NGO Man

NGO - Non Governmental Organization

We have had a man visiting us on the FOB from one of the few NGOs willing to work in Iraq. Even more important this NGO is one of the rare ones that will work with the military.

NGOs like Doctors Without Borders, UNICEF, VEGA, and CARE are able to come into countries where the need for their services is greatest. Typically they do not like to be associated with the military whatsoever. Their reason is clear - they are neutral and on no one's "side". For them to associate with US forces would be an indication to insurgents they are "Pro" one side and therefore "Anti" the other. This has the cumlative effect of making them targets for kidnapping and assination.

NGO Man is a great guy. He claims he is from the West Coast but talks so fast that you'd swear he is from NYC. He has an energy level and indominable spirit far above mine. From our numerous breakfasts I have gathered that his passport is full of stamps from all over the world. I don't think there is a habited continent he has not been to. NGO Man, like many soldiers, is away from his wife and family back home.

NGO Man is here to get Iraqi businesses back up and running with an international flavor. He does this through countless face to face meetings with local business owners. His bottom line is, "would you be interested in working with American businesses". His incentive is $3,000,000 in grants to help the Iraqis improve their economic viability worldwide. His "side" then is for the progress of the country struggling to learn a new way of thinking.

NGO Man cannot go outside of the protective barrier of the FOB or the IZ without some kind of escort. NGO Man, and the others that work with him, recently survived an assault on the their home inside the IZ. They have there own private bodyguards for that level of protection but they need us (US) for protection outside the wire.
Because of the nature of Civil Affairs being able to go out among the people and interact with them it is a natural fit for NGO Man to go with us. We are his security escort. I must say that it is a little amusing to see NGO Man get ready to go out with our patrol. He comes in jeans and short sleeved dress shirt. Over that he wears an IBA and Kevlar. The chin strap is never tight so the helmet is always cock-eyed to one side. NGO Man is armed with a camera and pen and paper. NGO Man, and the countless men and women like him, are braver than any of us.

NGO Man wants to be here. Most soldiers understand that their obligation is to go when ordered, but most of us would rather be home in the US. Not NGO Man - NGO Man willing comes down to our FOB in order to go out and engage the locals in order to help them help themselves. He volunteered to come to Baghdad.

I think it is terribly frustrating for him at times. There is always the interpreter issue which makes conversations three times as long as a normal one. There is a basic, fundamental difference in Western and Middle Eastern economic philosophies. And, of course, there is the issue of security. Several times I have had to pluck him out of a meeting because I had bad vibe in the area.

Still, NGO Man represents a non-military solution to the problems of Iraq. He is just one facet of the numerous avenues to demonstrate to Iraq that there is a future for them. I see small successes for him. In the grand scheme of things, it is the little steps that may get us to long strides some day. I would like to see him become successful in his endeavors here.



NGO Man, if you are reading this, good luck - I am still waiting for my Turkish Coffee!!

An Open Letter to Ms Payette's Class

This letter was written at the request of your teacher who thought you’d want a dialogue with a soldier. Here I go (with some help from a friend):

Class,

I have mentally crumpled up this page once or twice now trying to think what to write. High school was a long way off for me. What would I want to know?

You are on the verge of the first real step of your own lives. Almost everything you have decided up until now has been, pardon the pun, kid’s stuff. The decisions that you are about to make are life altering. College, marriage, work, military, children, and copious amounts of indecision – these things await you upon graduation. Some of these things will come right away, very few of them will come in the order you expect. (Those of who are “older” than you are nodding our collective heads right now). John Lennon said, “Life is what happens when you are making other plans”. He was right.

We, as adults, look on you with pity, contempt, longing and disgust. Why? Because we wish you’d listen to us. At times, some of us even wish we could go back and be in your shoes – only with the knowledge of the errors of our past. We are not smarter than you – no, no. Instead, we see all of the mistakes that you are going to make, and we cringe. Or we smile. Occasionally, we cry.

You’ll never listen to us. That’s The Rule. Go forth and do good things and try to be kind to one another as you figure all this out on your own.

My dad was drafted into the Army at the end of the Korean War in 1953. My dad is a veteran and an all around good guy. Growing up, my father was never one to get very angry. Nonetheless, my father and I got into a huge fight when I was 18 years old because I was going to refuse signing up for the draft. I felt that I was right in saying that no government has the right to ask for me to serve my country. I felt I was right and I dug in my heels.

