs at home, I would struggle to pull the trigger, knowing it is for the greater good.

Many have discussed a campaign to save these innocent casualties of war. By sending pictures and or creating a Fallujah animal rescue. Nobel intentions aside, the feasibility of this is far fetched. How would the animal get out of Iraq? Would someone come to get them? How would that group be protected during transit? Would the animal be shipped directly? What about the diseases most are carrying? Using Iraqi veterinarians to treat these animals? Not likely as any working relationship with coalition forces is still viewed as a death sentence. Additionally, it is a very plausible scenario where the animal would die in transit or quarantine upon arrival. Not that it is impossible, but sadly very improbable.

Finally, when thinking of the destruction of these animals I am left to ponder the thousands of animals destroyed each day in the United States alone in Humane Societies. It is just another item to be added to the list of things to do while rebuilding a nation from rubble.

Bangin'

2004-12-24T09:35:00.000-05:00

The 5th Battalion 3rd Brigade of the 5th Division, Iraqi Army is attached to the U.S.M.C. in Fallaujah. The Marines control this city and all movement in it. Initial advisory duties were performed by Marines for this battalion, and I am in the transition process.

First, the Iraqi Army is unruly and undisciplined. Thievery is the norm, every issue when made public generates an excuse, and physical response is slow beyond description. It is truly frustrating to a professional military.

As the Marines are wrapping up operations here the 5th Battalion (BN) is providing security for humanitarian operations. CNN has been here and from what we can tell not presented the full picture, as "news" has to be entertaining sound bytes.

For the past three days we’ve been supporting operations to return displaced families to their homes, if possible, transportation to a Jordanian run hospital in the city, or transportation to the edge of the city limits.

Today another Marine unit detained civilians in our sector who had already been processed, a SNAFU in communications, had these folks detained, and all adults cuffed. We were notified, and in a mere 30 minutes had 6 Soldiers (Jundi) prepared to move these families. In the U.S. military the mission would have been done in 30 minutes. So we wait.

The delays were caused by the troops arriving without the proper equipment, then an negligent discharge, (firing into the dirt). When we arrived, we assisted the Marines with perimeter security and followed our program for handling detainees. While we processed these civilians two men in civilian clothes ran past our position, a block away. Civilians are allowed to live in their homes, however they are under a 24 hour curfew. Ironically, they ran not 20 meters from the front gate of our normal position, with no reaction from our gate guard.

Marine Captain M., several Jundi (Iraqi Soldiers) and I swept or cleared several buildings in the vicinity, we would do this to an Iraqi family returning to their home as a courtesy regardless. The Jundi move more like Hollywood police characters than well trained Soldiers, which is a bit unnerving in close quarters combat situations. They don’t move as a team and seem to be unaware of each other’s movements. We let them move ahead most of the time, and we follow. Sometimes we go first out of necessity.

Close quarters combat has many names in the police and military communities, we call it, "bangin". Fortunately, both organizations, military and police forces, have gained knowledge and experience from each other in the recent past. Banging on doors, is close the highest risk activity we do.

It isn’t as warm in Fallaujah this time of year. Highs in the 50s and lows in the low 30s at night. Given the temperatures and the relative anticipated inactivity I was dressed for cooler weather and began to perspire quickly. The adrenalin, sweat and movement provide a rush like no other military activity. It’s an odd high to move quickly in potentially "hostile" ground. An added benefit is the support of a Marine landing craft to breech doors and locked fences and provide fire support.

We finished the search finding only an old German built Mauser rifle that had been re-furbished by the Soviets and sold to Iraq several decades ago, and several hundred Iraqi dollars. Really, we found nothing but several semi-destroyed and looted homes. Which is saddening, as I continually try to remember it’s someone’s house, their "stuff" and we should treat it with respect. Then again, if I can’t navigate around a door, it’s going to be mechanically breeched.

I sometimes feel like the home owners are watching my movements, sometimes I am distracted by the architecture of what are incredible homes, which would sell for several hundred thousand dollars back home. Though, these distractions are never enough to slow me or dissuade action on my part.

FRAG OUT!

At night the Iraqis tend to shoot at mysterious aggressors, sometimes generating additional fire, they claim "ali babba" of the children’s story on a regular basis to explain these actions. On more than one occasion we the advisors have run out with little protection to cease fires on abandoned buildings and shadows. This night they showed promise by not firing on "lights" they saw in buildings on our perimeter, and using the chain of command for direction.

