Tour of Duty

Full Circle - Forward

2005-08-08T13:00:00.000-04:00

This will be my last post.

I am back at my desk in my office at Cornell. After returning to New York a month of travel, work on the house, XboX, and general malaise when there was nothing else to do passed by rather quickly. I am glad to be back to work.

Over the last month everyone I meet asks the same two questions in one form or another, "how was it" and "how are we doing over there?"

The answer to the first part always goes like this, "it sucked." I think to say anything else would be lying. To say it was the most rewarding, or scariest, loneliest, boring experience of my life, or any other adjective, doesn't quite hit the right chord and isn't necessarily true. Describing nine months away from family and friends plus having to deal with the challenges of day to day life and death over there the word suck floats right to the top.

The second answer surprises most people I speak to. Yes, we are making a difference. However, I tell them, the Iraqi people are meeting more and more of the challenges before them. Mover over, the Iraqi Army and Iraqi Police are gradually gaining the confidence to become effective. I remind people that the IA and IP use methods that we would never dare to. All of the populace may not like it, but they understand it and comply.

I also tell people that had it not been for the genuine act of bravery of the people in January as they went out and voted, I would think that Iraq is a lost cause. But...The people did vote and their voice was heard. They shocked the world who doubted so much. That spirit; wherever it came from, however it rose to the surface, is still there in the people and they are waiting to show the world again that they will rise to the occasion.

I throw in a couple of good will stories about the schools we have fixed, the water towers we built and finish with the standard line that it will take a long while for true results to be seen and felt locally and globally. As it did in Germany. As it did in Japan. As it did in America when we won our freedom.

People thank me and welcome me home and I continue on my way. Those exchanges are happening every day and probably will for a while to come. I don't mind. I think that one responsibility Soldiers have is to recount the positive things they are doing in Iraq and Afghanistan in order to remind the public that the cause is still worthy.

Do I miss being over there? Not at all. I try to keep up with the news from the FOB just to know how people are doing over there. Other than that I do not follow the news from Iraq that much. I guess I just don't want to see it right now.

I am so glad to be home.

Getting life in order and getting into a routine is the next big task for me. That will be hard with my wedding coming up in two months; a joyous occasion that I am gleefully looking forward to. Once that event is over with, then, maybe, things will settle down.

The first step in getting going occurred today by coming back to Cornell and sitting down to my desk and reclaiming it for myself. I started my blog from this desk. It seems only fitting that I end it here.

I have reconnected with my daughter, who just turned eight years old. She is wiser and more mature than other kids her age. This in part because of the way her mother and I raised her. Another part is because of the 9 months I was away from her. Every once in a while a question will come out of the blue, "were you scared?", or, "do you have to go back?", or, "why can't you just quit?" Sam missed me and she lets me know it. She is pretty free with her affection for her father, and I in turn show her the same amount of love and devotion. I hope for her sake that I do not have to ever go again. In the event that I do I know that she has the strength to meet the challenge.

I am off to go get Lisa from the airport. She has been on a sailing trip in the British Virgin Islands as a camp counselor. Although we reconnected before she left we now have nothing to pull us apart from one another.

Another chapter in my life is unfolding with her. As Iraq becomes more of a memory and my marriage to her gets closer I look forward to writing the rest of the story with her.

Home!

2005-07-20T10:16:00.000-04:00

I am in NY! Wow! The last week and a half has been crazy, wonderfully crazy. Here is a short synopsis:

Sam rushed into my arms at the Syracuse Airport. We had a long moment where we wouldn't let go of each other. The news was there to capture it - Sam in mid-air, flying into my arms, me with a big smile.

Mom and Lisa were there to make the homecoming complete. Mom was decked out in red, white, and blue and Lisa just looked great.

We all went to the Dinosaur BBQ where I received a round of applause and a cold Sam Adams beer on the house. The ride to Cortland was refreshing to have lush green rolling hills go by the windows. It was good to be home...

I unpacked and repacked for a trip to Orange County, NY for my twenty year high school reunion. What a trip into the past that was! Not only did I reconnect with life in the United States but I also saw so many faces from so long ago. It was very cool and I had a lot more fun than I expected.

I am leaving for vacation with Sam - dad and daughter time to reconnect. We are heading to Myrtle Beach to play in the surf, ride the water slides, and get crazy for a few days.

I am glad to be home and facing all new kinds of stress - good stress; wedding plans, vacation, going back to work, arranging meeting times to pick up my daughter. Stress I can handle.

I will write again!

Fourth Of July

2005-07-03T07:35:00.000-04:00

I am back in the United States - wow, thank God, happy Fourth of July. I have been home for five days. Five wonderful days.

The task force flew out in two commercial planes from Kuwait early in the morning of June 29th. Because of the customs process we had been awake all night long and we were already exhausted and ready to sleep as the plane lifted off into the dawn.

The planes departed over an hour apart and met up in Shannon, Ireland during the lay over. Shannon airport has a pub in it. This is information we had before hand. We had the General on our flight so access to the pub was in question. We exited the jetway, walked down the hall, and entered the terminal to find 200 Soldiers already bellied up to the bar with pints of Guinness in hand. A communal cheer went up throughout the building - and with that the party was on.

An hour and a half and two pints later I was back on the plane. I was sound asleep before the plane ever took off. Eight hours later we were on approach to Pope AFB, right next to Ft. Bragg. Looking out the window the ground was green and lush. When I left nine months ago the scenery had been the same and I made the mental note to remember this sight. It was remarkable to see it again in stark contrast to Iraq. The wheels touched down around 1530 hours and another cheer went up. Before the plane stopped I had called home.

Exiting the aircraft I was overwhelmed with the humidity - it was choking and oppressive. There were Generals at the bottom of the steps shaking our hands and welcoming us home. The entire group marched off to a large hangar where we were met by a band, speeches, and family. The band played the National Anthem - the first time I had heard it in nine months. Hearing it gave me a warm, tingly feeling.

By 1900 we had all of our baggage unloaded, we were in barracks, changed into civilian clothes, and dismissed for the night. Beer magically appeared and the process to convert from a combat theater to "home" began in earnest.

On Thursday and Friday we attended briefings and medical outprocessing. Friday night we were released for the holiday weekend. Friday night I saw Lisa again. Friday night one facet of my life was made whole.

Friday night I held Lisa again in a long embrace. It had been over six months since we last held one another and it was wonderful beyond words. Over the last few days we have been in each others company, reconnecting, readjusting. We have had no plan or agenda and have flowed through the days without rushing. Tonight we will get together with several of my former students and celebrate with dinner and fireworks.

It is great to be home. What a stark difference. I always appreciated our way of life and how we, as Americans, generally conducted ourselves with good manners and civility. However, it is experiencing that stark difference between here and there in such a dramatic manner that makes me realize how special this country is.

God bless America.

Lay Over

2005-06-30T10:16:00.000-04:00

Layover In Shannon, Irleand

A brief stop in Shannon, Ireland produced beer and smiles - we were eight hours from home.

Leaving, On A Jet Plane

2005-06-27T13:12:00.000-04:00

Yesterday I left Baghdad, Iraq for Kuwait. It was a very anti-climatic event.

Naturally, the trip was frought with delays, cancellations, aggravation, cursing, and an endless night that ended at 0830 this morning at a re-deployment camp in Kuwait.

By 0330 we were silently walking across the tarmac, our shadows following us into the belly of the plane.

Because of the aforementioned delays, cancellations, aggravation, cursing, and endless night when the C-130 powered up and took off most of us were asleep or too tired to care that we had just left Iraq after 270 days. There were no cheers, no hurrahs; just the silence of each persons own reflections or quiet dozzing.

I slept until noon and got some chow. Shortly after that I ran into one of my former students. When I first met her she was a senior in Cornell and a darn good cadet. Laura is now a Captain and a Company Commander of an ambulance company in Kuwait. This is her second tour. We detoured to Starbucks near the PX (oh, to be near civilization again!) and caught up on the last few years. Two hours and a couple of photos later my day was made.

Tomorrow we start the process to clear customs and bus out to the airport for a chartered commercial flight to North Carolina.

Entitlements

2005-06-25T03:14:00.000-04:00

I am now a veteran. No longer do I merely have the label of "Soldier", or "officer", but I have the added distinction of having been in a combat theater. With that comes certain entitlements.

I know there are certain military benefits I will receive now and in the future. I know there is a big parade in November, certain brand name businesses give discounts, and I get to hang out at the VFW and swill watered down beer and begin each story with, "there I was...". However there are other entitlements I am looking forward to as soon as possible upon returning home.

Here is a short list:

My daughter's arms around me in a great big hug that steals my breath and lasts as long as she can hold on.

A good steak dinner with my father in North Carolina.

The beers promised to me by Pat, Gregg, and the gang at work.

Lisa's smile and twinkling eyes...in person.

The smell of my lawn as I cut the grass.

BBQing in my backyard.

Sleeping a bed longer than I am.

Talking to mom without getting cut off by the satellite phone's poor reception.

Getting let off for at least one ticket for driving too fast.

A nice bottle of wine to share with Lisa.

The feel of jeans and a T-shirt.

Not carrying a weapon everywhere I go.

Laughter; good, hearty laughter.

Swimming in the ocean.

Finding a place of peace and quiet without the sound of generators, explosions, helicopters, tanks, and every other thing that pollutes the air with noise over here.

The days in Iraq are coming to an end. This camp is a step in the right direction. This place is all military. There is no sign of "Iraq" in any direction for miles; no traffic, no buildings, no locals, no sheiks, no imams. We are mentally unwinding. The next step is to get to Kuwait and then quickly move on to North Carolina.

I will keep you posted.

More Than I Deserve

2005-06-23T00:17:00.000-04:00

I have had some time to reflect some more on my tour. I have been thinking about the "Support Our Troops" stickers and magnets you see all over. Even though they are going the way of the "Baby On Board" signs, the support I have received these last nine months needs some re-addressing.

None of you would be reading this blog had it not been for Gregg from Texas. One of my best friends, married to one of my other best friends, he urged me to write about the tour. Gregg, although against the war and the current administration, has been a tremendous help, even though he thinks cookies, CDs, and comics are small things. I look forward to seeing Christine and Gregg and holding them once again.

The support from work has been outstanding. Packages, emails, and being kept "in the loop" reminded me that I was missed and expected back in the office to continue to do that job I love so much. It helps, I suppose, that the job is an Army ROTC program and that most of my co-workers are all in the military. However, the office went two officers short last year because of deployments and had to cover the same material with less personnel. Thank you, Sir.

I need to thank Stacey, Sam's mom, and her family who did a great job keeping me informed of Sam's ups and downs over the school year. Stacey allowed Lisa to spend time with Sam so that the two of them could develop their own special relationship. Stacey made sure Sam sent me letters, cards, and artwork to cover my walls in my room. The deployment was easier knowing that Sam was okay.

My family did a great job keeping in touch. Mom did her best to hide her fear and worry from me and dad actually used a computer! Andy, Mare, Lucas, and Alyssa entertained Sam on several occasions to keep her connected to the family.

Over the last nine months I have been able to get to know Lisa's family. Betty sent me wonderful cards and letters with pictures attached. She is a lively spirit who still enjoys being involved in life. Linda, Mark, Kira, and Grace have taken the time to make me feel like part of the family and I am deeply appreciative.

For everything everyone has written, sent, or done in some way to support me, thank you.

However, I could not gotten through this deployment without Lisa. Lisa has been my refuge, my rock, and my link to the life I long to return to. Thanks to Instant Messaging, I have been able to "come home" to her at the end of my day and share in the frustration, anguish, and success that I had that day. I have found myself laughing and smiling at the computer screen on more than one occasion - sometimes with her, sometimes at her, sometimes at me.

Lisa and I continued to grow and build on a relationship that started on a solid foundation. We avoided the longing, sorrowful messages of missing one another during the long mid-tour months. Instead we shared and answered questions on what our relationship would be like in the near and far future. We wrote of ideas, and desires, and dreams that we could achieve together. We wrote of children, work, money, vacations, and all of the good things that come when two lives are shared. We wrote of handling the hard times and how we would find strength in one another and God.

In the end Lisa became the ideal of returning home. Being separated for more than six months she took on a mythical quality. She existed in a world that I wanted to be in. Her face graces my walls and my computer and looking into those eyes I can find refuge and solace. She provided me the comfort I needed after a long day from her life thousands of miles away. She reminded me that I was loved beyond words and that love would be even more real in person that over email, IM, or satellite phone.

She is more than I deserve and I know that every day. I cannot wait to be in her arms again. The anticipation gives me goosebumps.

Good-bye; The Long Road Home

2005-06-21T04:07:00.000-04:00

I am writing from relative safety of BIAP - everyone let out a collective sigh of relief.

Yesterday was my last day on the FOB. The day began early with several loud explosions; too early to be controlled dets (detonations of explosives by EOD personnel). The third one shook my room and got me out of bed. Outside the building there was a plume of smoke wafting on the breeze. One of the IP checkpoints was attacked with RPGs and a SVBIED. The suicide bomber's car bomb left a 15 foot hole in the ground. At least one IP died. What a way to start the last day.

At 0800 we started the move. The military Police came over to conduct our customs inspections. Everything was dumped onto the ground and poked through. They look for AK-47s, pistols, Cuban cigars, and other contraband items (and occasionally find them). Of course all that neat and orderly packing I did came undone in less than thirty seconds. Once cleared we packed our boxes and gear into cargo containers. The contaniers were sealed and they will be shipped out to the U.S. before we ever leave here.

A member of the Company who has been located on another FOB since October came to visit and pack his stuff. We went to lunch and shared the stories of our deployment. It turns out that many people went through the same personality conflicts as our Company did, furthering my belief in six month tours. Very few people are leaving Iraq "happy".

At 1500 was the highlight of the day - the awards ceremony. The awards process needs overhauling and everyone seems to know it. Some people did not get the awards they should have, some did not get the awards they think they shuold have, and others got more than they deserved. I knew the awards before hand and I knew that there would be several dissatisfied people. The tension was palpable before, during, and after the ceremony. The Brigade Commander came down and pinned on 22 medals. He spoke briefly about the fact that a deployment was not about what you wore on your chest, but the pride you wear inside from the job that was done. He went on to say that if you came for the award then you came for the wrong reason. Nonetheless, people's egos were bruised.

The awards done I worked with my replacement, Mike, to finish up any last issues he had to do his (my) job. The rest of the day was a blur. We went to dinner together and I headed back to my room to pack. I got on the computer and chatted with Lisa who had just returned from North Carolina. I drank a couple of near beers, and talked with Mike for awhile. At about 2105, another boom. This time it had to be a controlled det because it was so close to the top of the hour (when they try to do them). Mike and I continued out conversation until the Sergeants came over - we had been mortared. What a way to end my last day on the FOB.

I thought of the new unit, what must they think? Five days on the ground and already they are being faced with the harsh realities of what will be 12 months of duty for them.

My sleep was fitfull - as it always is before a big day.

My last convoy - my last mission, brought me to the airport where I will prepare for the rest of the unit to arrive over the next several days.

There is no more countdown counter. I left it for Mike.