My dad put it to me very simply and tersely that I could not live under his roof unless I did what was expected of me as a man, as an American. Suddenly my principles ran head long into my wallet. Sheepishly, I got my butt down to the Post Office.

It wasn’t until I had lived overseas for a semester of college that I saw our country in a different light. I lived in London and traveled some of Europe. Simply described – it was just different. Something in me realized that what we have in this country is rare and that the principles of the nation were worth defending. An epiphany so to speak. Upon my return I enlisted in the Army Reserves. I was 19 years old. Private First Class Richard Brown.

While serving in the Reserves I finished a two year degree. Then I went for a Bachelor’s Degree. While completing my four year degree I signed up for ROTC. I became a commissioned officer in the United States Army.

I went through the ranks and never once thought to leave. The next thing I knew I had over 15+ years of service to my country.

Along the way I got married, had a daughter, and got divorced. I gave up a lucrative career that took me seven years to realize I wasn’t suited for. And, for a while, was a little lost. Through life’s trials and tribulations and triumphs I found myself teaching ROTC Cadets at Cornell University. Major Rich Brown, Assistant Professor of Military Science.

Now, at 37 years old, I found myself in a combat theater. Every night I hear explosions and gun fire. Every time I go outside the wire I must be in a mental state to react to contact from the enemy. There are people here who want to kill me. I, in turn, am prepared to kill them.

Had someone sat me down at 18 years old and told me that this would be my life right now I could not have imagined it in my wildest dreams. Nothing in High School could have prepared me for any of this.

And so it will be with all of you. For some of you, your plans will be dashed. For others you will achieve your goals only to find them hollow and empty of your expectations, very few of you will achieve the complete success of all your hopes and dreams. However, there is a caviat...

Here is the happy ending:

Sometimes, it’s not the destination but the trip along the way. I would not change anything that has happened to me in my life. I have no regrets that my "plan" did not all work out. I have made any apologizes that I have needed to along the way. Although I am far away from the ones I love, I would not change this time in my life for any thing else.

20 years after High School I am rewarded by the journey that I have taken, the experiences that I have known, and the friends I have made along the way.

When I walk into work at Barton Hall I feel the reward of instructing some of the best future leaders the Army has to offer. I find the satisfaction of changing peoples lives here in Iraq by providing them a fresh water supply for a village of 400. I know the joy of making my daughter laugh.

I guess what I am saying is this: do not look for disappointment - do not be disappointed if things do not work out - find the rewards in all of the things that you do achieve.

Enjoy the ride!

Bearing Witness

From time to time you get to see the truth behind the stories. This is one of those truths.

I am monitoring a project on a girl's school in the northern part of my area. The project is necessary because we bombed it during the war. We destroyed most of the back portion of the school - bringing down an entire wall and causing massive damage to most of the classrooms.

You need to understand that girls and boys are separated in their education. This is a secondary school for girls, which is not necessarily rare, but not common place either. In other words, the school is important. Most Iraqis do not put a premium on education. Even less so for women.

It's fun to come to this project. The girls are all taught by women teachers covered in the full black shawl type covering you see in the news. The girls themselves are all in uniforms. Dark navy or blue dresses with a white shirt underneath and covering for the head. But they are still girls...

As we walk around the outside with the contractors the classrooms erupt with whispers and giggles. Faces press to the glass. Some even get brave enought to come out onto the balcony of the second floor and try to talk to Jeremy, my guard. My body guard is a young, handsome guy, so they must be looking at him. Every once and a while the teacher will grab the ruler (man, this reminds my of my Catholic school days) and clear house. They scatter down the hallway.

Why was the school bombed by us? Why did we damage a girl's school? Do you vaugely remember the press (any press - theirs or ours) make reference to the bombings of schools, hospitals, mosques or other type places? I do. Remember how the Iraqis claimed we bombed these places indiscriminately? Remember how our military countered and told us how the enemy used these places to protect their weapon systems?

The Iraqis did, we were right.

Walking in the backyard of the school I noticed one, two, half a dozen UXOs. Unexploded anti-aircraft shells. Also spread here and there were shells exploded from the inside out. A shell, when it is fired, remains intact as the gunpoweder ignites and the round goes down range. All that is left is the brass casing. For these shells and casings to be exploded from the inside out means that it was caused from a primary explosion, the one we caused. Some are spent, some are live, some are destroyed. They are all rusted now - but still dangerous - and they are on the school grounds.

I made the necessary arrangements to have them removed.

Now imagine the war footage of Iraqi anti air defenses firing into the air. Most likely it was from a clinic, an orphange, a school, a hospital. The former Iraqi military commanders cannot hide from the evidence - they hid behind children, they hid behind girls.