We were scheduled to clear these buildings again during daylight, but were put on hold with adjacent units moving in and around our perimeter. After some observation we too saw the lights in the home. Keeping in mind civilians are allowed in their homes, they are not allowed in every home. Buildings with strategic value are off limits, while the occupying forces are in the area. While I am an advisor, and technically a non-combatant, I am a Soldier first, and my security is still very high on my list of priorities.

We assembled a team of six Jundi, a translator, CPT M, U.S. Army Staff Sergeant F, and I. We approached from the South East corner and in the moonless night, with relative stealth. This huge structure was one city block long and had a wide courtyard on the side. We staged a few meters from the house’s brick fence near what was an intersection that had been barricaded by Marine engineers. The captain and I quickly checked the perimeter for ingress and egress points finding only one, the front door which was agape. We momentarily debated using the interpreter to call anyone out, and our speed once inside the house using whispers and hand jestures to each other.

Our plan was for a distraction in the rear of the home and a team at the front to detain anyone flushed from the building. I was staged at the North East corner with 4 Jundi, the translator and Cpt M. With coordination confirmed, our higher headquarters replied to our call on the radio, "Marine 3…Dynamic breech is a go." On that radio call, I moved to the east side of the building and attempted to breech a car gate with a fragmentary grenade.

As I crept along the wall, I remembered each time I’ve thrown a grenade. As a Drill Sergeant it’s something I do more frequently than other Soldiers, still this was a live grenade, it was nighttime in Fallaujah outside a house with potentially hostile forces. A dog barked continuously nearby, alerting everyone to our presence, but then again, dogs run rampant here and bark at everything. I remember thinking, "I could hit that dog from here, and I can’t see it".

As a bead of sweat raced down my cheek to my collar, the normally cool breeze was not available this night. I kept repeating in my head the instructions I’ve given to so many U.S. privates; death grip, spoon against the palm, pull the ring, remove the safety pin, assume a good position and throw. "Forget the good position, just toss the freakin’ grenade, over the wall" I thought. I remember thinking absurdly, "I gotta get the spoon and ring tomorrow," conditioned by years of ranges where those items had to be turned in.

I watched it’s arc in the star drenched sky and turned to run to our cover position, a power line pole. With a thunderous boom the grenade exploded, shattering glass on the eastern side of the home, slightly pushing me forward. The door, I would later find to my relative dismay, did not budge. We waited, and with no counter fire, CPT M tossed another grenade at a gate on the Northern side, again a thunderous boom and glass damage. I remember being dismayed I didn’t have my knee pads on. The Army didn’t issue them, as we are non-combatants, and I purchased them myself only to not use them when I needed them.

We, the captain, the translator & I rushed to the front of the house to be joined by the two Jundi there and SSG F. The Jundi didn’t move, so four of us cleared the home. At this point stealth was moot, so with white lights we aggressively moved through the house. My heart rate was surely up, but I couldn’t tell. My breathing which would normally be labored given the movements seemed relaxed to me. My eyes darted quickly, up down, left and right with the front sight post of my rifle moving coaxially over furnishings and potential hiding places, as I moved.

Given we only had four we split to cover as much ground as possible, with the interpreter basically remaining in the foyer. "Kitchen clear," I called out, then moved to the foyer.

The house was generally intact, with 15 foot ceilings and a huge chandelier in the two story foyer. I covered the second floor while the captain and staff sergeant moved up the stairs. In the midst of this heady task I noticed, large ornate furniture and decorative wall hangings that adorned this "palace". Once they were up, I joined them taking two marble steps at a time.

One distinct feature of Iraqi homes, even the big ones is inaccuracy in
engineering. Steps are almost never a uniform height or width. Often there will be a step that has only a 2 or 3 inch rise. While a beautiful house, unlike the smaller homes earlier in the day which presented family photos, this building was not a warm welcoming home.

We contacted U.S. Soldiers from our base who were over watching our movements, with crew served weapons. The thought that the Jenoud (Jundi plural) on our base could fire on us never entered my mind while in the building, but was paralyzing before we departed.

They guided us to the room where the Jenoud saw the lights, caused by reflections into the home striking three mirrors on a wall. The results were both a relief and at the same time a let down. Still the perimeter was secure, and we stood down. We gathered the Jenoud and tactically moved back to our perimeter. We were relieved and felt buoyant.