End Of Tour Part III

2005-06-17T10:37:00.000-04:00

I cannot definitively say that a year in Iraq changed me. If it has I do not sense it. Maybe something has latently imprinted on me that others will sense once I get home and the change will be observed by them. I would like to think that I am the same person who left in September only with more experiences to reflect on.

I go home with many mixed emotions and see the duality of this experience just as I see a duality in the two halves of my tour.

I have checked a block in life. As a Soldier I have been to war. I did those things I swore to do when I raised my right hand. When tested, I passed. My brief exposure to combat was enough for a lifetime. I am proud of that service. I was a good Soldier among other good Soldiers in a troubled unit. I did what I could to make the best of the situation for myself and others but realize that I did not do enough. In the end I preserved my integrity and loyalty to my self, the unit, and the Army.

I did not come with false illusions of fixing this country in a short amount of time. History teaches us that it will be a generation before Iraq is fully viable and self sufficient. The question still remains if Iraq can become a paradigm democracy in the Middle East. I have met good people who want a future of freedom. They live among many others who have selfish gains to be made at the cost of progress. I remain skeptical yet hopeful – ever the wary optimist.

I maintain that the Soldiers here do a good job mostly in part because of the support they get from home. Americans and the rest of the world are watching our military forces. We do not want to let you down any more than you want to waive in your support of us. Some people at home do not support the policy of the current administration but hold firm their support of the troops. That people make that distinction is important to us.

The truth is that the terrorists are here in this country. They want to disrupt and destroy lives here and gain popular support to attack us again on our own soil. We need to fight them here and prevent the next mass casualty event in the United States. Aside from strategic goals of prevent global terrorism we have an obligation not to abandon the Iraqis who suffer violence daily.

There are just as many questions leaving here as when I arrived. I find my mood neither joyful nor somber. Maybe I am just tired.

Finally, the one thing that I count among my successes is this blog. I was reminded of that fact by a reader from the Netherlands. I have been able to reach home to New York and to other places in the world and give the narrow, Soldier’s perspective on this Global War on Terror. I find it remarkable that 7,458 (at last count) people have read this journal since I added the counter back in February. I have received supportive feedback that reminded me that I was making you proud.

I will post some more as time allows and I head home. I expect to post on the homecoming with Lisa, Sam, and return to life in general.

Thank you, one and all.

07:05:26:27

End of Tour Part II

2005-06-15T04:51:00.000-04:00

The second half of this tour and been long and, at times, disappointing.

I moved from having a Team to having the duties and responsibilities of a Staff Officer; a desk job with the occasional bi-weekly meeting at the DC hall. The tedium of that mission coupled with the slow OPTEMPO when the Third Infantry Division moved in made for very long days and weeks until mid-May when I was responsible for preparing for the arrival of the new unit and our departure.

It is hard to be just a minor cog in the big Army machine.

The other frustration has been dealing with the personalities and daily “dramas” that rose up here in late February. Without a doubt, I have never been more disappointed working with the officer corps, or any other group of adults than I have in my life.

The atmosphere reminds me of sophomore year of high school. The rumors, the talking about people behind their backs, the inability to get along, the lack of teamwork, the petty issues that festered into larger ones; all of it made for four unpleasant months of work. Although everyone did their own work, and the quality of the work was good, we simply stopped communicating effectively. In some cases we stopped communicating altogether.

The environment was a dramatic difference from what I am used to working with. At home I am part of a team that works together for a common goal. Ideas are vetted against what is feasible and makes sense with everyone having a voice. My boss has a leadership style that fosters that kind of communication. I, in turn, set the example for my Cadets to be the kind of leader that I look up to. There is not a day that I do not enjoy walking across the Barton Hall floor to go to work.

My experience here has shown me more of what not to do. I will take numerous examples and apply them to lessons for my students. I also think it allows me to empathize with them on some level when I see their frustrations when they cannot get along with others.

Rather than me pointing fingers about this situation, we were all responsible for letting it get this way. Unfortunately, there are others that do point fingers and do not filter their comments and accusations with the appropriate level of professionalism.

The iconic image of Soldiers bonding under extreme circumstances may be true in long, exposed periods of fighting. Here, however, insecurities and jealousies were more harmful than bullets or bombs. Upon our final departure in the U.S. there are very few of us who will keep in contact with one another. It makes me sad, but fortunately my introvertedness doesn’t seem to make me too upset about it.

On an interesting note, many of the other units have the same problems. I have heard stories of fist fights, disorderly behavior, and anger management issues. And that is among the officers! Therefore, it is not just a reflection on this Company but, perhaps, a sign of greater tribulations for the Army.

If there is an issue with the Army it is that the tours are too long. The Marines, Navy, and Air Force all deploy for 6 months. Most of the internal conflict we have encountered began right around the 6 month mark. Maybe the other services are on to something.

Nine months to a year in Theater is too long. The problem is that some bean counter in the Pentagon, someone who has never been in combat, someone who has the task to be “efficient”, made the determination that staying longer saved the Army money. For that, he or she was given a medal and promoted. However, there are hidden costs that need to be paid along the way.

Army recruiting is down almost 25% for the year, the divorce rate among officers has risen to 78%, the wear and tear on people’s mental and physical health for long termed exposure to this environment; none of this was factored into the decision for long tours. Add into that 12 months the reality of having to return within the next 12 to 14 months for another tour and now retention of good Soldiers is affected. This is not just in the Reserves, but Active Duty as well.

My indictment of the system is a grumbling that many others share despite the willingness to put on our boots each day and go into harm’s way and do good things. That is what makes us Soldiers.

The tour is almost over and I look forward to the end. I look forward to taking my experiences here and grow from them. In the next entry I will try to tie the good and the bad together and sum it all up.

To be concluded…

09:11:11:17

End Of Tour Part I

2005-06-13T09:13:00.000-04:00

To sum my tour in Iraq I realized I need to write it in three parts. The first part covers most of the time up to my Leave when I was still a Team Chief. The second covers that time after I returned until present. Finally, to end it, a piece to put it all together.

I had several goals for myself coming to Iraq. I wanted to test myself in “combat” against all of the fear, gruesomeness, loneliness, and preconceived notions of what it would be like. I wanted to compare myself against the “other guy” and see if I measured up. I also wanted to make some money to tuck away for my future. Finally, I wanted to right a wrong in my life that happened several years ago and bring honor and dignity back to my family.

The first half of the tour was a mix of emotions, but I enjoyed it. Almost immediately I was aware of what living in a combat zone meant. Rockets and mortars began falling on the FOB within the first weeks of us taking over the Civil Affairs mission. Every evening firefights could be heard outside the walls and tracer rounds glowed through the night sky. There was more fear walking on the FOB than there was running missions.

Taking and leading a team on daily missions was a close as I will ever get to actual combat because the possibility was always there. The responsibility of the mission and the Soldiers on it was, and is, an awesome task. The Civil Affairs mission of interacting with locals and taking time to hear their concerns and hopes for a future gave me perspective into the Middle Eastern mind and made me appreciate my life back in the US even more. Managing projects that helped the quality of life for villagers and suburbanites alike gave the reward of being a small part of the solution to the country's many woes.

To be honest, I never expected my individual presence here to turn the tide of popular support. Nor did I expect it make a difference on local scale. I was right and wrong. Lisa reminded me of tossing starfish back into the sea. Although all of them cannot be saved, some can.

In the big picture there are wounds in Iraq that will take generations to heal. $18 billion does not buy a quick fix in a land where politics, tribalism, violence, and religion all blend together. However, I did make a difference to a few individuals; the contractor whose money was lost and then found, the family of the Sergeant who still visit a man in a hospital instead of a cemetery stone. Those are personal victories.

Compared to the next officer, I know that I am in the forward edge of the bell shaped curve. Not General material, but able to hold my own amongst my peers. I have made a career out of the Army Reserves (one weekend a month, my ass) but I would not complete that career on Active Duty. It is not that I couldn’t compete; it’s just that I enjoy my life and what I do now.

Financially, I did save a good deal of money for my future. Being on Active Duty earns me more money than at home, plus living in a Hostile Fire Zone allows my pay to be tax free. I sound selfish to know that a goal is to make money instead of wrapping myself in the administrations mantra of democracy in the Middle East. Military life is not always about truth, justice, and the American way. Yes, those are standards I still prescribe to; however, gone are the days of being an idealistic crusader. The military has always been a tool to get ahead in life for the individual looking to make a new life and get away from dead end dreams. The military is a stepping stone for many of my students who use ROTC to pay for school, serve four years, and go on to big, more lucrative aspirations. Everyone here has their own agenda and this was an item on mine.

However, it was not the item at the top of the list.

For those people who nobly serve the community, whether it is a town, city, or nation, there is an internal satisfaction of being the Centurion. It is part of the calling. Unless you “serve”, this characteristic is difficult to describe and difficult to understand. Disgrace in this role is unacceptable. Once in my life I dishonored those values I believe in. I made a mistake that cost more than I wanted to pay. At the time it was a tremendous blow to me and my family. It was a personal failure that ate at me for years. That mistake was in the back of my mind as I came over here.

I have atoned for my mistake on my own terms. Through my actions and through my character I served my nation, my Soldiers, and the people of Iraq honorably. I have mended this important piece of my life and I can move on.

I was able to do all of these things within the first half of my tour but the tour wasn’t about my “agenda” and therefore I Soldiered on.

The second half of the tour provided my greatest challenge as an officer.

To be continued…

11:06:49:01

Fuzzy Math

2005-06-10T12:18:00.000-04:00

14:03:43:01

Sort of.

Everyone in the unit is focused on going home. It's hard not to when everyday brings a new briefing for de-mob (go home and de-mobilize). In a few days we will pack our non-essential gear up and send it to BAIP to go home. Most of us are in the process of packing the gear and mailing extra things home.

All talk is about movement to the US and less and less about missions. We are to the point now where we do not run missions unless they are absolutely necessary. I have felt the most apprehension that I have felt since October and November in these last few days. My missions to the DC or the IZ are easier than the Teams who still go out into sector. However, that fear of being so close to the end and not wanting to get hurt rises up and stays with you once you roll out of the gate.

The good news is that the replacements are in North Carolina and are awaiting their turn to board an aircraft to come here. We expect them soon. We are making room for them in our living spaces. The spaces they will take over soon enough.

I have been thinking of the post that sums it up. The last post from Iraq. The the post where I tell you what I have learned in the last nine months. I am working on it.

In the meantime you all have noticed the "clock" in the bottom of my posts since we had 99 days to go. That day is the mark on the calendar that higher headquarters set for the transfer of authority from our unit to the incoming unit.

That day isn't entirely written in stone for when we can start moving. In fact, we may be off of the FOB sooner rather than later but be back in the States later than expected. Clear? I do expect to celebrate fireworks on the Fourth of July in the United States.

This changing of dates and the uncertainty of exactly when we are leaving requires patience, rumor control, and asking lots of questions to the right people. Fortunately, I am in control of all three, even though the day we are leaving moves to the left or the right depending on the email I am reading.

The bottom line is that we are leaving Iraq - soon - but the precise time and place remains to be seen.

14:03:20:03

Operation Samantha

2005-06-07T07:15:00.000-04:00

Yesterday Sam was approached by a Third Grader who told her that her daddy was going to die in Iraq.

Children are cruel and will say things without consideration for others. Kids are mean. Sam immediately went into a funk, threw up, and was taken out of school by her mother.

To give Sam credit, she did not react violently. Unfortunately, she turned a lot of the fear inward where it is still holding on firmly until I get home. Would I be upset if she had dealt with it directly? Only a little. However, let’s give Sam her due, she has come on long way since February when she had adjustment issues when I returned to the war from Leave.

To give her mother credit, Stacey is going to allow Sam to follow up by being there when Sam confronts this child. Stacey continues to deal with being a “temporary single parent” in a very unusual situation.

I was able to go on line and find the principal’s email address. I sent her off a “please address this issue” email. Within minutes I received a reply. In the liberal community of Ithaca, I was almost expecting a deflection on the part of the principal. Maybe it was my fear of anti-military, anti-war political stance being applied to my daughter. Needless to say, I was wrong and I apologize for thinking that way.

The principal was already aware of the situation and was on top it. She planned to speak to the boy’s parents when they arrived later in the day. I thanked her for her support of Sam and Sam’s issues surrounding my deployment.

That wasn’t enough for me. I sent Sam flowers to help cheer her up.

That still wasn’t enough and so I ask for help from you. You all have been very supportive of me for the past 9 months. I ask you to extend that support to Sam. If you could take just 10 minutes and send her a card. Lisa came up with the idea to call it "Operation Samantha". Let Samantha know that she is brave and loved. Over the course of the few days it will take for all the cards to get there it will a tremendous boost to her and help me feel better too.

Her address is in care of her mom's work:

Stacey Payette
Operation Samantha
Ithaca High School
1401 North Cayuga St
Ithaca, NY 14850

Thank you all for your support. The time is winding down. I look forward to getting home safe and sound to my daughter.

17:08:35:11

The People Who Make It Happen

2005-06-05T05:26:00.000-04:00

For the last 8 ½ months I have lived on a FOB. The FOB houses military, civilian contractors, local national interpreters, and third nation workers – several thousand people in all. The FOB is a small city. It has its own mayor and administration. Despite rockets and mortars and the hum of the military machine that runs twenty four hours a day, the city consistently operates smoothly thanks to hundreds of unsung, unnoticed, and unappreciated people.

On my five minute walk to dinner this evening I observed no less than 37 port-a-potties. There is a small army of men who drive around in smelly trucks all day long and clean, scrub, spray down, and maintain these and five times more their number all across the FOB, several times a day. The port-a-potties are immaculately clean.

There are the laundry people. These are local nationals, mostly young Christians, who take hundreds of bags of laundry every day. They wash it, dry it, and fold it so that there is one less worry for me in my daily routine. Within two days I can get my clothes back. Sure, the socks don’t always match, but then I can never get them to match at home either.

Next to the laundry people is the man who presses my uniform. For one dollar per uniform he irons my DCUs by hand. He used to have a real press until it broke. He stands there in his shorts and stained t-shirt sweating profusely pushing a hot iron in a hot room. He always greets me with a smile and I make sure to give him more than is necessary when I pay him for making me look professional in a crisp uniform.

There are dozens of third party nationals; Sri Lankans, Pakistanis, Indians, and Filipinos who work in the DFAC making, serving, and cleaning up our meals. They are the utmost polite, friendly beyond words in their uniform of white shirts, dark plaid vests, bow ties, and hats. I make sure to say “please” and “thank you” instead of treating them like indentured servants. They all live together in a small community on the FOB – neither Americans, nor Iraqis, they are their own unique group. We watch them play cricket on the field. They laugh and carry on just as we would but we are worlds apart.

The water men deliver fresh water to the showers. The local water is not reliable by Western standards so water is brought in from Kuwait. They drive up in a large tanker truck with calendar girls in bikinis in the front windows. There trucks are always decorated inside in a unique, yet slightly tacky, 70’s motif of beads and tassels. They fill tanks with the water we use to shower, shave, and brush our teeth.