Krump

That’s the sound a rocket makes when it lands near by. When they are far away it sounds like a solid door closing.

Monday, for the first time since we arrived, we have been attacked in daylight. Two soldiers were killed. Several more were wounded.

I was at breakfast with a full plate of bacon and eggs. The first round hit somewhere on the FOB. It sounded like a door closing hard. Everyone in the chow hall stopped eating and listened – waiting. Sometimes you are not sure if you just heard an incoming round land, or if someone just closed the dumpster lid.

KRUMP! Everyone dove under the tables. I found myself there too. We waited some more. Silence. Not that eerie kind of silence, just quiet. Some ran out the door. Some continued to eat. During an attack it’s easy, get down – or in the in the usual case sleep through it because it occurs at night. No one had told me what to do after an attack. Not having been fully briefed on what to do I chose a little of what I saw others doing. I scarfed down breakfast and headed back to the barracks.

Everyone was accounted for. Everyone had a piece of the event. Where they were. What happened. Where it hit. Some were shook up because it had been close. There were several “I should have/could have been standing there” accounts. We all found a way to start processing the tragedy.

We identified the necessary things we as leaders needed to do for the next time this happens. Primary and secondary rally points. Headcounts. Sensitive items accountability.

They day continued but the mood had changed. Almost immediately we knew someone had been killed. As the news spread, and the names of the deceased were made known, many young soldiers wept. The two were from the 1CD so it had the greatest impact on them. A couple of our younger soldiers were friends with the two troopers and the newness of being here, coupled with the death of someone they knew so close to our arrival caused some concern for those of us in leadership positions.

I have to admit that I felt a little detached from it all. Initially I thought some were just wrapped up in the drama. I just thought that this must be the cost of doing business here. It is a sad feeling not a callous one.

Tuesday. A day later, and everyone is jumpy. I watched a basketball game come to such an abrupt stop I thought someone had pressed a visual pause button because a large construction vehicle had made a thump noise.

I walked by the chapel as a soldier came running out, screaming, crying inconsolably. I was helpless to do anything but watch this person grieve.

Wednesday. I realized that I am starting to look for places to dive for cover. A cement bunker, a ditch, sandbag emplacements. As I walk across the compound I think of the places I could go to if I heard incoming rounds. This isn’t a feeling that overwhelms me but it is a conscious observation on my behavior.

Saturday. The Memorial service was held today. To commemorate the soldiers two set of boots, two upturned rifles with their helmets on top stood behind photographs of the dead. Behind this were the crossed flags of the Brigade Colors and the National Colors. This is a long standing tradition in the military. It is simple and poignant.

As in any memorial service, friends spoke of friends as only friends can do. They spoke about a married mother of three and a young man who wrote his own farewell to his friends. Many of the hundreds there openly wept. We stood for a moment of silence and then the roll call. The unit’s First Sergeant went down the roll of name in the unit. In turn each answered until he came to two names. He called out the first name once, twice, and a third time. There was no reply. He called out the second name, again with no reply. Taps was played in long, deliberate, mournful notes. Each note slowly hung on the air for a moment of reflection for friends lost, loved ones back home, and for our own hopes and fears.

I realized I tears were running down my cheek.

The official party approached the upturned rifles, saluted the fallen one last time, and moved off. The friends who spoke stood with them. As dignitaries walked through the line the Division Commander (Two Star) stopped in front of one of the friends. He spoke into her ear and her arms flew around him. She buried her face into his shoulder and heaved huge sobs. He hugged back in a genuine show of compassion. I watched him walk off wiping his own sorrow away from his face. This was more than just a function to be attended to.

The service slowly came to a close as soldiers marched up the memorial, saluted, and moved off. I went to be alone.

And still, the Army life must go on. Amid this terrible event soldiers still came and went, and for the exception of a few people close to the deceased and wounded – the mission continued. It continued on Monday and Saturday, and will everyday afterwards.


Better get used to it. God, I pray I don’t have to. Gregg is right; it’s going to be a long year.

(Note: These events happened sometime since my arrival here. Due to OPSEC, and out of respect to the soldiers involved, it was not necessary to publish this immediately. However, the entries were made on the actual days of the events)

One Lucky Guy

richard.e.brown is one lucky guy – let me tell you.

I have the most wonderful fiancée in the world. I mean, Lisa is beautiful, charming, smart, the total package.