Chill out

We reviewed our actions with the Jenoud via the interpreter as we always do, and moved into our command post. As we disrobed our gear we relived the events of the day to our officer in charge. Having only eaten part of my dinner, I sat on the floor too tired to eat, too pumped up to go to bed, still perspiring. This time from the heat of the building rather than heat of operations. I ate some raisins, drank my now cold, hot chocolate and shared a few jokes with the Marines and Soldiers on our team. We joked about the ineffectiveness of the grenades vs. the ineffectiveness of the throwers.

Eventually, I felt the tension in my body melt away. After a high like close quarters combat when you come down you come down quickly. Sleep was taking its grasp of me and I turned in, weary and satisfied.

The Jenoud probably didn’t learn much from the operation, but then this wasn’t an operation we would entirely trust to them to begin with. Still they saw what a small team can accomplish when they move with military precision and aggressively.

Time is on my Side

2004-12-24T09:34:00.000-05:00

Since arriving in Iraq there has been mortar fire daily, except for Thanksgiving day. Perhaps our respect of Muslim holidays has a benefit, in that we won’t take fire on our holidays. Either that, or the Exsurgents know their compatriots are working on our installations on those days.

The bad news about mortar fire is it’s mortar fire, and well it reminds you, that you aren’t just camping in a really bad campground. The good news is that the exsurgents cant’ hit the broad side of a barn with an aircraft carrier, at least where I’ve been. Still, stories circulate that they know how to “walk-in” fires to the target, meaning, they can adjust their fire once the round has impacted moving it closer to the intended target, but I haven’t seen it yet.

Elements of the 98th were split yesterday, with a group of 3 leaving in the late morning, and then another 25 dispatched to Camp Fallujah (USMC) outside the city proper. While all of the Advisors reside in USMC territory, some report to the U.S. Army’s 1st CAV division for operations. Going into the city has been renamed, “going into town”, as if it is a leisurely Sunday drive.

The tent we reside in has Army, Marines, Air Force, Navy and Interpreters all living under one roof. My group arrived in Fallujah late at night, waking the residents of the tent. Our chopper ride was delayed by weather, then again due to fuel. Even in the wee hours of the morning, old friends greet each other, and share a joke quietly trying not to disturb everyone.

The dust is thick and cloying even with the doors closed. This part of Iraq was heavily damaged by coalition forces during the regime change, and again with the reacquisition of Fallujah. Parts of the roads disappear, and have been temporarily filled in with sand. As the wind picks up it cuts deeply through clothing quickly chilling to the bone. The temperatures have been in the mid 50s during the day, and in the low to mid 20s at night.

The camp is in a constant state of improvement, by Americans and Iraqi nationals. The Iraqi’s hire locals to perform manual labor, though those who have been here find the words Iraqi and labor contradictory. Each camp has stories of Iraqi Soldiers shooting recklessly or shooting at each other, across the compound, again for no apparent reason, this one is no different.

Schedules are varied depending on the branch and mission. Some Soldiers work during the day, while others lounge preparing for nighttime operations. Everyone spends time organizing gear, cleaning weapons and attempting to communicate with family and loved ones.

While occasionally, you’ll hear Soldiers complain about living out of a bag and constantly moving, mostly it’s quite. Typically, when short deadlines to move are imposed or equipment cannot be located, the griping begins in earnest.
Hurry up and wait. The game begins anew, just in a different location. Time is both with us and against us.

What are you Thankful For

2004-12-24T09:33:00.000-05:00

Sadly, no visit from President Bush still, November 25th was a special day on our post. The employees of Kellogg Brown & Root (KBR) were excited to open both a new PX (department store) and dining facility. The line for the PX was incredibly long, so I did not enter.

My priority was the big "Tday" dinner. A few things were reminders we weren’t at home. First, there was no football. Being 8 hours ahead of Easter Standard Time, we might have seen the day before "pre-game" show or a tape of a previous game. Second, no nap after the meal, and no time to really enjoy the food. Last, the opposition forces did not lob mortar rounds in the middle of our post either. What a pleasant surprise.