The shower facilities have 20 shower heads, 20 toilets and 20 sinks. There are several all over the FOB. Each day at around noon a group of men come in with squeegees, scrubbers, cleaner, and cartons of toilet paper to clean up after the hundreds of Soldiers who used it all morning long.

The FOB is not connected to the Iraqi power grid. In order for us to have power 24 hours a day, huge generators are positioned around the FOB to supply the electricity we need to run computers, machinery, water pumps, and every other electrical device. The generator men maintain these generators. It is 117 degrees outside as I write this. The generators are another 20 degrees hotter to work around. Working in that furnace and doing the job safely is a mighty task.

All of these jobs go on everyday, day after day, with little or no notice by the people who benefit from the service. I am sure that I have left a lot of people out; the firemen, the private security guards, the guy who pays the interpreters, the towel man at the gym...

Today, I say thank you.

19:10:35:46

Photo Of The Day

2005-06-04T10:18:00.000-04:00

Squatter children swarm a Soldier handing out toys.

Because Civil Affairs deals with the public on a regular basis we usually carry humanitarian aid; shoes, toiletries, food, and toys. All the children know we have toys and once they see us distributing them rush us. It's fun and a little unnerving at the same time to be surrounded by kids all screaming, "Mista, gimmee."

20:17:53:47

The ADVON Is Here, The ADVON Is Here!

2005-05-30T10:57:00.000-04:00

ADVON: The Advanced Party of an Army unit that is moving from one place to another. Responsible for preparing the area, gaining information, and coordinating with the Main Body for their arrival.

In other words...the relief is finally here! Granted there are only two of them - but it is a start.

Today my counterpart and the counterpart for the supply sergeant arrived. They are tired from the trip; North Carolina to Ireland to Qatar to Iraq in the last 48 hours. Neither of these men have been to Iraq before and I am empathic to how they feel. I took pity on them and kept the first day simple; a tour, a nap, dinner, a shower, and bed. Tomorrow starts the process of briefings and handing over information.

Although our unit is still in the game until the end a lot of our focus is now on making a transition for the new unit as seamless as possible. Until the Main Body arrives we will be showing the ADVON what "right looks like" in order to set them up for success.

It's hard not to be a little excited.

25:01:07:22

300 Feet Over Baghdad

2005-05-27T04:37:00.000-04:00

Flying Over Iraq
Helicopter rides are cool. They just are. They’re even cooler when you are riding, doors open, and just above tree top level above the hostile territory of Baghdad.

We planned an aerial recon mission over our area of responsibility. The purpose was two fold; first to document projects and muhallas from the air. The second was to do reward ourselves for nine months of hard work.

Standing at the PZ (Pick-up Zone) thirteen of us were lined up like tourists going a trip over the Grand Canyon. We all had our cameras out and ready to go. Within minutes, two Blackhawk helicopter came thundering in to the FOB. As soon as the crew chiefs were out of the birds we were walking under the rotors, still spinning at high speed; everyone instinctively ducked walking under them.

We all found our seats and strapped in with shoulder and lap belts. Amazing how tight and uncomfortable you are willing to make yourself when you know the doors will be open. I sat in the door seat, sitting backwards in the aircraft. You would think that in a war zone there would be some type of safety briefing on what to do if fill in the blank here. Nope. Either the pilots were that confident of their flying or that confident of us not surviving a crash.

Airborne

With a surge of power we were all pushed down in our seats and we were airborne over Baghdad. The lowest we could fly was 200 feet. The highest we ever climbed to was about 300 feet. We banked and turned, at some points we were practically on our side, looking down, instead of out over the horizon. I could feel the gravity pushing on me as we yawed to make the turn tighter. I once spent a day with Pat at Cedar Point riding roller coasters all day long. That day couldn’t touch this one.

We flew over the homes of Baghdad. Seeing it from the air provided a completely different perspective of the city. The city is alive in so many ways. Seeing the mass of humanity, six million people in all; people in their schools, at their jobs, working on their homes, driving on the roads, and shopping in the markets indicated that the Iraqi people are far from being defeated by all of the recent changes that have occurred over the past 2 ½ years. Still there are many issues that are magnified from the air; trash in open lots and lakes of sewage was worse than I expected.

Urban Sprawl

We flew over the Tigris, a nasty confluence of sewage, petroleum run off, and river water. Fishermen, working out of small boats made what living they could from the river. We observed irrigation canals delivering life giving water to the rural farms south of the urban areas. Huge swaths of green reminded me that the land is just as alive as the city is and that agriculture is still part of the future of the country.

Over the Tigris

The entire time we were over Baghdad we kept clicking away. We flew to BIAP to refuel. I switched seats so that I was now facing forward. This leg of the trip was spent over the IZ. We buzzed all of the landmarks; the 14th Of July Bridge, the Embassy Palace, the Saber Arch, and the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. The IZ looks different from the air when you can see what is behind the 20 foot concrete walls that surround every building and compound. The capitol will be beautiful some day, once all of the security barriers are removed.

Aerial Tour

Once we were done with the tour the pilot put the foot down on the throttle and we rocketed back to the FOB. Like school children after a field trip we were all giddy and excited and ran off to download and share our pictures. It was one of the highlights of the tour. Somewhere above the day I “commanded” a Bradley in the IZ, but far below the anticipation of the last flight out of here.

28:11:26:01

Some Thoughts On The Media

2005-05-24T23:41:00.000-04:00

I will be honest right up front. I both like and loathe the press. I like to be interviewed and I like to be on television. Conceited, I know. I am at the same time distrustful of the media.

In my life I have been interviewed for the news a handful of times. During the course of this mission alone I have been interviewed by two TV news stations before I left; once in a “live via phone” interview during the election in January; once for a couple of seconds for my favorite news program, NPR’s “Morning Edition” in February; and twice by Army Public Affairs who takes footage and then turns it into stories for hometown news media. Most of the stories had a favorable slant to them.

Not all the attention I have received has been positive. Once, I was on the receiving end of erroneous report that I assaulted a 15 year old boy during the course of an arrest at his school (for those of you who don’t know; once upon a time I was in law enforcement). Although the initial story made the front page, the retraction, once the truth was made known, was buried in the back of the paper.

In Iraq we have every medium of the press waiting for the next news story. AP, Reuters, CNN, Al Jazeera and Arab news of every type, BBC, and all the networks are represented. They all have a job to do; sell the news.

However, that isn’t exactly right. I meant to say that they have a job to do; sell cars. Sell hamburgers. Sell cola, and clothes, and beer, and all the things that keep money rolling into the station. They are all blood thirsty hounds trading horror for profit. Don’t believe me? Would you rather turn into a story of American Soldiers building a water tower for local villagers or are you more apt to pay attention to the car bomb that killed X number of military and civilian. The latter makes you stop in your tracks. After all, your friends and loved ones are here and that thought of, “oh please let me here from Rich soon,” goes through your head when you hear about another dead American.

This may be over simplified but the news is a business. The news makes it profit not from the quality of the story but from advertisers, whether they are global entities or local shops. Ratings help the advertisers decide where they are going to spend their money. Ratings are decided by the viewership. The viewers tend to be attracted to sensational stories and attractive talking heads sitting behind desks. (Maybe this is why the All Grandmother Sewing Channel failed). Therefore, the news has a requirement to get you to tune in for the news, but to also get you to stay for the commercials and print add.

I am not trying to take away from venerated reporters and exceptional journalism, but in the wake of recent integrity issues in Newsweek, the New York Times, and CBS, doesn’t this ring a little true?

The press can be positive in their stories and does not always have to use murder, explosions, and brutality to boost ratings. They also know how to tug at your emotions. In February you remember that Brian’s brother David was killed in action in Iraq. A respected military columnist, Joe Galloway, wrote about David in Stars and Stripes. The story got picked up by NBC who attended the funeral (with the permission of the family). Then with the Army’s approval and the family’s approval, Dateline NBC did a story on the two brothers. They followed Brian back to Baghdad for a follow up here at the FOB. The story will air this weekend for Memorial Day.

The press can use stories for political issues. There is a debate in Congress over the roll of women in combat. A recent web based news journal highlighted our four female machine gunners. Such an article flies in the face of the “wisdom” of Washington and can be used as, pardon the pun, ammunition. With cable networks such as CNN and FOX taking up opposite side of the political spectrum, how can we not be jaded in our opinion of honest, unbiased reporting?

I have learned to work with the press because, like I said, I like to see my face on TV. I have seen and heard the words I have said not have the same meaning they did when asked and small comments or opinions taken out of context. When I have to deal with the press I prepare just as they do. I ask the questions before hand. I make them “cut” if I don’t like my answer. Finally, I am wise enough to stay “in my lane” and not talk about strategic level or policy level issues that I have no right to discuss. This last point is especially true for those of us in uniform.

Overall, I think the press has been favorable to the military since the war started. They have done an admirable job differentiating between politics and Soldiers. They highlight individuals and team successes. They give our families access to their loved ones in ways that help them understand our lives here better. They continue to portray those that serve honorably as heroes. For those reasons, I am glad the press is with us.

Our mission is done in a month and the press will be in Syracuse to meet us. I will be the senior ranking officer there. Lucky me; lights, camera, action.

30:16:17:22

Interpreters

2005-05-23T08:10:00.000-04:00

Among the most important tools that we have at our disposal are the interpreters. They are as important as a HUMVEE, a rifle, or body armor. We simply could not do our jobs without them.

Interpreters come in many categories. The top category is the American born, Arabic linguist. These people are allowed upper level security clearances and usually work at the embassy level. The next level are Middle Eastern born, naturalized Americans, many of them former Iraqis, who return to make big money as translators. They work for Army personnel of high rank. Then there are local national interpreters. These are the translators we work with the most. Some live with us full time. Some come to work at 0800 and leave by 1600. All interpreters, regardless of nationality, are paid through a US defense contractor.

Interpreters are more than translators. They are informal cultural instructors. They help us get things off of the local economy; such as gifts, satellite TV, paint, rugs, and the list goes on. They provide information through their own lines of communication. They provide us a ground truth to what people are telling us. Therefore, interpreters are considered pariahs among some of there own countrymen. The local national translators who live with us do so because they are marked for death by AIF.

There is a rule, “Never trust your life to an interpreter.” Although true, it is hard not to build relationships on a personal level with someone who works with you every day. The relationship goes beyond business. They work with us, eat with us, live among us, and relax with us. Age groups usually stick to age groups. It is not unusual to find one or two local national translators watching movies with the enlisted. The older Soldiers and translators have their own “coffee clutch” and walking group. It is not unusual to find yourself talking about home, mom, apple pie, and Main Street, USA, without them telling you that is their dream to experience.

Interpreters range in their abilities. There have been many time that the local national that I am talking to speaks better than the translator working for me. However, the bottom line is that most Americans cannot speak Arabic, and therefore must rely on trust that the interpreter is saying what you say. You have to trust that they are not editorializing what you say, or worse, adding their own agenda to it.

There are numerous cases of interpreters speaking directly in front of us, extorting contractors. They tell them that they can get them the winning bid on a contract for a small fee. Because that is the way business is done in this part of the world the contractor readily gives up an extra amount of cash. After all, they are soaking the Americans anyway.

The interpreters are required to play by Western rules. When it is discovered they are dishonest in any way they are dismissed.

Such was the case last week when a local interpreter was discovered to be drawing two paychecks from two separate US companies, when in actuality; he was only working for one. A typical Iraqi, once he was exposed, he then attempted to resign from the one he was drawing a paycheck from but not actually working for. Before that could happen the employer he was working for fired him. The interpreter, having just been fired, then turned around and tried to work for the people he was going to quit. They fired him too.

The interpreter was none other than my former interpreter, Kahlid. Sweet little Kahlid. Kahlid; who taught me about Islam, Iraq, and how things work in this country. Kahild was as close to a friend that I have in this country.

I was not shocked by the news. Kahlid always worked his own angles to his own benefit. We looked the other way because of Kahlid’s talents as an engineer, linguist, and local who could gather information that we could not. However, blatantly lying and drawing two paychecks was beyond the grey area that Kahlid normally existed in.

I saw him out on his last day. He wished me and my family well. It wasn’t an emotional moment. Arab men do not show shame, nor do they admit guilt. We merely shook hands, smiled, and bid each other good wishes.

On a personal level I suppose that is the way I will leave Iraq; with a smile and good wishes.

And so it goes here.

32:07:48:22

Just Who Is In Charge Here Anyway?

2005-05-20T01:08:00.000-04:00

We had a meeting among the Civil Affairs officers last week where we discussed the need to engage the local Sheiks and imams. After all, we have been meeting with them for a long time and they have yet to produce any kind of results that indicate a more secure Iraq. That begs the questions, who are the sheiks and imams? Are they important? If they are unable to affect change, then who can and how? Who is in charge here anyway?

Every other week we have meetings at the DC Hall. One day it is with imams. A few days later it is with sheiks. Imams are religious leaders that represent the Sunni and Shi’a faithful of the Islam religion. The sheiks represent tribal lineages that may date back decades or centuries. Both groups were largely marginalized in a secular, socialist, Ba’ath Party regime.

These groups are now looking for legitimacy in the new government. They are looking for a voice and a seat of power. Because we replaced Saddam they are looking to us to invite them to the table.

Our reasons for meeting these groups is simple, we need to measure the pulse of the people through them. We also allow them to voice their concerns over security and the future of Iraq. Naturally, they all want to be a part of that future. They also let us know there needs; immunity from arrest, keep Iraqi soldiers out of mosques, weapons cards for self protection, and, most importantly control over there muhallas for projects.

The sheiks are the worst. They boast 10,000 men – all ready to work at a moments notice. They claim control over security in their respective areas and put off responsibility of terrorist acts on “people who come in from outside”, meaning foreigners or Iraqis from Falluja, Basra, Tikrit. They go back to the same mantra, “if you give us power, we can solve the problem of security.” Of course there is where the logic falls apart. On one hand, if they don’t know who is committing the acts then how can they stop it? And if they do know who is doing it, then why won’t they stop it now?

The conclusion is that they are not the solution and to give them any kind of authority could be disastrous.

The imams are not as power or money greedy as the sheiks. Their primary concern is to keep Iraqi soldiers out of mosques and to seek the release of “innocent” citizens accused of terrorism. Regardless of their religious preference, some imams support terrorism through the use of the mosque as a storage place for weapons and a meeting place for planners. A raid early this year in a nearby mosque bared the evidence in a huge cache of guns. They claim to deliver a message of peace and support, but their own recorded words incite the faithful to take up arms against their own Muslim brothers in the Army, police, and security forces.

Not one imam has ever come forward to give the name of a criminal, let alone AIF. They too have proved that they are not part of the solution.

None of these men have shown any kind of true leadership or power within their own ranks. In a country where there were 500,000 paid informants during the time of the regime it is impossible to think that these men do not know the truth and the faces behind the black masks. If neither the sheiks nor the imams can affect change, then who holds the reigns of power? What people are out there still left to be engaged who can stand up and provide true leadership for this country’s people?