She makes her own cards and then dates them when they can be opened. Each one is carefully thought out and worded, and the art work is superb.

She comes up with great ideas for sunny days and rainy ones too. Like the time she choose to paint pottery, or the time we went sailing in the rain.

And her communication skills – oh! Having a conversation with her is fantastic. Not only does she hear what you are saying, she listens. More on this in a second…

Being engaged to Lisa Blockus is to be very lucky, indeed.

Now then, being engaged is stressful. I mean, there are plans, decisions, lists…a lot of things to be coordinated. Right? Now, imagine you are engaged to a perfectionist (for those who don’t know what I am talking about go to www.blockheadsworld.blogspot.com – scroll down to The Engaged Perfectionist). Furthermore, imagine you are in Iraq, in the middle of a war, 1,000 miles from home. How are you going to do it? How are you going to continue to build on the relationship, plan a wedding, and all of that?

What’s that you say? Telephone? Well, telephone calls are reserved for the morale calls. Letters? It takes about 20 days for a letter to get here, be replied to, and get back there. Email? Of course, email! Nearly instantaneous communication next to Instant Messengers.

So, that’s what we did. We exchanged emails. Things were going well. Lisa would respond to my emails – but I started to notice that I was not getting any from her. In some phone calls and some IM conversations she would mention emails that I would have no knowledge of.

Then we hit a dry spell. Four or more days – no email from Lisa. Was everything alright? Well, I needed to know so I stayed up late to IM her in the office.

Right away she asked ME why I hadn’t been responding to her emails. I thought she was kidding. No, she sent me 5 or 6 emails she ensured me. What was in these emails? Wedding plans, who our minister should be, dreams she had of me, mushy, kissy face stuff too. No, I hadn’t received them to my Army email account.

The IM went on for a while but eventually came back to the email. I could tell that Lisa was frustrated on the other end. As was I! She cut and pasted parts of the emails and sent them to me via IM. Well, maybe it was a filter problem I thought.

Then I found the true nature of the problem. The IM went something like this:

Lisa: Well, I don’t know what’s wrong.
Rich: Neither do I.
Lisa: I am sending them to richard.e.brown@us.army.mil, right?
Rich: No!
Lisa: Oh
Rich: My email is richard.e.brown1@us.army.mil
Lisa: Oh
Rich: So…
Rich: Who’s this other guy you’re emailing?
Lisa:
Rich: LOL

I told everyone I saw the next day. I laughed the whole day long.

So – richard.e.brown, who ever you are, you’re one lucky guy to have a total stranger for your fiancee. Trust me. I’m sure you thought that you had hit a home run. However, richard.e.brown1 is #1 for a reason – at least in Lisa’s book – I think I’ll marry her instead of you.

Uh-oh, Lisa, what if he's already married? Imagine what his wife thinks!

I’m still chuckling.

Calm Under Fire

Much to everyone's dismay I am back on a CAT A Team as the Chief. This means that I am going off of the FOB on a regular basis.

The good part of the job is that I get to meet a lot of people. I listen to their complaints - "we need electrcity, a road, water, a clinic." It's always something for them - the needs and wants of the next neighborhood are not important to them. Still, with the help of my terp, I can engage the people.

I also attend meetings of the local governance. Think Town Hall. This is a place where the people of the muhallas (neighborhoods) come with their problems. At this time I am not sure how the NC members are elected, either we put them there, or they chose among themselves.

I go as a liasion between them and my bosses that I report to back here. I sit among the local power brokers. There are, indeed, some local powerful people. One man had been a money exchanger with US currency before the regime change. U'day Hussein had him arrested for being so successful. The man sat in jail for six years.

I am learning how to guide these people into making the decisions to represent their own people. It is so hard. There is no Army manual, or any other kind of book that tells you how to the job I am doing. It is unlike anything that I have done in my life.

Everywhere I go I have my own body guard. Someone who is responsible to drag me out of a meeting because he is aware of any situation that occurs outside.

Today in the meeting there were other, higher ranking, officers in attendance. They come with their own convoys and security.

During the meeting there was a commotion over the radio. My body guard came to me and said that a soldier had been shot outside. I heard no return fire so I advised him to ge more information. The other security elements began to mobilize and exit the meeting room to get a better read on the situation. I remained at the table with the council members. My security man returned - one of our soldiers had been shot, no, wait - it was another soldier, from another unit outside who had been shot.

It was time to go. I quickly made apologies and exited. I grabbed my terp - who is this tiny, sixty something year old man - and told him to stick close to me. He responded, "I got your back." I stopped right in my tracks - he's got my back? He doesn't even have a gun. I grabbed him along with me.