The decorations were everywhere including a 5 foot cornucopia with fresh fruit. There were so many choices of fat laden delicacies, not unlike your spread at home. Three types of vegetables, two types of stuffing, three types of meats, were there for the Soldier. We could additionally choose Eggnog, and a plethora of juices along with a shrimp cocktail, cheeses, and deserts. I counted at least 4 sheet cakes, some with ornate decorations depicting scenes of the first Thanksgiving. Table cloths covered every table. Buss persons restocked everything and cleaned up quickly. Instead of overcooked vegetables they were steamed perfectly. The turkey was juicy, not dry. The deserts were decadent. The meal was great.

There was a ceremony going on as we entered. The colonel in charge of the support battalion that ran the dinfac, awarded a certificate and coin to the employees of KBR who did something special. Likely, worked to get the place open on time. Most of them, blue collar folks from the states were leery of the smarminess of such an awards ceremony.

My battle buddies and I debated if the meal was really that good or is it just OK, but we’re used to MRE’s and therefore improved the taste. I tend to think it was a bit of both. The social aspect of the meal was the best, "This sucks," claimed SSG Miller of Staten Island, NYC. When you are 8000 miles from home, your favorite meal prepared to perfection is lacking. We discussed how we would celebrate at home; if we traveled to in-laws or they traveled to us. We discussed those of us who have to work holidays, and scheduling. "This year was supposed to be my year to have Thanksgiving, Christmas Eve and New Years Eve off," said SFC Jaskula a Buffalo City Police Officer. "My year off & I am in freak’in Iraq," he ranted.

CPT Gomez, of Providence RI, cited he likes a quite home, and his wife likes a noisy home full of the laughter of children. With the cacophony of the dinfac, "I miss that noise," he said. Everyone reflects, and misses something. It’s the catch 22 of a nice spread overseas. Sure everything looks good and tastes good, but it just reminds you how far from home you are. Sometimes its difficult to be grateful when you feel like you’re missing out. I am grateful to have the guys on my team that I do. I am grateful that I am well fed and have the opportunity to return home. I just wish time would move faster.

In Your eyes in my eyes

2004-12-24T09:32:00.000-05:00

We are currently located on an old Republican Guard post north of Baghdad for a couple of days. The post shows wear from the war 14 years ago as well as 2 years ago. Still the facilities are better here than some other Iraqi posts. Mortar fire here is regular, but accuracy is not a skill the hostile forces have. To call the hostile forces insurgents is a misnomer. For them to be insurgent, they must be part of a local ground swell of opposition. Given that most of the hostile forces are foreign nationals they are more correctly labeled exsurgents.

The camp is split with coalition forces on one side and Iraqi forces on another. Given our mission we are on the Iraqi side. We don’t interface with them too much except for the occasional passing friendly conversation.

The last two days were spent with a clinical psychologist who has worked for JFK Special Operations Warfare Center, the Department of Defense, CIA, various other government agencies and some universities. "Dr. John" as we called him spent two and a half days with us discussing the culture of the Middle East, Iraq, Mesopotamia, and Muslims.

His presentation was our fourth presentation on the culture of Iraq, however his presentation connected the dots for many. His expertise included his experiences working with Special Forces operators, preparing them for missions training armies around the globe. We were no different as far as audiences go.

A key message was our habit of viewing Iraq and Muslims through Judeo-Christian and/ or American eyes. Even while in Indiana training for this mission, local civilians were recruited as actors. They portrayed local Americans superbly, but not any way like an Arab or Iraqi would interact with American forces. For example an angry American woman would think nothing of verbally engaging U.S. troops who are in her way. An Iraqi woman would never talk to man outside her family at risk of severe corporal punishment.

Dr. John would study the region’s geography, history, the religious makeup, before looking at specifics. "Consider when you go on vacation to another country you look at all of these things and more before you decide to go, "Dr. John said. "We as the military know very little about a country before we, mechanically engage an enemy, in terms of culture," he advised.

To suggest the world and one’s perceptions of reality are the same when time itself is viewed in a completely different light is ludicrous. Arab people view time as fluid, given their history spans more than one millennia. While we view time as finite and measurable, as something you can loose or buy.

Consider most in this region started as nomadic shepards in the desert. If you spent your days following a heard of sheep across a desert, if you navigate at night via the stars, time becomes meaningless. If your people have been subjugated to hostile occupying forces for as long as there has been an oral history, time is meaningless.