While it is true that the elections were very successful all they did was elect a central governing body. However, in places like Al Doura, Al Saidyia, and Rustimyia, the people are still looking for that representative, that voice of the people. Furthermore, there is no process in place for local representation, at least not yet.

It is likely that this will be a strong, top down, government instead of a power from the people government. By all indications, the former is what this country needs to succeed. Yes, it will be a democracy, but not like we expect it to be.

35:14:59:13

Photo Of The Day

2005-05-17T21:54:00.000-04:00

This picture was taken on the FOB. The military contracts American firemen, with American firetrucks to provide 24 hour fire, safety, and hazmat protection.

I took this picture for Dad, Andy, and my nephew Lucas.

37:18:07:06

Dinner Plans

2005-05-15T13:13:00.000-04:00

I have not posted in a while and I need to catch everyone up on the latest here.

First, the Sergeant is in the United States at Bethesda Naval Hospital. I know that he is off a respirator for up to eight hours at a time. He recognizes and acknowledges his wife and daughter and can nod or shake his head to questions. The neurosurgeon believes it is a tremendous amount of progress in such a short time. A lot of my prayers have been answered for this man and his family and they have been answered. My faith continues to be renewed. Through indirect means the Sergeant’s wife has contacted us and thanked us for saving her husband’s life. That is the greatest reward.

Second, I am in charge of the Company while the boss is on a couple of days of R&R. There is a lot of tension among the officers right now. Tempers flare from time to time. We have been here long enough and we are all simply ready to go home. Dealing with the “issues” saps my mental strength. So, for the next few days I get to sit at the big desk and working to keep the place from falling apart. So far, no problem.

Next, we continue the plans for our re-deployment home. Most of the paperwork is completed, the awards have been written, and I continue to send boxes of non-essential stuff home. The advance group of our replacements is due here in two weeks. The main body arrives in less than a month. Although we leave in 41 days, the actual day I expect to walk through the door of my home is in mid-July. There is a process in Fort Bragg that we must go through before we go home.

Iraq continues to be a violent place. However, every day there are more Iraqi Army units moving into our area. Every night they go out and deal out justice. The people are still glad to see them here. Many of the suspected terrorists that we know are seen less often. Others, with murky ties to AIF, complain that the Iraqi military is too tough. To that we smile and tell them, “Well, you said we were not doing the job well enough. So, we found someone who could.”

Finally, I spent time today with an Iraqi acquaintance of mine. He is a lawyer and has done some work for me. He told me that many, many Iraqis are happy that the Americans removed Saddam Hussein from power. We talked about the future of the country. He, like most Iraqis, is hopeful for a better future. He said that he would like to invite me to his home for dinner but knows that we cannot do that now. Maybe in ten years the concrete barriers will be gone. Maybe then the concertina wire will only seen on farms to keep in livestock. Maybe then street intersections will have traffic police and not armed soldiers. I told my friend that I would come back to that Iraq. I would not have to wear body armor or ride in an armored truck.

We put our dinner plans on hold.

40:02:47:33

Photo Of The Day

2005-05-11T13:27:00.000-04:00

Men make furniture by hand out in the open along a main street in Al Rashid, Baghdad.

True craftsmen at work make furniture the way they have for generations. The furniture; head boards, end tables, couches and elaborate mirrors are all crafted by hand. Stands of wood are cut and bent into the desired shape and nailed into place. Each piece is then finished with stain and sold at the market.

(These men were futured in a NPR story back in February which had a brief clip from me.)

Photo Of The Day

2005-05-08T09:14:00.000-04:00

If you see this woman, wish her a Happy Mother's Day!

Mom and I were photographed in Fort Bragg in the days before my departure for Iraq. You cannot forget things like Mother's Day, even over here. Thank goodness for the Internet and florists!

47:06:33:34

Brave Men

2005-05-04T12:14:00.000-04:00

Brave Men was the title of a book by Ernie Pyle, the famous World War II journalist, about soldiers in the European Theater. It was stories about common soldiers and the uncommon hardships they faced.

In my last post someone asked if all of the groups I listed were against us, then who is with us? I have met the brave men who are with us.

We roll out of the FOB as we kick up a huge dust storm as Up-Armored HUMVEEs and M-1 Abrams tanks and Bradley Fighting Vehicles enter into the never ending stream of traffic on the major highway. We are somewhat safe and secure in our armor as we maintain a safety bubble around us, never allowing a local national's car to get too close. Traveling in the opposite direction is a most unusual convoy. Brown Nissan pickup trucks and open sided cargo trucks filled with soldiers of the new Iraqi National Guard (ING).

The ING travel without armor in these convoys, with machine guns mounted into the floor of the trucks. Each man carrys an AK-47 rifle. Many wear hoods or face masks to protect their identities. They man posts on roads and overpasses, check points, and key buildings throughout the area of operation. They go into the neighborhoods where we would not and bring terrorists to justice.

In February, I caught my first glimpse of a T-72 (Russian) tank as Iraqi armor patrolled the main highway. At first sight I was a little shocked. I had never seen an operable T-72 tank; let alone one heading towards me with an Iraqi flag on it. Although it has taken time, the Iraqi Army (IA), different in their scope and mission from the ING, is becoming more of a force to be reckoned with here. They are proud of their names; Tiger Brigade, Falcon Brigade, and Wolf Brigade.

I spoke to the commander of the Wolf Brigade. He had just come down from a city to the north where his soldiers had "cleaned up". When asked what he was doing in southern Baghdad he looked at me through his cigarette smoke as if it was my first day in country. "We're here to kill as many terrorists as we can," he replied flatly.

Although not up to US standards of training and discipline, the new Iraqi Army and ING are effective in ways we never will be. These soldiers understand the Iraqi/Middle Eastern mind. They know the people and can identify the subtle dialect differences that indicate someone is not from the area. They are willing to use force in ways we will not. The allegations of heavy handed techniques are probably true. Iraqis understand “the stick” and respond to it. They can go into mosques without the international and Muslim reprisal our forces would. They get the job done the Iraqi way.

Both the ING and the IA are filled with the same types of men our ranks are; many are young men seeking the only work they can find. Others are cut of the fabric that many of the Soldiers I know are cut from. They seek to protect and rid their country from the disease that plagues it. They are patriots and heroes. They are well spoken, proud, and confident. They are serious in the face of their duties but smile wide grins and laugh when back on the base.

They are brave men who pay the same terrible price we do, maybe even more so because it is at the hands of their own people. The face the uncommon hardships of VBIEDS, snipers, drive by shootings, and enemy who enlist into their ranks only to betray them to suicide bombers.

And they are making a difference. The locals we speak to are proud of their new Army. They cheer when tanks and armored vehicles roll into the muhallas. They hope for the Army to be well trained and professional as well as respectful of the ordinary citizens. The people know that the more of them that they see the more the terrorists are afraid. They also know that there more IA and ING they see the less US and multi-national forces they will see.

In time the IA and ING will be the ones who are responsible for the security of this area and the whole country. By this time next year our force will be 2/3 the size it is now. Eventually we will probably have a token force and advisors and the Iraqis will man the ramparts of their own freedom.

Who is on our side? The answer is we are on theirs.

50:01:37:18

Who We Fight

2005-05-03T13:37:00.000-04:00

Our goal to obtaining a stable peace is to kill or capture the enemy. An important point is to identify the enemy in order to do either of those two things. Who are we fighting and why? This isn’t a long diatribe about idealism and democratic, patriotic morals. This is an attempt to put a face on the enemy we fight.

Part of our responsibilities as Civil Affairs is to take atmospherics; to learn the attitudes, insights, and beliefs of the local populace regarding such topics as security, the economy, education, and essential services. These atmospherics are compiled and sent forward to Mother Army who gauges these man-on-the-street interviews and creates a better picture of Iraq.

One question we constantly ask is, “who are the terrorists,” and, “what is there motivation?” The answers vary so much that it really isn’t a secret or a surprise.

We are fighting the Ba’athists who were overthrown 26 months ago and are funding fighters against the new government.

We are fighting Sudanese, Lebanese, Iranians, and Syrians who all have an agenda if they can claim part of a defeated Iraq for themselves.

We are fighting right-wing Shi’a, bent on revenge for forty years of religious oppression with backing from Iran.

We are fighting the Sunni, who, although in the minority, still want the seat of power over all of Iraq and must keep the country in a state of unrest until they can solidify their political support.

We are fighting the poor who in the necessity to feed his family will make more money by firing one RPG or planting one IED than he will in a month of work; if he can find work at all.

We are fighting the uneducated who are easily persuaded that their religion calls on them to drive a car loaded with artillery shells into the infidel checkpoint.

We are fighting common thug criminals who use kidnapping and murder for profit.

We are fighting zealots who hate America and all it represents despite the genuine desire (by those of us in the military) to help the Iraqis and go home.

The answers we get depend on the areas we go to visit. In other words; the man on the street doesn’t know who the terrorists are. Or, maybe he does and won’t say. Maybe he can’t say. Maybe he is one of them. It is impossible to tell from their answers.

Who is the enemy? I really do not know.

52:01:52:44

Photo Of The Day

2005-05-01T14:39:00.000-04:00

Signs of peace, signs of victory, signs of a future line the wall at Baghdad University after the election.

54:01:22:52

Compassion And Strength

2005-04-29T09:55:00.000-04:00

Last week my convoy was attacked. A good Solider, a family man and a friend to many, was critically wounded. He survived the flight to the United States. This is more than anyone expected. His strength and will to survive keeps him fighting for life and there is still hope for him and his family.

Since then I have been out on several missions with many more ahead before the unit departs. I am asked by friends and family; how do you go back out there? How do you not hate, or give up on, the people of Iraq?

I think it comes from my parents. My parents never really told their kids what was right and what wasn’t. Instead we learned from watching them set the example in small, quiet ways. Over the years I have learned to deduce my own meanings of what my parents taught me.

My mom is a life long nurse, who by trade is compassionate in her work. I see my mom in a lot of the interactions I have as a Civil Affairs officer.

I meet people who come to the FOB. There stories are the same but always different. “Please help. Only you can help me.” This morning I encountered another such request. A man came in and asked for Civil Affairs. His son is mentally ill. He went into a long drawn out story that dated to 1996 when his son would disappear from the house only to turn up in some far away province weeks later. This went on for many years. Then, ten days ago, his son disappeared again. Two days ago the father received a notice that we were holding his son on the FOB.

The son’s latest incident involved him walking up to a manned checkpoint with a suitcase full of soap. He told the guards it was a bomb. He was immediately detained. Because of the severity of the threat and for the man’s own protection we refused to release him. (Imagine what could happen next time he did the same thing? Here, in Iraq?)

The father was worried for his son and naturally so. I explained to him that his son would remain with us and that he was being taken care of. I arranged a short reunion for them to reassure the father. He left assured of his son’s safety.

It would be easy not to help, and carry forward the animosity of last week into my work this week and passively punish this man. But I have learned tolerance and compassion. I learned these values from my mother. It is, and always has been, a part of me.

My dad; Pops to all of my friends. My father is the source of my strength. I did not realize this until two years ago.

Dad is quiet and introverted. He never used a heavy hand in raising his two sons. He taught me to be honest and to have integrity. My father is a good man with a good heart. Anyone who knows him knows that.

Two years ago, in February of 2003, dad was diagnosed with a 4cm abdominal aortic aneurism that was close to rupturing. His father had died of the very same thing. This monster was huge and was threatening my father’s life. To complicate matters dad was also diagnosed with liver and lung cancer. Because the surgery was so complicated dad was told to put all of his affairs into order; just in case.

In March 2003, I was with him for the surgery. When the doctor came out I was relieved to hear that dad survived the operation. However, the doctor cautioned, he gave my father as little as three months to survive because the cancer was so far spread in his body.

That was 25 months ago. He is one tough son-of-a-gun. Dad has promised to be there in Ft. Bragg, NC when I return and I don’t doubt him. His strength has passed down through me and from me to my child.

I saw my father’s strength in my daughter when she was born six weeks premature and grew enough that we could take her home almost 3 ½ weeks before the doctors anticipated. Sam continues to grow robust and healthy.

I feel my father’s strength in me in the times I have failed or doubted my ability to hang in there. I always managed to pick myself back up again - somewhere was the invisible hand of my father. I can feel his strength in me as I find the courage to face another convoy and another mission.

I felt his strength and my mother’s compassion in me last week when I fought to bring a wounded Soldier to care. I hold these values dear to me, even if it took me so long to understand them and where they came from.

Thanks, Mom. Thanks, Dad.

56:05:42:28

Photo Of The Day

2005-04-27T23:07:00.000-04:00

In this impromptu soccer game - everybody wins

It's important to take time to interact with young adults and kids as well as the grown-ups in order to build a more solid future. We always carry around soccer balls and during a stop to talk to some locals this pick up game started.

Hope, Prayer, And Duty

2005-04-22T12:54:00.000-04:00

Hope

There is a ray of hope. The Sergeant survived the trip to Germany. Apparently he regained consciousness, blinked on command, and was able to touch his fingers to one another. This is far more than anyone expected. Everyone expected for him to be kept alive until his wife could join him for the last moments of his life. There is still a long road to travel for him and his family, but today there seems to be a slim chance.

I feel better with this news. It helps a little, quite frankly, it is the only thing.. I have had a couple of long nights now, although it's to be expected. There are still many questions I ask myself. I do now, and I suppose I always will.

Prayer

Chaplain Blessing told me two things; to give this pain up to God, and to pray for the Sergeant. Even before he said these words I remember the first prayer I said was when I saw that helicopter take off. Miraculously, the Sergeant survived the blast, the trip back, and the first critical minutes in real medical care. My prayer was that he would make it to the trauma unit and survive. And that prayer was answered.

Over the last 96 hours I have prayed often. I usually do it in those quiet moments between tasks. I do not think of myself as religous, even with three years of Catholic school. I consider myself to be spiritual, with a personal relationship with God that doesn't fit a particular doctrine or dogma. I even have the notion that the God I pray to is the same God you pray to, and the same God Kahlid prays to, and the same God the Indian workers in the dining facility pray to. I also think God is looking down shaking his head.

I also believe in the power of prayer. I peruse the news articles in magazines; the power of prayer and laughter are powerful medicines that cannot be under estimated. So I continue to pray with the belief that in some way those prayers will be heard and in some way answered.

What does it mean if the Sergeant dies despite our prayers? It doesn't mean that God is cruel or uncaring - it means something else - something intangible. I think it sets us all on a path where we must find some good, some meaning for each of us; from the Soldiers there that day, to me as a leader, to the Sergeant's family. Since none of that is easy it requires prayer for own personal strength.

Duty

Today we all went back out on convoy for the first time since Wednesday. We went through the usual briefing. I brought everyone in and we huddled. I told them "this is for us, this is for Sergeant", we all clasped hands and moved out. It was at that moment it hit me; just as I was climbing into the HUMVEE. It was that feeling of anxiety and fear. It lasted just a moment and it was gone. The need to be focused was more important.

We rolled out because that is what we have to do. The mission goes on and we do our duty. The obligation we took when we raised our right hands did not end on Wednesday.

One part of the mission was to pick up the Team Chief that I was filling in for. I took him aside and told him what had happened. He said, "I should have been there," and then he paused and said "I'm glad you were there with the Team."