We exited the building and I looked for my Team. I made eye contact with my convoy commander and he signaled me to hurry. I could see the small group tending to the wounded. I checked my soldiers - they were doing eveything right. There was no panic. Instead of looking in, they were scanning out. They had the vehicles ready to go. I could see the wounded solider being loaded into another Humvee. He was standing, conscious, and appeared to be holding his own. I returned to my truck and grabbed my rifle and began to scan rooftops with my ACOG. In reality I knew I'd see nothing. Whoever shot at us was gone.

I only had to give very brief commands to the Team - I remember that there wasn't any screaming - just direct, calm commands.

We exited the area and returned to the FOB. The soldier will be fine - there was a clean entrance and exit wound. My Team will be fine too. This is there first real test under fire - taking wounded. My concern is for my soldiers, not just their physical well being, but their mental well being.

Today we were all calm under fire.

Note To Self

Do not plug 110 volt oscilating fans with adapters into 220 volt sockets.

Oh - and get a new fan.

Hamurabi School

Went on a tour of the southern portion of the area one of the teams works in.

Our first stop was the road side market just down the road from the FOB. The market is an ad hoc group of thatched stands sitting 15 feet off of the main highway. It is mainly a produce market. The are is fantastic for growing melons and watermelons. The watermelon I tasted the other day was sweeter and juicer than anything I have had at a Fourth of July picnic. The smell of melon filled the air.

There were stands full produce. And it all looked good.

When we stop at places like this we are treated with a sense of wonder and befuddlement. I am sure these people are wondering what on earth we would want to do with them. As I said before the men stare at you until you engage them. To say "salam malacam" (spelled phonetically) is a very formal hello. To say "mar haba" means to say "what's up". As soon as you do this most Iraqis beam with smiles and nods. Then they bombard you with conversation in Arabic. Some laugh at my tourist attempt at the language. For the most part, the Iraqis will stay engaged with you once you make that attempt. They will try their English and I will try my Arabic...and boy do I need help! I look as hopeless as I can and they slow down and try to teach me the right way to say whatever it is I am trying to pronounce. At least they don't speak slower and louder like we do in the US!

There are always a couple of men who just stare. We make sure we let them know they are being watched in return. We watch for buldges under the clothes.

Our intent for the market is to put in a sewer system behind them, expand the shoulder of the road, and set them up into some better stands. To remove them from the roadside would be interfering with generations of business practices.

We drove down to the schools in our sector. This is out in the hinterlands. There are fields of corn growing there among palm trees. Odd to see coming from Upstate New York where I am very accustomed to rows upon rows of corn - just not with the palm trees. This was indeed an area full of life albeit rural to the extreme. We drove down a one lane dust/dirt road to the school.

The Hamurabi school is a walled complex that looks maintained. It looked clean. From outside the wall I could hear recitations being conducted in the classes inside. We asked permission to come in through the terp that was with us. We were welcomed into the head mistresses office. Her office had the look it had been recently painted. There was an Arabic globe on top of her bookcase but that's as close as it came to resembling an principal's office. There was no art work, no pictures, not even a file cabinet. In fact, the back of her desk, the side facing us, had been pulled off by looters or theives looking for money hidden inside.

Still, she looked and acted the part of the principal. Wisened, and thoughtful in her replies she looked at the two soldiers, in full combat gear, sitting in her office. She eyed us over the top of her glasses. Her issues were simple. She needed electricity, maybe a generator, security, clothes for the kids, some repairs to the road our tanks caused, and, oh yes, could she please have a flagpole.

A flagpole. Such a simple, yet important thing to be able to raise the falg in the morning and pay respect to your country. My former wife informs me that some students in her school refuse to stand for our pledge of allegence. Here is a woman pleading to us to have something so her students can do what our students don't want to.

We cannot make promises. It is bad for to do so in case we can't deliver. But we took plenty of notes with the intention of helping as much as we could. Then we asked to see the classrooms.

The rooms were small, as was the school, maybe each room was 15'x20'. There were desks and a chalkboard. That's it. The boys sit on one side of the room and the girls all sit on the other. The girls dress very nice and the boys are kempt. This is a vast difference from the children helping their parents at the market dressed in the same shabby clothes every day. The students all have books that are obviously well worn. Again, their look is of wonder and befuddlement at these two giant men in their room. I left my M-4 in the truck and hid my pistol under my helmet. They are children - I wouldn't want Sam to see men with guns interupt her school day - good guys or not.