A highlight for many was one of his presentations that he and his "A team" gave to Iraqis after the initial combat ended. It was titled "This is America". This presentation showed many Iraqis, for the first time for many, a map of the world, of Iraq, of the United States. Then showed them many pictures of our people, our landscape and land marks. The interpreters were briefed before hand to ensure clarity in the message. To ensure the Iraqis knew we were here to help them build a democratic government. That they have a say in their future, that we are not here to take their land, their oil, but we are here to help them build a nation.

This Desert Life

2004-12-24T09:29:00.000-05:00

The desert is harsh and unforgiving. It is also beautiful in it’s simplicity. The light shade of green reflecting the new growth of grass after a late fall shower, contrasting the light brown of the never ending sand. The sunlight changing the color of the sand from dawn, throughout the day and into the evening. The familiarity and oddity of seeing wild dogs, herds of sheep and dromedaries is enchanting. The light plays tricks on your eyes, making distance and depth difficult tasks for your brain to conquer. The environment is dirty and that impacts your perspective on life. You try to balance what is vs. what you are willing to accept in terms of cleanliness.

George Lucas had one of his Star Wars characters describe the desert in a negative way saying, "the sand is coarse and gets in everything." This is true; it gets in your blood. The sand has a particular smell much like the earth does when plowed under by the farmer’s blade or the musky mildew of deep forest soil. American base camps have the constant rumble of diesel generators and the smell of diesel exhaust. There is the smell of humanity and the refuse we produce.

The desert is unifying in that except for points of elevation, or hills the desert of the Middle East looks and feels strikingly similar to the deserts of the American Southwest. When you complete one mission, as you drive back to your camp, you could envision the same in say Texas. Except for the fact you are on the look out civilian cars cutting into your convoy or improvised munitions. No that little task brings you right back to reality and the reality of your environment.
Today we met a retired operator from the Army Special Forces, who trained the Soldiers of the 98th on Modern Operations in Urban Terrain, (MOUT). "Chris" as he choose to be called was the kind of down to earth guy you would never suspect was in the military given his hair and mannerisms. Then again to the trained eye, he moved like a warrior. His legs ever bent slightly as if he were a coil ready to spring to action. His language hasn’t changed much since he entered the military some 30 years ago peppering conversations with, "right on" and "can you dig", or "I’m gonna turn you on to some really good stuff, man". Likely the same vernacular he spoke when he joined. It made him stand out at first and was a bit of a distraction, but quickly the Soldiers recognized he spoke with the confidence of two decades of going where our government needed him to operate and complete tasks most American’s would just as soon not know we conducted. The desert was in Chris and it’s in the Soldiers of the 98th.

This group of 167 will spend the next 24 hours preparing their gear for a short flight to Baghdad then they’ll disperse to their Iraqi units staged across the country. The time for training is over. The time to conduct desert operations is now at hand. With out fail, the Soldiers all share the same goal of returning themselves and their teams in one piece and of sound mind, knowing they helped a fledgling army, and maybe by doing this prevented another Joe or Jenny from Main Street U.S.A. from experiencing the horrors of war.

Embrace the Suck

2004-11-20T07:21:00.000-05:00

4:50 am somewhere in Kuwait; 45 degrees and rain. Crap. I suppose it’s better than the light dust storm of Thursday. Brigadier General Sherlock commander of troops from the 98th deployed to Iraq and Kuwait spoke to the latest increment in the port city of Doha Kuwait on Wednesday the 17th. He explained where their training was culminating, where they were going and answered some individual Soldier questions. He also described the mission for the Soldiers and wanted to ensure our “heads were in the game”.

Noting the potential danger of our mission, and the inherent risks to any operation in this theater he advised the troops it will be hard work and a hard mission, “You are going to work long hours in an environment where you can’t trust anyone but the Soldier standing next to you,” he said. “You will be tested, and you must embrace the suck,” he continued. Embrace the suck? I didn’t expect that from a one star general.

The message hasn’t changed much since mobilization began some 40 days ago, just the details and many of the Soldiers are getting tense and are chomping at the bit to begin the mission. “It’s like being at a roller coaster and someone saying, ‘you can’t get on but let me tell you all about ridding it,’” said 1SG John Quinn of NYCTwo days later, those same Solders found themselves on a range complex learning or in some cases reviewing moving and shooting tactically, operation and maintenance of an AK-47 rifle, and ultimately shooting the same. Culminating with convoy operations and a live fire exercise in which the Soldiers were required to engage enemy targets, while recovering damaged vehicles and or injured Soldiers under fire while maneuvering vehicles and equipment through hostile territory.