All us here continue to do our duty. We do it with hope and prayer for our safety and the safety of our comrades.

62:02:30:06

Aftermath

2005-04-21T12:08:00.000-04:00

The Sergeant is still alive. He is in Germany in ICU. The last I heard the Army was getting his wife to him as quickly as possible. The outlook is still grim.

So much went wrong yesterday. However, a couple of things went right. The decision not to stop, even though the vehicle was badly damaged (and later was gutted by fire), and wait for help to come to us was the right one. Our actions to drive the 3.5 km to the FOB helped save the Sergeant's life. The doctors told us this morning that had we waited his brain would have swelled and there would have been nothing anyone could have done to save him. The fact that he got from the explosion to the trauma center in Baghdad within an hour was amazing.

The Team spent three hours in Combat Stress today. Combat Stress - the Army finally got smart and started to provide counseling for soldiers immediately following a critical incident. I was glad to have Chaplains, doctors, and social workers there.

It was hard and painful to hear each person's recollections. There were a lot of images that I saw that other people saw too - they are stark, vivid, and I'd just rather not detail them here. There was a lot of "what if this", and, "I should have done this", and a lot of self doubt and self blame. And a lot of tears. As we broke I got the last word. I told the men that there was only one person to blame and that was the coward who planted that bomb and set it off. On that we were all in agreement.

After lunch I wrote the award for the driver of the HUMVEE who drove with a flat tire, no power steering, smashed windshield, and the transmission starting to burn. I also wrote the award for the Lieutenant who pulled the Sergeant out of the turrent and provide immediate medical care.

I found the Chaplain. I do not seek out the clergy too often, but this Chaplain, Blessing is his last name (no kidding) is a Soldier's Chaplain. We have chatted several times before yesterday and I like him. He put my head straight. He told me to give the pain and the burden I feel up to God because it is too heavy for me to carry. Man; I am still struggling with that one. I think I need to save that topic for another time. Regardless, the Chaplain helped me and that was important.

Then - I tried to get back into "the game". I went to the gym and worked out. Although it was hard to focus I knew it was important to re-establish my routines and my late afternoon work out with my boss is part of that. We hit dinner and I went back to the office for my evening paperwork. In other words I began to Soldier on.

There is no choice in the matter. We must Soldier on. On Saturday I am going back out with the Team.

There are still missions to do and my responsibilites to the Army, to my unit, to my Soldiers, did not end yesterday. I know there is more to process in all of this and that will come in time.

64:02:09:25

My Test

2005-04-20T14:12:00.000-04:00

The explosion happen so fast. I was looking out the window when I saw the smoke and debris fly past. The HUMVEE rocked. I told the driver to get us out of the kill zone and we drove. The second vehicle came up on the radio; they had struck a bomb and their gunner was wounded.

That was eight hours ago. I am still numb but physically fine. I did not receive a scratch. I am mentally and emotionally drained.

We had been at the DC Hall for the bi-weekly meeting of the local governance. I brought one person to get the notes from the meeting and another person had to link up with a local national at the Hall.

There was tension in the air all over this area of Baghdad the last wek or so. The storm clouds between the IPs (police) and local clerics had rumbled with thunder the day before when they threatened to kill one another. Then today the thundercloud opened up. There were two attacks on the IPs in the area. The smoke from one attack was clear on the horizon from the DC.

A hour after the attack my Team was ordered into sector to go to one of the blast sites and conduct consequence management; talk to the locals, find out what they know, and somehow mitigate the damage caused.

I received the orders via radio. The grid location they gave me was to a police station, which made sense. The people who sent me the orders made me verify the grids, which I did. I briefed the Soldiers and we moved out.

When we got the site, using both a map and a GPS "plugger", there was no blast site to be found but there was a police station. With the help of an interptreter we managed to get to the front gate of the police station. There were no US forces and no signs of a blast. Using my interpreter I asked local police where the bomb had gone off. The acknowledged that they knew and would lead us there. We raced off with the IPs in front of us. The radio traffic I was listening to led me to believe we were heading in the right direction.

When we got there, again, no US forces, no blast site, just a bunch of IPs standing by their trucks. This was not the place we were looking for. My next move was to move somewhere away from this location and call up to higher for further direction. What I did not know was that the IPs had brought me to a live bomb, confusing my request to take me to the blast site. I never had time to find this out.

The explosion was triggered - it sounded further away than where it was - it was right behind me.

We were driving back towards the FOB. Our battle drill is to get out of the kill zone as quickly as possible which I ordered. The driver of the second vehicle came on the radio. He said the vehicle was struck and that the gunner had a head wound. I decided that there was no time to wait for the medevac helicopter to arrive because several days ago a Soldier died while waiting for help to come to her. All I could think was that the FOB and help was two miles away.

Although badly damaged the driver of the second HUMVEE managed to get to the front gate of the FOB before it stopped running and caught on fire. For the first time I got out and saw the HUMVEE. The front was smoking with oily smoke and a blown radiator. I ran back and opened the door. There was blood everywhere; on the seat, on his clothes, on other people. The Soldier was talking. He had a serious head wound and there was no time to spare. Everything moved fast. We grabbed the wounded Soldier out of the vehicle and onto the hood of the last vehicle and drove through the gate while three of us held him onto the hood of the HUMVEE.

We made it to the emergency room and into surgery. Time seemed to stop right there and then. In the distance I saw the smoke rising from the burning HUMVEE. My uniform and equipment was stained with blood. My soldiers were scattered in several directions. I had just been attacked.

The next few minutes were a blur. I remember walking back to the hospital and seeing the helicopter taking off from our emergency room to the big hospital in the IZ. No one needed to tell me it was bad.

The last several hours have been filled with questions.

The Soldier is on his way to Germany. He is not going to live. He received a piece of shrapnel through his brain. He is being kept alive long enough for his wife to be with him at the end. I have no other solace than the hope that she can get to him before it is too late.

I am a Soldier and a leader of Soldiers. I know the right decisions I made today. I know the ones I will always question. I know my Soldiers reacted the way I had taught them. I know I received bad information that sent me to a place I should not have been. I know what is expected of me - and I will do my duty.

However, none of that matters to me right now. The reason I am writing is tonight is because I am afraid to go to sleep. I am afraid of letting my mind rest and play out all of the little things that I might have seen, should have seen, could have done differently.

I will keep you posted.

65:00:30:48

Happy Birthday To Me

2005-04-19T08:15:00.000-04:00

Standing on the 14th of July Bridge over the Tigris River.

Today is my birthday. I am 38 years old. When and how in the hell did that happen? My thirties have been a tumultuous time for me. Now as I approach, oh-my-God-40, I am thankful for peace and happiness that I have found in my life.

I don't feel old. I look at my friends, now parents, or soon to be parents, they're not old. Thirty-eight is an in between age. Between youth and maturity? Maturity and mid-life crisis? I don't know. I do know that I turned 38 in a war zone.

This place can grate on you. Any war will do that to you. Being away from home, eating the same food, sleeping in a lousy bed, having intermittent power, and lack of loved ones around you will get to you after a while. This is true of me as it is for many others here. This place has worn thin for me in the last months. Not the experiences or the people; just the daily monotonous grind.

However, there is that element of living in the moment of adrenaline that makes me feel young. Going out into a muhalla (neighborhood) and interacting with the locals while keeping your senses alert for signs of danger is not for the old, or the weak, or the cowardly. Fortunately for me I have been able to have that sensation for the past few days.

Oddly, at 38 I feel alive and rejuvinated being here. I look forward to this day, even though the birthday part will be low key and underrated. It's a good day. It's another day closer to home. A day closer to Lisa, Sam, my mom and dad and Andy, Christine, Gregg, Pat, Amy, Big Greg, the crew at Cornell and everyone else.

Sam sent me a special birthday greeting!

66:17:30:27

Standing Over The Tigris

2005-04-17T13:04:00.000-04:00

Every once in a while I have one of those moments. One of those moments when I realize I am in Iraq and how significant Iraq is. The other day the moment occurred to me while I was standing on the 14th of July Bridge. This is the bridge which crosses the Tigris River into the IZ.

I have been fortunate enough to get outside of the wire and fill in for a Team Chief who is on pass. It is great to get away from the office work and the tedious meetings with local sheiks and imams who are only interested in their own bottom line. Taking a team out has that element of danger and the uniqueness of always finding something new about this country and its people that gives me a charge.

I was responsible to make an escort run to the IZ for a staff officer. Not a glamorous mission but a mission nonetheless. We needed to stop and wait on the bridge to pick up an engineer. The 14th of July Bridge is the Iraq equivalent of the George Washington Bridge or the Golden Gate Bridge in that it is well known to all Iraqis and most Middle Easterners. It is name commemorates the date in 1956 when the monarchy was overthrown by the Baath party. However, it is actually quite ordinary by any standard; a short, typical suspension bridge whose towers cannot even be discernibly seen on the skyline.

I stood on the bridge and looked down. Below me was the grayish water of the Tigris River. Reeds were wrapped around the supports below me and it was clear by the way the water moved around them that the Tigris River has a strong current. The water is polluted with sewage and chemicals due to the lack of any kind of environmental protection. I would not want to fall in - although there are pictures of Saddam swimming in it.

The Tigris River. This is the Fertile Crescent between the Euphrates River and the Tigris. This is where the biblical Garden of Eden is traced to and where one of the first known civilizations arose from. For the most part we, we all, started from here; whether you area a devout by-the-Book Christian or a Darwinian evolutionist.

The known culture in this country compared to the establishment of our country is the equivalent of a 100 year old person to a 4 year old child. Imagine a person that old taking direction from a child who cannot even read complete sentences yet. Maybe that means we cannot presume to know every damn thing and that people in this part of the world move to a pace and a rhythm that we cannot even begin to understand.

I am in Iraq. Iraq is more than a country that was relieved of tyrannical leadership. There is a deep and rich history that, to be honest, I have not even begun to fully comprehend. However, standing there on the bridge I got lost in the thought of all that has occurred along the banks of the river before I even knew where the Tigris River was.

I was brought back to the present with the thunder of helicopters flying just a hundred feet overhead and military traffic passing behind me. One of our young soldiers came up to me and said that he never would have imagined ever standing over the Tigris.

Neither did I. Neither did I.

68:04:59:35

Photo Of The Day

2005-04-14T22:59:00.000-04:00

This girl giggled and smiled for me when I took her picture

Children swarm soldiers because we usually carry candy, toys, or the ever favorite - soccer balls. They love to have their picture taken and eagerly wait to see the image on the digital camera screen.

Photo Of The Day

2005-04-09T12:02:00.000-04:00

A Civil Affairs soldier stands watch next to an irrigation canal in southern Baghdad's farming area.

Irrigation canals cut all through this area of Iraq; pumping water in from the Tiger River. Once the pumps bring the water to the highest canal gravity takes care of the rest. Although it is hard to detect from this picture, this canal rises almost 30' above the farmland.

76:03:48:03

Photo Of The Day

2005-04-08T12:24:00.000-04:00

Produce

Iraqi men sell gorgeous locally grown produce in a makeshift kiosk. The fruits and vegetables are grown in nearby farms and brought to the wholesale market near this stand. The men buy from the wholesalers and sell along the main highway.

77:01:31:25

Good News Update

2005-04-06T11:56:00.000-04:00

A couple of pieces of good news that I want to pass along.

First, DC dog dad is alive! I went to the DC yesterday and there he was, lying in the shade. When I walked over to him he raised his head and wagged his tail. He was shot in the hip but fortunately the Iraqis are lousy shots because the bullet merely nicked him. Today I brought him some neosporin for the wound - which he promptly licked off. He was up and playful and was even chasing down Iraqi cars as we left. The little guy is still there and will stay there as long as the big guy is around.

To answer LM; no the Hamurabi school did not get a flagpole. Instead they received a new road and water purifier for the school. The road is an important improvement to the rural school which shuts down in the rainy season. When it does rain the mud is impassable. The paved road replaced a narrow and dangerous dirt road that parallels an irrigation canal. The choke points along the road that were dangerous to our tanks, Bradleys, and HUMVEES have been widened. The water purifier will allow for drinkable water from the tainted canal to run to the school. I have not visited the school in many, many months. I did run into the head mistress back in December when we were conducting a house to house cordon and search. I just happened to be on the search team into hers. Her entire family was sitting under guard in the living room. When we saw each other she jumped up with a big smile on her face and welcomed me in (this is after we barged in, of course) and set to making tea for everyone. I hope to get back to the once before I leave.

The market sewer line was fixed - twice. The contractor had to have the threat of non-payment before he did the job correctly. Iraqis can play ignorance very well but they also do the work surprisingly well when you take away the money. The contaminated soil was removed. The wall separating the market from the highway was built. The market continues to thrive and is now a safer place to shop. The market is still ripe for business expansion. I am meeting with an American representative of investors and consultants. The market will be on the list to visit.

Finally, Me? I am running again. The first time since I got here. My knee is still sore from major surgery in December 2003 but it feels good to run around the compound. Just to give you an idea how big the FOB is - I ran for 20 minutes and only went half way. My mood seems to be improving as the time winds down to coming home!

79:03:41:53

Photo Of The Day

2005-04-04T12:31:00.000-04:00

A HUMVEE heads into the sun on an early morning mission. The sign warns locals to keep back.

I have taken a lot of pictures in Iraq and I now have the ability to share them with you much easier than in the past. I will post a picture a day or every other day that shows some of the missions, people, and places we have encountered and done.

I hope you enjoy them.

81:03:28:10

DC Dogs

2005-04-02T21:25:00.000-05:00

Dad and pup

DC is short for DAC, short for District Advisory Council; pronounced "dack". I have mentioned the DC before; it's where I was the day NPR caught the explosion on tape and that that explosion caught me off guard.

The DC in our area belonged to Uday Hussein, Saddam's son. It was used as a hunting club before the overthrow of the regime. I do not know much more of the history of the DC other than that. There is a main building that has a ballroom and half a dozen other rooms that served some purpose to support the club. There are three smaller buildings that were used for guards, caretakers, and storage.

The building is now used like a town hall. The local governance, essential services, women's committee, chamber of commerce, and assorted other groups all meet there. Natuarally, when they meet, we are there. We provide guidance or just listen to their complaints and jot down requests for assistance.

I go to the DC a lot.

Normally I am too focused on getting into the building and getting to the meeting at hand. However, about three months ago I begin to notice a dog in the compound. The dog was a lean, handsome, dusty colored chap and reminded me a lot of a dog I once owned in Oneonta, NY.

Let me explain about dogs in Iraq. First, most Arabs have a dislike for dogs. Dogs are not kept in the home unless it is a guard dog, and if that is the case the dog is usually a Shepard or Doberman. Most are mean, maybe by nature or out of distrust of humans. I have aimed my weapon at several wild dogs when the situation called for it. Dogs are disease spreading pests, not pets.

The DC dog was different. The DC dog was a "wild" dog but friendly to soldiers. I say "wild" because he slept under a shack on the compound and ate from the garbage. Obviously, no Iraqi cared for the dog. He would come up to be petted and get the occasional MRE beef patty. Over time a lot of the soldiers came to really like the dog. They'd play with it and he'd play back.