Again, to speak there language is to tear down barriers. We said hello in Arabic. Of course they answered in excellent English. I looked at one of the books - English. The 5th graders are learning English. Their teacher, unflustered by our presence, decided to show off her class with their ability to speak our language. We wrote some words on the board that our terp translated next to it. The kids loved it. It was clear that school was in session and these kids were learning.

We excused our selves to go and the children all followed us. That happens everywhere. Children flock to us. Everytime you stop the vehilces and get out the children come from every direction. They all want something. Its bordering on begging, but its more like, gimme gimme gimme.

We drove back and looked at some of the other projects we have going on. Not a bad day.

Final note: our lead vehicle swears they go shot at while were driving down the main highway. The said it came from a car going north as we were going south. I was 5 seconds behind them and saw and heard nothing. So that's that.

Rain

Just a quick note and observation for today.

This is the third day in a row where there have been clouds in the sky. This is a big deal. Talking to one of the 1CD guys who has been here for 7 months this is only the fourth time he has seen clouds.

Today the wind was blowing strong. Hard enough to take your hat off. All that dust immediately hit the atmosphere. A dust storm. It was my first. I could feel it on my teeth. Anything not within 100 feet of me was obscured from view. Oddly, looking up I could see the sky.

Then the winds died down and the clouds got thicker. Then - the unmistakable smell of rain. Then - big fat drops. Looking in any direction you could see curtains of it hanging in the sky.

Remember, this is the desert. People stopped to gawk at it. Funny the things that make us miss home.

Young MAJ Brown

young MAJ Brown
Originally uploaded by BlockHD57.

For family and friends who frequent this site, here is a little gem that Rich's friends from Cornell ROTC discovered in the archives. And Rich thought there were no pictures of him as a cadet. Looks like you are mistaken, Rich, and now we can share with the world 'cause we have your password.

Lovingly,
the Cadre (and friends)

All We Need Now Is A Drawbridge

As noted earlier - the FOB is a big place and there is always work going on ON the FOB. The latest project requires the contractors to dig a trench through the FOB to lay pipe, wire, conduit, or maybe they just want to see what's under the ground - beats me.

Now, for every two Iraqi workers, one must sit and watch - much like Pennsylvania Road Construction workers in the summer on Interstate 81. So work goes s - l - o - w. Even with a backhoe.

Nonetheless - they have a good 1/2 to 3/4 of a mile of trench dug up.

Naturally, they have no idea where any of the existing pipes are located when they dig and consequently broke a line. What kind of line? C'mon, you had to ask?

So every morning they come out with the pumper trucks to suck out the sewage. But they either never find the leak, or they just figure it is the high water table causing the trench to fill back up. Either way during the night it fills back up. It's better than Mafia - this job will take forever!

Now in our little corner of the FOB we have this huge wall to our back. To our front this long, long, winding trench. To get to the other side of the trench they have 3 foot wide metal gangplanks - and that is the only way across. Did I mention there are no lights at night? I am very careful. And should I hear an incoming round as I am crossing the ditch? Well, let's not consider it.

So for four days now I have lived in a castle, it smells like New Jersey (sorry again Pat and Colleen), and the workers remind me of Pennsylvania. Who says this place doesn't remind me of home?!

Our Baby Now

Rarely does a unit just roll into a mission on its own. Usually there is already a unit there, in place, waiting to be relieved. There is a tremendous amount of coordination done at higher ranks (but not stratospheric) to get this done.

Timetables, unit movement, transfer of property, link up with counter parts, and on the ground on-the-job-training are all part of this process.

That last step, the OJT, is called Right Seat/Left Seat Ride. The new unit personnel follow the outgoing personnel to learn the job, the area they work in, and the people they come into contact with. After a period of time the two switch places and the incoming soldiers now "drive" and the outgoing sit in the "passenger seat" - thus the term Right Seat/Left seat Ride (RS/LSR). Everyone following? Good.

Our RS/LSR finished the other day. The last members of the unit from Tennessee were convoyed out. It was great to see them go. Let me rephrase that. These guys were smiling, joking, walking lighter - they were excited to be going home. For many of them this was their third tour: Bosnia, Afghanistan, and Iraq. They deserved to go home. It was great to see them happy to be going home to the ones waiting for them.

Here we were: their relief. We felt like we were coming to their rescue!

We were also glad to see them go because we all had been tripping over one another in the office and in the barracks.