With the shortage of trainers in a peace time Army much less an Army at war, the Department of Defense contracted with an organization founded by a former Secretary of the Army Gen. Carl A. Vouno. Mr. Vouno founded the MPRI which is retired and in some cases semi-retired Soldiers from Marine recon, Army Rangers and Special Forces, Navy Seals and other elite fighters. These contractors lend their experience for a 3, 6 or 12 month tour in Kuwait training and evaluating U. S. Soldiers.

On this range complex Active Army, Reserve, and National Guard Soldiers trained with Marines, and U.S. Airforce service members. The differences in the services were sometimes very clear and other times blurred to even the service members, save the patches on the uniforms. All trained with one common goal.

Not a lofty goal of service to nation or building an army. No we all train to keep our battle buddies alive so we can all go home in one piece. In between missions we do what all Soldiers do, we sleep, maintain our equipment, BS with each other and sleep. It’s a stress release as much as it is another chance to bond, and test the limits of the person who you will fight beside. Maybe they will save your life from hostile fire. Maybe they’ll just keep you sane during an insane time and get you through “the suck.”

501 & a wake up

2004-11-18T05:18:00.000-05:00

We’ve been at this for 43 days. After 5 and a half weeks of condensed training, we were allowed to take a few days off to be with our families and loved ones provided we stayed within 50 miles of Camp Atterbury. The city of Indianapolis provided the backdrop for what was a bacchanal fest. Then a day of hasty packing and verbose ceremony we were ready to depart.On Sunday at 8:59 and 55 seconds we were airborne for Kuwait in what would be 20 hours of travel, including a 45 minute stop in Ireland to refuel.Just after 7 am local time we landed in Kuwait. While we have no hostilities with Kuwait and are on amicable terms we still had security and live ammunition on our busses to our compound. I’m not exactly sure where Camp Virginia is in Kuwait, but it is a large compound of mostly tents. You can taste the fine powdery dust in the air and the slightest breeze kicks up large clouds. Diesel generators run round the clock to provide power and lighting in the tents. We have a PX, with a food court, barbershop, gift shop and other amenities including Internet access, hence this update, and phone bank. The dining facility here is better than the one in Indiana, still it’s not home but if you don’t look hard you wouldn’t know.

Civilian contractors from the local population run the shops and facilities after having passed a screening exam. The U.S. troops are making final preparations to move to Iraq and increasing tension is palpable as both the mission draws closer and questions remain unanswered. The command wants and needs the troops to “get their heads in the game”, which can be a challenge to some reserve troops who have not been in a combat theatre before. The recent battles in Falujah were spearheaded by elements of the Iraqi 5th Division. The anti-American forces still target U.S. Troops specifically in an effort to change public opinion on the war at home, and to prevent killing their Arab brothers. With the continuing operations in Iraq against anti-American forces the missions have changed somewhat, but not a lot for the Soldiers of the 98th .

The mission still remains to train the Iraqis to take over the training of their own units. That process started with U.S. troops training police and Soldiers in basic tactics, and is now progressing to a state where they can train their own troops with supervision from coalition forces. The Iraqi forces used to be in support of American forces fighting insurgents. Now the Iraqi forces are given their own missions with U.S. troops in support. The greater demand for troops on the ground has lead to a refocusing of efforts to train the NCO corps in a formal educational environment. While it is still a question, likely they’ll be trained on the fly for the first few months and then a specific program of instruction can be written on what they’ll need to know.

Tell me about your day

2004-10-25T23:02:00.000-04:00

One thing that keeps the lid on insanity is knowing what is going on at home. Usually, what is mundane is what makes the connection to home. So, here's a place for you to tell me about the little things that you wouldn't normaly think about. Or things you see and think, I should tell Drew about this. Post it.

I'll start.
It's rained heavily last week, but we got a break on Sunday and Monday. As the sun rose on Sunday am, there was a light fog on the ground. The lighting, fog and changing trees reminded me of a morning walking to Jr. High School from my parents house. The smell of decaying leaves is in the air and sound of dry leaves blowing in the breeze is reminiscent of home.