The dog knew he had friends and was grateful for the attention from us and returned the favor with his unique talent; he chased cars. Whenever American convoys would depart the DC the dog would go out and chase down cars and make them stop so we could enter traffic. He never chased HUMVEES; just Iraqi cars. This dog was cool.

Two months ago I noticed something new - puppies! Three little tykes, about two to three months old, all sticking close to dad. I never saw the mom. The puppies had dad's coloring except for the salt and pepper one. It was also about then I noticed another young dog; a longer haired, floppy eared, scamp of a dog. He was older than the puppies but obviously born in later 2004. This young guy had half a tail because someone took a knife to it for fun. Bastards.

One month ago the puppies disappeared. Dad had a noticable look of worry on his face if you can believe that. Nonetheless, he continued to chase down traffic that dared come near us when we exited the DC. I began to search him out on every trip to bring him some food and fresh water. After a while the dog recognized me whenever I arrived and would trot over to get his ears rubbed. The youngster was around more now too.

In this environment of violence and constant vigilence to protect against it I found the dogs a pleasant diversion. It made feel good to give a little love to something that would never know much of it. With the puppies missing I began to worry about the dad. The pups were too young to venture out on their own. Some Iraqi, maybe a soldier, or a DC guard probably killed them in an act of machizmo in front of his friends. Could we adopt the dad as our company mascot? Could I get him cleared through a vet to bring home?

Three days ago I went to the DC and the dad was missing. The local kids said that some Iraqi soldiers shot it. They made the noise of gun fire, "pshooh, pshooh, pshooh" and I just knew. Still, I walked the entire compound and couldn't find him. In my anger and frustration I even found myself outside of the compound looking. Cruel, heartless bastards. I know cruelty towards animals is just as common back home but this cuts a little deeper being here.

I found the young dog and gave him food and water and a good rub on the tummy. I saw him again today. He follows me everywhere now that the alpha dog is gone. The word of the dad being killed spread pretty fast and we are now trying to figure out what and if there is anything we can do. Probably nothing. No one cares and no one can be made to care. Roger, I get it, it's the way things are.

83:04:11:08

Keeping Busy - Part II of Too Long

2005-03-30T13:19:00.000-05:00

The combination of "hitting the wall", as Gregg comments, and the slower OPTEMPO (Operations Tempo) has given me less to write about.

In 2002, I joined a Civil Affairs unit with the understanding that the unit would sooner or later be deployed. I left a unit, the 98th Division, because I knew that unit would never get deployed. (Oddly enough, the 98th did get deployed to Iraq and will be here 18 months). What I am saying is that I deliberately wanted to be a part of this "global war on terror". There were, and still are, a lot of personal reasons for doing this. One of those reasons was to have the experience of being an officer - a leader - in a combat theater. If you are, or were, in the military you understand what I am talking about. It is the challenge of putting into practice everything you have been trained to do; to answer the question, "can I measure up?"

Being here I have satisfactorily answered that question with a resounding "yes".

However, being here I expect to work hard. Long days and nights. Physical and mental toughness tested. Falling into bed at the end of the day.

From September to the beginning of March we were that busy. Some days the meetings went until 2230 hours (10:30 pm) and that was after a three to four hour combat patrol! Twelve hour days were common and sixteen hour days were not that rare either.

That all changed with the changing of the guard from the 1st Cavalry Division to the 3rd Infantry Division. The 3ID simply has a different way of working and using Civil Affairs. It is neither right nor wrong, it is a technique. The bottom line is that we are doing less work that we used to. Gone are the long nights of meetings. There is a lot more free time.

Free time is not something I want a lot of in Iraq. I don't need that much free time. I want the days to go by and realize that another week has disappeared.

There is an overall feeling of boredom that I can't shake. I am wise enough not to take unnecessary missions outside the wire, but I do look for reasonable excuses to get out. Today I went around to the local farms. This is more than just a feel good mission. Most farmers are growing crops from seeds from the United States or Europe. The wheat is now one meter tall and will be ready for harvest in about two months. It's one of those surreal moments to walk through a ocean of thin green stalks with an M-4, full gear, and a camera thousands of miles from home. We still work to improve the agri-businesses here and make Iraq a strong agricultural economy again. In'sha Allah. However, these missions do not occur on a daily basis.

Besides the occasional mission I occupy my time by going to the gym and reading more. The soldiers always seem to find something to do. They gaggle together in packs and play XboX, go to the gym, or watch movies on end. Their resourcefulness knows no end. Collectively we whittle the time away until it begins to really speed up in the last 30 days; which is only 56 days away.

So in closing - help me; what do you want to read about? What questions burn in your mind. Taking requests for the next 86:02:01:25.

Too Long

2005-03-26T14:29:00.000-05:00

Soldiers are allowed to gripe and I am no different. This is certainly a valid complaint. The Army deploys its people too long in a combat theater. From my observations, six months is the proper length of time.

At six months the stress and strain begins to show. In the last week I have had to conduct two commander’s inquiries into alleged serious violations of the Army’s rules and regulations. In one case a soldier was keeping a cache of hand grenades in his wall locker. In the other, a soldier allowed a local national to use his computer that contained sensitive information.

Furthermore, we have all been getting on one another’s nerves. Tempers seem shorter and the drama builds daily. Drama is the name we coined to describe when internal personalities clash, or there is an incident involving someone from outside the unit clashing with one of us. There has been a lot of drama lately.

I am no different. I find myself getting torqued from time to time and having to reel myself back in from lashing out. Sometimes I am not able to.

Maybe for these reasons the Navy, Marine Corps, and Air Force are only doing six month tours in Iraq. However, the Army, who is deployed the most, and now with combat divisions returning for their second tours (those would be year long, boot on the ground tours), stays the longest.

I am sure that the Army has done a study on the effects of long term deployments. Just as sure, I am positive if there was a down side for soldiers that the Army dismissed these claims. I am also sure that somewhere in the Pentagon, some Captain or Major, someone who has never done a tour in his life, did a study showing that it is less cost effective to rotate soldiers and equipment every six months.

However there are human costs that cannot be measured in dollars. There is a cost in the behaviors of soldiers. Once a unit goes past six months normally good soldiers go a little stir crazy and the marginal soldiers begin to get into real trouble. There is a cost on the families left at home; marriages crumble, children suffer. There is a cost in morale, recruiting, and retention all of which tend to go down when soldiers are faced with long deployments.

If the Army makes me deploy again to Iraq or Afghanistan for 12 months I will go because I am good soldier. I will also retire from the Reserves when I hit twenty years. If the Army asks me to deploy for six months, I may just volunteer to go.

I have deep respect for the Greatest Generation, whose soldiers went until the war was won. However, this is a different war in different circumstances. The Army will continue to use its active divisions and overuse its Reserves and National Guard. That is the nature of this type of war – constant presence. Six months is fair to ask. Six months is manageable. Two six month tours in two years still aren’t as bad as two, one year tours within a four year time frame.

I am ready to come home.

90:01:22:11

They Can't Serve Lobster Today, It's Monday!

2005-03-21T11:39:00.000-05:00

I actually said that - "they can't serve lobster, it's Monday!"

We eat in a dining facility, or DFAC (pronounced dee-Fak). Old soldiers show their age they call it a "chow hall". The DFAC is a modern looking cafeteria. We just opened a new one on the FOB and decorated it with sports memorabilia, movie posters, and televisions with ESPN on. We have servers in bow ties instead of young Privates on K.P. We have the things that only remind us that they are trying to make us forget where we are eating.

We have plenty of food. We serve thousands in a day.

Available at breakfast; omelets to order, eggs, bacon, sausage, muffins, bagels, oatmeal, French toast, pancakes, fruit, yogurt, coffee, juice, tea, etc.

The dinner menu is more extensive than the lunch menu. Available at dinner and lunch; taco bar, salad bar, cold cut bar, potato bar, short order (burgers, wings, pizza, hot dogs, egg rolls), and the main line. The main line will have steak, ham, turkey, pork roast, lasanga, and even Mexican. Don't forget the desert bar!

Most of the food tastes the same despite the variety. It is hard to tell whether you are eating chicken or pork or meatloaf. The food must be served with less spices than I usually cook with back home as not to alienate anyone's taste buds. Pass the hot sauce.

However, fish is served every Friday for dinner.

Fish is always served on Fridays in keeping with the Catholic tradition of fish on Fridays. At least that's what I remember from parochial school. Fish night consists of shrimp or haddock or crab legs, and occasionally, lobster. The lobster is the size of a child's fist and looks more like large prawns than small lobster. It tastes like lobster with the appropriate amount of dunking in melted butter.

Friday, without exception, it is fish night. We use fish night to mark off another week here and another week closer to get home. Fish night - if you have been too busy to pay attention to what day it was - was the way to remind you that another week had gone by. Back in November and December I can remember thinking, "fish night, already? Wow, that went fast. Where did the time go?" Mentally, I need fish night.

Imagine the confusion on Monday when they served lobster for dinner! What a cruel hoax to trick our brains via our stomachs that even more time had erased from the clock!

The horror. The horror.

95:08:09:03

99:15:21:18

2005-03-17T03:41:00.000-05:00

Days Hours Minutes Seconds

As I write this that is how much time is left on the countdown clock Lisa gave me back in August. We have crossed the threshold of double digits on the calendar. This is a huge mental hurdle for all of here and everyone at home waiting for us.

I remember in November when there was still 220+ days on the clock. I tried not to look at it too much. But now it is different. Now time will start to go by quicker. In 84 days our replacements will be here. Fifteen days after that we are homeward bound.

Also, happy birthday to Patrick O'Brien. What are the chances he'd be born on St. Patrick's Day? Once again he leads the charge as my group of friends turns another year older. There's another beer to set aside for when I get home...

99:15:14:57

New Address, Same Place

2005-03-13T06:00:00.000-05:00

Everyone,

Here is my new address for the FOB

MAJ Rich Brown
A/403rd CA BN
4UA 3ID
APO AE 09364

Don't worry if you have already sent mail or packages, they will still get here to the old address.

Speaking of the FOB. It rained the other day for 36 hours. Not a soft drizzle but a steady cold soaking rain. Because the water table is so close to the surface here, and because of the composition of the soil and Baghdad is one huge flood plain, there is no place for the water to go but up. Out side of office we had two inches of standing water. Water - not just water - flowed out of the sewer covers. The mud was everywhere. There was no place to go on the FOB and not get soaked in the process.

There are two things that I know of that can really sap a soldiers energy; being cold and being wet. It saps your desire to do anything. Yes, the heat is miserable, but it is not as debilitating as the cold.

The sun is out today and everything is drying out. We are getting our energy back. Work continues. Spring is coming.

Man Kissing

2005-03-09T05:39:00.000-05:00

As a Civil Affairs officer I must be aware
Of customs and courtesies. I know my fair share

However, there is one, that once I leave here I won’t be missing
And that is the custom of Iraqi man kissing

Man kissing is a way of greeting
In public, in private, wherever you’re meeting

If you help them, if they like you, they’ll think you’re top notch
The men hug you and they kiss you as your soldiers all watch

They like to kiss you on both of your cheeks
And your friends make fun of you for days, if not for weeks

Here, Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell, does not, cannot apply
Especially when you have to kiss an unshaved Middle Eastern guy

Kissing a man isn’t all that swell
Their hygiene is poor, and, well, quite frankly, they smell

I know, I know, I should be a little bit less intolerant
But, come on now, can’t they use a lot more deodorant?

Kissing a woman in this way would create problems like you couldn’t guess
Let’s just say that it would be a huge, ugly, international mess

This whole man kissing thing has left me feeling quite sad
I’ve been kissed by more men here than my very own dad

By now most of you think I am a humorous, poetry writing whiz
But there is a point I wish to make and here it is:

Its Lisa’s lips I truly miss
Her cheeks are the one’s I really want to kiss

Of course, if I don’t get home to Lisa’s arms soon
I may wind up some Iraqi man’s groom

Good-bye, 1st CAV

2005-03-06T03:30:00.000-05:00

The flags down and the guidons have been rolled up. “First Team” and “Red Team” logos are being painted over. The Brigade TOC (Tactical Operations Center) is devoid of the hustle of soldiers with their computers tracking operations all over the sector. Fourteen names are etched in marble on the memorial outside the chapel. The large yellow and black horse blanket patch is longer present on the FOB. The 1st Cavalry Division is going home. For one year they were deployed in Baghdad, Iraq.

As I write this they are probably still in Kuwait, preparing personnel and equipment to redeploy back to Fort Hood, Texas. Within a week the main body will be back in Texas with their families. They will have a month off before having to report back in to work and train up for the next mission – whatever and wherever that may be.

This is a bittersweet moment in the deployment for us (for me). On the one hand this is the big transition and major milestone towards the end of our deployment. Although we can’t see the finish line yet we can at least recognize that we are closer to finishing the race. We take some comfort knowing that we are the next unit to depart this FOB.

On the other hand, many of the faces and relationships that we have fostered under the unusual circumstances of war are gone. War does forge a different type of relationship. Maybe it is the kind of relationship as on winning sports teams, or in fraternities, or being part of a monumental project. It’s that sense of being part of something bigger than yourself.

After six months you develop friendships and associations with other officers and soldiers that make life and work more bearable. You know the people you can turn to in order to make things happen. You look forward to seeing certain people throughout the day for five, ten, or fifteen minutes of chit chat about something other than Iraq. You become attuned to how the leaders think and act. You understand their guidance and the direction for the way ahead for security in this area and can anticipate their needs. Although there are tempers and heated discussions and even animosities, those relationships still create a cohesion and harmony everyone can rely on.

In a matter of days last week that all ended for us and the 1st CAV. I spent time seeking out the people who mattered the most to me to shake hands, give hugs, and say “see you later”. Helicopters thudded into the landing zone in the late hours of the night and ran back and forth to the airport as hundreds upon hundreds of troops departed the FOB. Convoys, also loaded with equipment, departed with hundreds more. Even though these bodies have been replaced with new soldiers from another unit, the personalities have not.

I, we, the Iraqi people in Baghdad owe a debt of thanks to these soldiers. Your presence here made a difference for the better. Thank you, good luck, and God speed on your journey home.

Farmer Brown

2005-02-28T18:17:00.000-05:00

Not everything we do in the Army is what they teach you or prepare you for in schools and training. There are times soldiers; officers, non-commissioned officers, and enlisted find themselves in jobs doing things they would never imagine doing.

Had someone told me that the first time I’d ever drive a farm tractor would be in the war zone of Baghdad, Iraq while Apache attack helicopters flew over head cover for me I would have laughed.

Among my responsibilities as a Civil Affairs officer is acting as the Agricultural Liaison in the area we work in. This job was thrust on me in December, when there was no one else available. Almost immediately I earned the moniker, Farmer Brown.