In a side note: no, I did not envy them. Not yet. We just got here and are still in the learning phase. Give it a couple of months, especially around the holidays, then I'll be envious of people going home.

This is our baby now. We look forward to success and safety over the next year.

Living Conditions

I live on the FOB called Camp Falcon, or Al Saqr (pronounced like soccer). There are several layers of protection surrounding the FOB. There is even a forty foot high wall with guard towers at various points along it.

The FOB is enormous. There are dozens upon dozens of buildings of what used to be a manufacturing site or a military base, depending on what you choose to believe. Outside the buildings there are hundreds of sandbags stacked in every window. Many times, frames are constructed to support the weight. There are several layers of sandbags on each roof. The front entrances to each building have a ninety degree wall of sandbags or concrete emplacement. All of these measures are used to protect against rockets or RPGs.

Generators are everywhere and run all the time. Everywhere you go on the FOB there is noise.

Inside each building it is air-conditioned. There is office space for every job description. The little things are different. Some doors have a small lip on the bottom of the entry way. If you are not careful – or if you are walking at night into the outdoors, you’re going to stumble. The Iraqis are lousy builders. In one building I go to the first step on the stairwell is about 15” tall. All the rest are 13” or 12” tall and a couple only 6” tall. Floors are uneven for no reason. Doors can go all the way to the ceiling in some buildings. This is especially true if you go to any of the Hussein’s old places.

My living quarters is an apartment. There are rows upon rows of them inside a large tin roofed building. The tin building does not provide any protection but the rows of buildings have several layers of protection on top of them. Each room has an air conditioner, bed, desk, fridge, and wall locker. The rooms block out any noise, especially with the AC running. The other morning’s rocket attack went unnoticed by most of us. Unless we take a direct hit we don’t find out about most incidents until the next day. The safest place to be is inside your room. Because my room is on an inside row within the building and because every window is blocked, the room is pitch black without fluorescent lighting – great for sleeping, lousy for waking up.

I plan on painting my room, getting new carpet, and making it as much of a home as I can.

Bathrooms – c’mon, you want to know. They almost look the same and work the same. To flush there is a “puller” on the top of the tank that you lift up on. I have seen some toilets that are holes in the floor that flush.

Most soldiers have a TV, computer, and some kind of DVD/video game device. Young soldiers live three or four to a room. Lieutenants and Captains live one or two to a room. Majors and above get their own room.

In Camp Falcon there is life going on all the time. There are two weight rooms, a PX (shopping), volleyball court, basketball court, soccer field, laundry, and numerous Haji shops. Haji is a slight derogatory term, but everybody uses it. The Iraqis get permission to come on post to run barbershops, hair salons, bootleg DVD shops, coffee shops, etc. Many are threatened, kidnapped or killed for helping the Americans.

The Iraqis love it when you engage them in their own language. I am picking up a little at a time. They will take the time to teach you if you try. Of course their English is much better than most of our Arabic.

Final note on this place: the heat. You were wondering about that too, weren’t you? It typically gets above 100 to 105 every day. The air is thick with smoke and dust: SMUST instead of SMOG? There is no humidity. At times you can feel the heat. The heat surrounds you. When you have body armor, helmet, M-4, full magazines, a M-9 plus magazines, full canteens, gloves and sunglasses on you sweat buckets. Every pore in your body opens. You prep before hand by drinking at least a liter and a half of water. Plus, when you roll out you take a 1 1⁄2 liter of water from the fridge and one from the freezer chest. During your travels, first is gone and the second is melted. Today I rolled out on a convoy and consumed an end total of 4 1⁄2 liters of water. There are packets upon packets of powdered Gatorade – pick your flavor. No one is allowed to drink the local water, and after what you see of the water, how could you? Water comes to us in boxes of 1 1⁄2 liter bottles from Egypt, Germany, the US, and all over. Besides the water there is AC! Every office and room is air-conditioned. Even the Humvees have AC that may or may not work. Nonetheless, the heat is an issue! If we do not stay hydrated we will get into trouble. However, everyone is on the look out for the other to make sure they are drinking.

So, that's home for the next year.

Two Worlds

I went to a meeting at the International Zone today. This is the place you all see on the TV. It is the only place you see on TV. It used to be called the Green Zone.

I saw the dichotomy of Iraq first hand. Three days ago I saw the worst living conditions of my life. Today I had lunch in the palace that has been the focal point of Saddam Hussein’s abuses of his people. It reminded me of Grand Central Terminal. A vast room, currently the dining facility, was only one of several in this quarter mile long building. Gorgeous marble with ornate inlays lined the walls. Opulent chandeliers. It wasn’t tacky, it was ornate. It wasn’t overbearing, it was overpowering. I wonder now what it must have looked like before the change.

On the other side of the Tigris, two miles away people live in squalor. Five miles away is a lake of sewage. Saddam punished his people by denying them simple basic services while he lived very, very well. I made up my mind already, and even though I promised myself not to get political, don’t take this the wrong way:

If nothing else happens (even if it’s a side note), if we improve the lives of the people who live two miles away – and all over this country – we did the right thing.

That brings me to the meeting. It was a briefing on CMO – Civil Military Operations. CMO is what the military is doing to improve the lives through infrastructure projects, health projects, and quality of life programs.

(Yes, we are still going out to hunt, track, and kill the people who would love to see our good work to naught. We are looking to kill or capture those who would harm innocent children.)

Two, One Star Generals took the briefing from a dozen high ranking officers and NCOs. Without getting into the details, life here has improved since the end of the regime. Like any bureaucratic organization, the Army quantifies everything with numbers. As I said before, there is a long way to go.

What I am also saying is this, the US military – your military - is working to make this a better place. For the most part the combat guys are not subject matter experts on education, sewer, electric, roads, etc. However, Civil Affairs does have them, and we have the ability to advise the Command and the Iraqis on how to improve on things here. That is one of the reasons my unit is here.

What Is He Talking About?

First, I am getting comments and emails from friends, family, and even strangers. Thank you. We know we are not forgotten to you. We know you care, regardless of your politics, about the soldiers. I hope that I can do some justice to what we go through and experience during our time here. It is an amazing feeling to discover so much interest. Again, thank you.

Here is a handy list of terms and acronyms, and their definitions, which I will be using from time to time. It will help to make sense….They are not listed in any particular order. If I need to I will add more.

1CD – The 1st Cavalry Division from Ft Hood, Texas
3ID – The 3rd Infantry Division from Ft Stewart, Georgia
42ID – The 42nd Infantry Division, New York National Guard
FOB – Forward Operating Base. This is the secure facility where I live
CA – Civil Affairs
CAT A – Civil Affairs Team A, a.k.a. Team. This is the type of unit that goes out to conduct the missions dictated from higher headquarters. They support to the trigger pullers
CMO – Civil Military Operations. Using the military to identify infrastructure and quality of life issues and either making those improvements themselves or contracting the jobs out to locals
CO – Company Commander, commands the Civil Affairs Company
XO – Executive Officer, second in command
Trigger Pullers – Any combat arms (Infantry, Armor, Artillery) type of soldier or unit
IBA – Individual Body Armor. A soft Kevlar flak vest with front and back ¼ inch thick ceramic plates which protects against rifle rounds
WileyX­ – Sunglasses that help protect against shrapnel (does a good job blocking the sun too)
SOP – Standard Operating Procedure
TOC – Tactical Operations Center
AAR – After Action Review. This is the process of immediately going over the mission we just conducted to discuss what we did right, wrong, and improve on performance overall.
BIAP – Baghdad International Airport
M-4 – A compact version of the M-16 rifle with a collapsible stock and shorter barrel. Easier to carry and use with IBA.
ACOG – A 4X optical scope that mounts on the M-4. Cuts down on glare and makes distance targeting easier.
M-9 – A 9mm pistol made by Beretta
M-249 – A machine gun that fires the same type of round that the M-4/M-16 fires.
RPG – Rocket Propelled Grenade. This is a tube launched explosive device.
AK-47 – Russian/Chinese/Czechoslovakian rifle. Every family is allowed to own one.
IED/VBIED­ – Improvised Explosive Device/Vehicle Borne Improvised Explosive Device. Roadside bombs or car bombs or suicide bombers
IIG – Interim Iraqi Government
IZ – International Zone, former Green Zone, home of the new US Embassy
DC – Pronounced “Dack”, District Council
NC – Pronounced “Nack”, Neighborhood Council
TERP - Interpreter
Humvee – Up Armored HMMWV (Humvee) that has bullet proof glass, reinforced steel body. There is a rotating turret in the top for the M-249 gunner.
M-1 – The main battle tank of the US Army.
IFV/Bradley – A tracked vehicle that has a large gun and can carry up to 9 Infantry soldiers
UH-60 – Blackhawk; main transportation/ambulance/cargo helicopter of the US Army.
AH-64 – Apache, main attack helicopter of the US Army.
MEDEVAC – Medical evacuation of wounded