One of the projects I was responsible for was the delivery of 10 farm tractors and 20 irrigation pumps to two farmer cooperatives that are in this region. All of this equipment was part of the Oil For Food program that the former regime received before the war. The intent was for them to sell the equipment to the farmers at subsidized prices. However, even at a 50% discount most of the equipment was too expensive for many. All of this equipment has been sitting in a storage yard somewhere in Iraq for at least four years.

I heard an important statement as I learned about Iraqi agriculture; Iraq is not an oil country with farms – Iraq is an agricultural country with oil. The point is that if we can collectively get the agricultural economy up and running again so that Iraq resumes its exports to the Middle East then it can become just as financially viable as if it were exporting oil.

To that end the Army is helping the Iraqi farmers in several ways. We have provided seed and fertilizer to farmers. We have cleared once clogged irrigation canals. The U.S. Army was also able to purchase some of the farm equipment at discount prices in order to turn it all over to the Iraqis.

This was my mission last week; convoy to the storage yard, pick up the equipment, and escort it back to the FOB for distribution.

We departed at 0700 to drive to Taji to link up with the haul assets; 5 HETS (lowboy tractor trailers), one extra “bobtail” truck, and a HEMMET (cargo truck) plus our four Up-Armored HUMVEES. By 0845 we were back on the road heading south to the storage yard. In the air were two AH-64 Apache helicopters, each with its 30mm machine gun and eight Hellfire missiles. They reconned the route in front of us and provide security to what would be a slow moving convoy.

We arrived at the facility and began to move equipment. We received two 5 ton tractors and eight 3 ton tractors. They had to be jump started before they could be driven. Once they fired up the local working in the facility climbed down off of the seat and looked at me. Me?! I climbed on board and looked down. They had three separate shifting levers to make it move plus three pedals. The Iraqi eyed me, bemused. Fortunately, the gear shifts were all marked in English.

Clutch, shift, gas – GO! If my dad could have seen me!

I drove away and over to the HETS where I was expecting the HET crews to load the equipment up the ramp and on to the body of the truck. The look in their eyes said that I now had more experience driving farm equipment than they did and not one of them offered to take the wheel. Now I had to get this 5 ton piece of machinery up narrow ramps and into position so it can be strapped down. Now the soldiers were eyeing me, bemused.

Clutch, shift, gas – s-l-o-w-l-y I crept up the ramps and into place. I did my father and brother proud.

Within an hour I was a pro and everything was in place. While we loaded the helicopters continued race tracks in the sky over our position. Although it took longer than it should have, the load was tied down with thick metal chains and we were ready to drive back to the FOB. The Apaches took their places and we moved out at a slow pace.

We hit one of the main highways taking us back to the base when one of the drivers, in a moment of carelessness, failed to see the brake lights of the HET in front of him. They collided hard, disabling the trail truck. We were _ mile way from where three soldiers had died two days before from an IED. We were on a bad stretch of road in a very bad neighborhood.

We called for and received the QRF (Quick Reaction Force) within minutes. They arrived with Bradleys, M-1 tanks and more HUMVEES plus the Apaches over head. Half and hour later we were back on the road back to the FOB while the QRF remained to tow the broken truck - all this for tractors.

I arrived on the FOB and all of the soldiers who had grown up on farms were there to greet me. This time I had no trouble finding volunteers to off load the tractors and drive them across the FOB to their parking area – the long way.

Ten tractors and twenty pumps are a small gesture but a gesture nonetheless. In the long term there is a plan to get the Iraqi agri-business running again. Within a couple of weeks the paperwork will be ready to turn the tractors and pumps over to the co-ops. Until then I walk out to the parking area, climb up, and start my tractors. That’s me, Farmer Brown.

War – A Parent’s Lament

2005-02-22T09:10:00.000-05:00

I have seen children barefoot and needy because their parents do not have work.

I have seen children doing hard manual labor that adults do not want to do.

I have seen kids swarm HUMVEEs with only two words, “Mista, Gimmee”, those words meaning candy, toys, soccer balls, pencils, the sun glasses on your face – whatever we have that they do not.

I have seen teen-agers shoveling the blackened, bloody chunks of suicide bombers off of the pavement adding the final indignity to the end of that life by burying it all by the side of the road.

There are times I have even seen the next generation of hate staring back at me as it is passed down from one to another.

There is a greater sadness than any of these tragedies of war I have witnessed here. That is not being able to be present for my own child.

Sam has been on a rollercoaster since I returned to Iraq from leave. And last week it got as bad as I hope it gets. No, my child didn’t set fire to the school or shave the cat, but she did act out in a negative way. In a way that requires the attention of all the primary adults in her life; her mother, her teacher, and me. And I am here.

Sam wants to feel in control of her life. I suppose it is fair to say that over the past four years she has had very little of it in respect to the lives her parents have led. Divorce is a tough thing for a kid. As adults try to find their way back into a new solid relationship mistakes are made along the way. Unfortunately, unlike pre-children dating, when you make a mistake there is a witness to it all.

In the defense of Stacey and me – if we made mistakes we never – and I mean ever – marginalized our daughter in the process. Our child has never had a relationship put ahead of her needs. In fact, our daughter has never gone without the love and attention she deserves. As divorced parents, Stacey and I do a fair job of co-parenting. We do not always agree, but at least we try to speak with the same voice when it comes to the decisions of raising Sam.

Being away from your family is tough and all parents deal with some form of guilt when raising a child. What parent has not worried that something they do, or fail to do, messes up their child? Those emotions are magnified when the one thing positive thing I have to show for my time on this earth needs me and I am off to war.

This is 2005, when I, as soldier, can email, instant message, and even phone home, everyday if I want to. In many respects this makes it harder because I can be there – a day, sometimes hours - after a bad day and speak to Sam. All I am left with are words of disappointment in her behavior, encouragement to do better in the future, and the words of love from a father to his little girl. It leaves me impotent to help in any other way.

I am not alone. I am sure that there is a lot of stress among the children of soldiers. Family Support groups do a good job of providing a collective center of information and assistance for soldier’s families. However, that is not enough for me today. I know Stacey is doing a good job being both physical parents right now. I know Sam’s teacher strives to help Sam make the right decisions. I know Sam has the love of my family and Lisa. All that leaves me with hope until I get home. However, it is still not enough for me today.

All war is terrible, Sam. It is most hard on the children. You, who did not choose this for me, nor would you if you could. Maybe we should let the children decide if we should ever go to war. Maybe then we wouldn’t have to pay such a high price.

Stay strong, be safe, and be good to someone. You are still my Number 1 girl.

In A Day: An Explosion, Chinese Food, and NPR

2005-02-19T06:27:00.000-05:00

I went out of the wire on a multi-tasked mission; take NGO-man (he’s back for a visit) and a NPR reporter out into sector to attempt to generate small business stimulation, take NGO-man to the local District Council building to process small business grants, and go the IZ so that various people could conduct business at various locations.

I was not in charge of the mission so I had the rare opportunity to be the rear machine gunner on the convoy. I was also site security – making sure that the VIPs did not stray too far and that the area was secure for them to work freely. These tasks require a different type of concentration than being in charge of the mission or meeting with local Iraqis. It taps into a different level of energy and focus.

The District Council building was once Uday Hussein’s hunting club. It is a large compound surrounded by 20 ft high walls. There is Iraqi security on site as well as the addition security of a US patrol. Because of this security we parked in a non-tactical formation. For the duration of our stay at the DC hall those who were not involved in business inside lounged by the HUMVEEs.

After awhile, and typical of human behavior, several soldiers became complacent and took off their helmets to enjoy the warm spring sun. I told everyone to get back in uniform and they – willingly – put their Kevlars on. I walked away from the group when it happened.

I saw it before I heard it; a huge 60 foot black mushroom cloud. The sound wave reached me a quarter second later. Twisted pieces of metal fell from the sky moments after that. The blast came from the main highway which was 600 meters in front of me. It was an enormous explosion and the closest that I have been to one since I arrived here.

The DC building emptied in a rush as I and another solider ran in to check on the welfare of our people inside and start to roll aid towards the scene. Before we could leave we were told that the explosion had been a controlled detonation by EOD and that the people back in the TOC had failed to send a warning message.

I deflated but my system was still full of adrenaline.

When we were done we at the DC hall we left for the IZ. My reason to travel to the IZ was concluded rather quickly so I had well over an hour to kill. I found myself at the only Chinese restaurant in Baghdad – probably in all of Iraq. Chow hall food all tastes the same no matter how much hot sauce you put on it so sit down to a heaping plate of shrimp fried rice was a break from the monotony – an American, in Iraq, eating Chinese food.

I guess I find that humorous when I think back to my social studies teachers explaining the “great Melting Pot” theory of the United States when they said America was a place where a person of German decent could eat spaghetti and meatballs in Miami, Florida.

While all of this was happening we had a reporter from NPR embedded with us. He was doing a report on NGO-man and his company, VEGA. He spent a lot of time with NGO-man as we toured a factory when they make exquisite handmade furniture. He recorded me making a couple of statements about the importance of NGOs in Iraq. I also – in attempt at shameless self promotion – told him he should do a story on my web journal. I explained how the readership has grown since I started it in June 2004. So who knows, maybe one of you will be interviewed as one of my readers.

All in a days work.

Tragedy In The Family

2005-02-16T12:14:00.000-05:00

“For he today that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother”
William Shakespeare

And his brother shall be my brother.

Brian is an officer in our unit here. Today we received the news that Brian’s brother, David, was killed in action.

David enlisted prior to Brian entering West Point. From what I gathered in my chats with Brian, there was a mutual admiration between them. When Brian went to Airborne School, David was his instructor. David pinned the silver wings on Brian’s chest at graduation.

Brian missed his brother. He commented how his brother managed to get the entire family, except Brian, together for Christmas in 2004, because he was about to deploy. Brian was hoping to get a pass while the two of them were both in Iraq so that they could get a photo together for the family.

As Brian’s extended family, we are left feeling numb and empty.

Brian came back into the Reserves after a four year separation. He came back to be, as he puts it, “part of the solution” and because he is that kind of patriotic guy. I would imagine part of it was because of his brother as well.

David was in Iraq less than two weeks after arriving with the 3rd Infantry Division when he was killed by a roadside bomb on Valentine's Day. He is one of the first causalities the 3ID has had on this rotation in Iraq.

Brian left for the airport this evening. Brian will escort his brother on the long trip home to his family for burial. I could not imagine a heavier burden as a brother, as a son, or as a soldier.

And because Brian is a soldier, and because his brother would not have it any other way, Brian will return to Iraq and finish the job he came here to do. That is what a soldier does. That’s what makes people like Brian and David a cut above the rest.

Brain joked earlier today “leave it to David to bring the entire family together again.” As the family gets ready to be together again one last time let us all remember them in our prayers.

My Friend the Enemy

2005-02-10T08:24:00.000-05:00

I try to write about facts as I understand them in this journal. This is a rare entry where facts and my opinions collide.

Dr. Kahlid (not to be confused with my interpreter), an aquaintence of mine, was killed the other night. His body was delivered to Yarmook hosptial in the trunk of a car with two gunshot wounds to the head and one to the chest. It is unknown who did it, but I have my theories.

Dr. Kahlid came to visit us many times on the FOB. He was a businessman and a respected, educated Sunni who advised us on many matters during Ramadan and in December leading up to the month before the election. The last time I saw Dr. Kahild was in January just before I came home on Leave. He greeted me at the mosque he represents as we delivered humanitarian aide there. He went out of his way to say hello - even on a crowded Al Saidyia street. He spoke English well enough not to need an interpreter. He was a friendly and warm person every time he spoke to me. He was unafraid to be seen with American forces.

He was also the enemy.

Dr. Kahlid was somehow linked to the insurgency. As I say that, no direct connection linking him to the terrorists exists that I know of. I did run into a local national once who told me that Dr. Kahlid and his mosque were funding AIF in Falluja. I base my opinion more on my observations, "gut" feelings, and the opinions of others.

I saw the power of this man and it was intimidating. When Dr. Kahlid walked into a room imams and sheiks alike all stood for him. When he spoke Iraqis listened, their heads nodding in approval. He clearly was able to steer conversations and influnece group decisions. In the several times I heard him speak, Dr. Kahlid always gave me a bad vibe. His rhetoric made got under my skin. When he was in our company he had the audacity to tell us exactly what we were doing wrong and how we were going to fail. He accused other Iraqis, people I knew and liked, of being untrustworthy. However, the old addage "keep your friends close, but keep your enemies closer" applied - for both sides - and we all managed to get along.

I think Dr. Kahlid was a legitimate front to the real deal, real AIF. In my scenario I believe that prior to the election that he had a lot of people scared for their own lives for the outcome of the election. I believe that Dr. Kahlid thought the elections were going to be a tremendous failure and in the aftermath the right wing Sunnis would still maintain some form of control over the area. When the elections did not fail Dr. Kahlid either became a scapegoat within his own group or was targeted by the emerging Shia powerbase. In the murky waters of Iraqi political/factional/religious infighting it is hard to tell what the truth is.

So, yes, another person I know has been killed. The man was decent enough, I hated his message though. It is stange that I spent time in the casual company of a terrorist.

If Dr. Kahlid was killed by Shia then I wonder what will happen once the election results are announced. There may be a bigger issue on the horizon that will create greater chaos in the Iraq. I am concerned about a purge - 40 years of pent up Shia frustation and now the power to do something about it.

We all have our fingers crossed that the only bright, shining moment for this country has not already come and gone on 30 January 2005. In 2004, the military helped set the conditions for success for the elections. This year, the new Iraqi National Council will spell out the conditions to avoid civil war as they decide upon their constitution.

Maybe now the true test is now upon them.

Free Beers

2005-02-07T11:56:00.000-05:00

Last night the Super Bowl was played in the US - Boston must be going crazy after the Red Sox and now the Patriots are champions.

In conjunction with the Super Bowl and in support of the troops, Anhauser-Busch donated real beer to the soldiers here in Iraq. Good propoganda for them - a chance to feel a little more like home for us.

Each soldier received two beers with dinner. Of course, Mother Army took as much fun out of as she could - the beers could only be consumed during dinner, no one could leave with a beer, no one could give their beers away to someone else...I mean they came just short of making all of us stand at attention to drink them.

However - if you were under 21 you could drink...about time too! Eighteen years old and old enough to lay your life on the line every day equals you are old enough to have two beers in my opinion.

The chow hall was full of the sounds of soldiers laughing and bottles clinking. I drank my two cold Budweisers with my meal of turkey and stuffing and enjoyed every minute of it. I enjoyed looking around and watching the troops who give so much every day enjoying their beers with their comrades. It was cool.

It was a great idea. It was great for the upper levels of the chain of command to approve it. They should do it for the holiday meals and the Fourth of July too! However, until they do I can say I was there for the one time we all drank on the front lines.

The Light At The End Of The Tunnel?

2005-02-05T06:08:00.000-05:00

Maybe things have changed in Iraq. Here are four examples:

During the day of the election voter passed by the body of a suicide bomber who detonated himself too early. As they passed, old women spit on the corpse as they marched to the polls. (Confirmed by two independant sources)

On election day people rushed the new Iraqi Army as they drove through the local streets in their new armored vehicles. The Army was greeted with the same enthusiasm that our forces were in the days after the fall of the regime. (Witnesses by everybody)

In our area, AIF (Anti Iraqi Forces) attacked the local police station. In the past the police have run rather than fight even though many still died in the process. This time the police stayed and fought. They brought the bodies of dead and wounded AIF to the hospital and snapped pictures as trophies. (I saw the pictures)

South of here, AIF entered into a village to enact revenge on voters. They were met by most of the villagers emerging from their homes, AK-47s in hand, and killed the terrorists. (Confirmed by two independant sources)

As I hear these stories I realize they have been filtered and altered several times. However, somewhere in there are fragments of truth. What has changed in the days since the election?

In my first months here I had the opinion that the Iraqi people were sheep and we were the shepard. They acted quite helpless. They looked to us for everything from the most basic of essential services to their safety on each and every street in Baghdad. I wondered, as many of us did, how long it would take for these people to take matters into their own hands and have some ownership on their future.

It is beginning to appear as if we may have turned a corner - the Iraqi people, the US/MNF military, and even the AIF. The people here seem to be getting tired of cowering before the terrorists. Now the word is starting to get around.

News does not travel through normal channels as it does in the Western world. Iraqis are very distrustful of what they see in the media - Western or Middle Eastern. They do beleive in the rumor mill. I played my little role today by talking to some of my Iraqi acquaintences asking them if the had heard these stories - especially of the one about the villagers taking matters into their own hands. Hopefully, this little telephone game will spread into action among the people.

And there it is - if the Iraqis take greater control over their own security, coupled with their enthusiasm for the democratic process, and followed by strong leadership in the governnment - there is hope for this country. I didn't think as much back in November and December.

Sadly, as I write this I can hear an exchange of gunfire outside of my office door. This will not be easy, but then the things that are worth it never are easy are they?

Visiting Your Life

2005-02-03T16:21:00.000-05:00

Last month I had two wonderful weeks away from Iraq. I got to go home on Leave. However there was a strange feeling that I had the entire time I was home and I have not been able to put it into words until now. Although wonderful it felt like I was a visitor looking in, just stopping by.

Don't get me wrong - I was so happy to hold Lisa, Sam, mom and dad, and see everyone else again! It was great to go to the MET in New York City with Sam and watch her run around taking in the art work. It was heavenly to spend a couple of days with Lisa away from everything else. It was great to see Pat and Amy and in a strange turn of events, Chris O'Brien. All of it - the days that were hurried and planned and the days that days that were slow and undefined - it was wonderful to be away from Iraq.

However it was a very unique experience. When someone goes on vacation they take off from work. After all, that's what vacation is supposed to be. You pack a suitcase, gather the family, get in the car and go somewhere. When you arrive there you take in the sights. Usually it is either something you have never seen before. Sometimes it is a place you are familiar with but you see it through a visitor's eyes. The latter is what happened to me.

I went home for vacation and saw everything with a sense of tremendous familiarity yet at the same time a sense of detachment. I was home from what is my current reality, which is Iraq. A reality I knew I'd need to go back to after the fifteen days were done.

Of course when you return to the FOB everyone wants to know what it was like to be home - just like they'd ask you if you had gone on vacation. This adds to this feeling that I have.

I had a nice vacation at home. I spoke the language, didn't need a map, and had a great time. Maybe I'll move there.

Election Day

2005-01-30T10:16:00.000-05:00

These are my observations to this historic day in Iraq, 30 January 2005.

Today started off with a significant amount of steady violence throughout the sector. There were suicide attacks on polling centers and indirect fires on key high value targets in the area. Most of the suicide bombers are non-Iraqis. This is in keeping with the strong Al Qaeda presence in Iraq focused against the elections. Despite the attacks there were very little casualties associated with it. I was expecting much, much worse than what I have seen and what has been reported in the news.

Despite the number of promised polling sites not all were opened. Some election support personnel did not show up. Other sites were slow to open. When the crowds formed at these sites they were directed to another site that was open. Election personnel were consolidated where they could be of best use. By mid-day, according to one commander on the ground, “everyone who wanted to vote has had the chance to vote.”

Our part in the election was limited to security and administrative support. The FOB is empty today. In the words of my boss, “every man jack” is out in sector providing protection. Although we were not at the polling sites, we were never far away. We also provided armed escort for the delivery of election personnel and election materials.

I was located in the TOC – Tactical Operations Center – all day. The TOC is the nerve center for the entire area. There are several wide screen plasma televisions. Each carries an image of a camera mounted on a tower, or underneath an UAV (Unmanned Aerial Reconnaissance Vehicle), or on an electronic map. There are also the mandatory maps, charts, and rosters. Communications gear surrounds the walls. There are representatives from all the units on the FOB and several units supporting us from off of the FOB (such as Aviation).

From this vantage point I saw this testament of the will of the Iraqi people. There was a suicide bomber outside a polling site. He detonated his bomb and killed himself and wounded others in the process. Within minutes the UAV was over head and we were observing real time video from the site. As the Iraqi police cleaned the area a crowd formed. It was the group of people who had been on line and had fled. Voting resumed within a short amount of time. The Iraqi people are resilient and brave.

Our sector reported a moderate to high level of turn out. This was even true in sectors that were considered high in concentrations of Sunni Iraqis.

It is now 1815 hours local time there is an emerging sense of amazement – the polls are closed - THEY DID IT!

The Day Before the Election

2005-01-29T06:55:00.000-05:00

It’s the day before the election. The last 36 hours have seen increased violence in our area. I know this because even though I am inside the wire I can hear the exchanges of gunfire and explosions not far away. This is the most violent it has been since mid-November.

Unlike mid-November, the violence is not directed at the FOB in the form of rockets and indirect fire. Although the FOB is relatively safe being out in sector is still very dangerous. These explosions still come with a price. Two soldiers have been killed due to roadside bombs, two pilots crashed their helicopter into a power line and died, and numerous Iraqi guards, police, election workers and innocent civilians have been murdered. The goal of the insurgents is to halt or negatively influence the election.

To be honest, these deaths have been met with a different kind of attitude than the deaths in October and November. Is there a greater atmosphere of nobility? Heroism? Sacrifice for a higher cause? We have been reminded that the cost of liberty and freedom over and over again until it gets to be cliché– however, I think there is a part of it that is true. This is the cost of freedom in this country. It is no different than so many other countries before it.

Friends, the Iraqi people will literally be putting their lives on the line tomorrow to vote. Can any of us know what that is like? Yes, there will be some very brave Americans (Multi National Forces) and Iraqis making sure that happens – but that is our job. The safest thing for a person to do tomorrow is stay home. But that won’t happen. Consider that before we let the pundits, media, and politicians tell us what the outcome “really” means.

And still we move forward here. Will we be successful? I believe so. The people want this. They see this as the only way to get the foreign military out of their country. They see this as the only way to get security back. They see this as the only way towards progress.

There are no miracles. It will take time to get this country back up and running. Years. However, our time is now measured in the next 24 hours.

(When US soldiers are killed in the line of duty we are on communications blackout until the family is notified)

Three Days Before the Election

2005-01-28T08:49:00.000-05:00

Election preparations are well underway. There is a sense of the fact that a historic event is happening and that we are going to be a part of it. There is a feeling of caution and anxiety. There sense of excitement and hope. There is the forward momentum of many people working towards a common goal. Events are now measured in hours, not days, in the significant gateways leading up to 30 January.

There is a great deal of emphasis on protecting soldiers and Iraqi citizens.

The first part of that statement takes the form of keeping soldiers in full body armor on the FOB 24 hours a day. Travel that is not necessarily is restricted and certain on post facilities have been closed. Many non essential local national workers have been given the next few days off. We have stockpiled food, water, fuel, and ammunition in the event the main supply routes are closed.

To protect the Iraqis in the neighborhoods we are providing a constant presence of M-1 tanks, Bradleys, and mounted patrols. All soldiers are giving "more" to the effort as we attempt to keep the areas we patrol safe. There is a curfew for the Iraqis to prevent vehicle traffic from getting near polling sites. Schools are closed. Barrier materials have been delivered to the polling sites.

Our role will continue to be one of giving the Iraqi people "the opportunity to vote" by providing the safest and most secure environment to vote.

Yes, this is a historic time - it is a feeling that is palpable. Having been away from the country for three weeks it is more apparent to me than having been here and observing the slow ramp up to these next few days. For the first time I too have the sense of something big - something positive - is about to happen.

Major Brown and the Case of the Missing Luggage

2005-01-27T05:57:00.000-05:00

It was a dark and stormy night...

As you read in my last entry I left on Leave without my bag. I returned to Kuwait to look for my one Army green duffle bag and the luggage of 51 other soldiers.

Upon my return to Camp Doha, Kuwait, I found the representative for KBR who said that he would find our belongings. As soon as I saw the look on his face it was clear to me that since the last time he saw me was the last time anyone bothered to look for the luggage.

How hard is to loose a military pallet of luggage? Who is responsible? Where is our stuff? These questions were asked all day long upon our return to Camp Doha. We received answers - the Army didn't know there was a missing pallet of luggage so then the United States Air Force must have lost the pallet but then KBR was responsible to track the pallet and move it so your stuff is in Baghdad or maybe your stuff is in one of two Kuwaiti airports or your stuff was opened and returned to your home of record.

Had anyone actually seen the luggage? No.

Because no one took ownership of the problem, no one worked very hard to help us.

We made a fateful decision - we're decided we were not going anywhere, especially not back to our units, until someone looked into the problem. Evidently that triggered something. Suddenly the wheels started to move.

A flurry of phone calls were made. Someone called the missing luggage facility at Kuwait City International Airport (KCI). Finally someone there said that they had some individual pieces of luggage. It matched the names of some of the soldiers. The person at KCI read the names of the pieces of luggage that he did have. My name was not on the list. Still - there were so many other pieces of luggage there that mine HAD to be there. Right?

To get out to KCI we had to take a shuttle bus. No one at Camp Doha did anything special to assist us other than showing us where to catch the bus. The bus ride is a 40 minute trip out to KCI. Once there we met the civilian (not KBR) who had already laid the stuff out. Sure enough, there it was, 21 days later. Most of it was there - except mine.

Maybe mine was in the unidentified luggage building. I was led to a connex that once opened held over one hundred duffle bags. In a dark connex full of dozens and dozens of similar looking bags I finally found my duffle bag. I wave of relief swept over me.

What was in the bag? Presents for my family including a very special one for my dad - a United States flag that I bought and flew in the city of Baghdad.

When we returned to Camp Doha we left very specific instructions with everyone associated with the luggage on where to find it for any of the other soldiers who come back after us.

Case closed.

Lessons learned:
1. Clearly mark your luggage in three or four different places - including inside of it
2. Do not put anything of monetary of personal value in luggage you are not willing to see ever again
3. When No-One is responsible for fixing a problem then No-One will take care of it
4. Creating a stink works - had we left Kuwait we would have never seen our belongings again
5. The only help you get is the help you give yourself

I am back on the FOB - with all my luggage. I arrived safely this morning. It is three days before the elections. I will keep you posted as a witness to this historic event.

Leave

2005-01-12T02:57:00.000-05:00

Sorry for leaving everyone wondering where I am. I am home! That's right, I am home on leave. I will have 15 days of R&R. I am excited to be home and see and hug my loved ones. However, the journey home was harrowing so I thought I'd share it with you.

04 Jan We started off from the FOB at 0800. Traffic on the highway was jammed because of another US convoy ahead. We made the decision to turn around and take a service road to get around the stopped traffic. The last thing we want to do is be stopped in traffic with no where to run if necessary. We drove through some rough terrain and got onto the service road just as the traffic began to move. We got on to the main road and headed north.

We got three miles up the road when I noticed that the left rear tire of the HUMVEE in front of us was soft. Beause we were the last vehicle in the convoy we were the only ones who could see it. Another mile down the road and we realized it wasn't soft, it was going flat. I called up to the first vehilce on the radio - no answer. I tried the others - no answer.

We hit the exit for the airport. Maybe we could get to the main gate without having to stop. A minute later the tire began to smoke, shred and come apart. We raced in front of them to get them to stop. All four vehicles pulled over. We were stuck on the most dangerous highway in all of Baghdad with a shredded tire.

We pulled security and I drew down on the cars behind us. All the traffic stopped and immediately turned around. We were still sitting in the open. No spare. We made the decision to drive on the tire as is and make a slow run for the safety of the main gate.

Ten long minutes later we were safe. The tire was fixed and the crew dropped me off here at a camp next to the airport where I will wait until tomorrow morning when I go over to the passenger terminal to fly out.

I am spending the rest of the day doing nothing but watching movies and starting to decompress.

05 Jan I was bussed over to the military passenger terminal at BIAP at 0630. I ran into a buddy there who was coming home on the same flight as me. There were 52 soldiers going on leave. They came from Active Duty, Reserve, and National Guard units all over Iraq.

Around 0800 that morning we stacked our own luggage on a cargo pallet. A cargo pallet is made of one solid piece of aluminum. We stacked 52 pieces of duffle bags and luggage about three feet high an tied it down with cargo netting. The it sat on the tarmac until it was time to go. The flight was at 1800. Basically, I sat around for 12 hours, reading, watching TV, an grabbing the occassional cat-nap.

When we loaded the C-130 at 1800 I did not notice that I didn't see the pallet...

Upon our arrival in Kuwait an hour and a half later it hit us, the luggage was not with us. Nor was it sent ahead of us. No, no-one in the United States Air Force or the contractor, KBR (Kellogg, Brown, and Root) knew where it was.

We were bussed to a camp in Kuwait to process for Leave. Immediately upon arrival they took my helmet and body armor. For the first time in over three months I was able to walk around without body armor or a weapon (left in Iraq). We made a stink about the luggage and sent the US Army off looking for it. It was well after midnight before we got to bed. The facilities there were large warehouses with rows upon rows of bunk beds. With most of my belongings in my bag traveling somewhere in the Middle East without me, I slept in my clothes and thanked myself for at least packing the necessities in a carry-on.

06 Jan I woke up to check out the camp. This is a large camp which acts as the main transition point for all soldiers coming or going from Iraq, Afghanistan, Africa, and other parts of that part of the world. The camp was very "Western". There was a mini-mall with a Starbuck's, KFC, Subway, etc. The soliders that worked there much more relaxed than those in an actual combat theater. I had met my first REMFs.

REMF is not a nice term which has survived since WWII. It implies a soldier who sits in the Rear Eschelon and has no clue or empathy for "combat soliders". They are desk jockeys and paper-pushers. One Sergeant had the never to tell us that we shouldn't have arrived in Kuwait without a freshly pressed uniform on. They advised to make sure we all shaved because we would be in the US soon and had to show Americans why they should be proud of us. No kidding - they actually briefed this to us.

We spent the day waiting some more. At about 1600 we began the process to get us home. First to US Customs where we were advised as to what we could and could not bring home. Next we moved to Amnesty, a place to dump off anything we were not supposed to have. Finally we arrived in the Freedom Room where we waited until we left for the Kuwaiti airport.

We continued to try to locate our lost pallet. Everyone was convinced that they could find it and get it to us in time to make the flight. Everyone but those of us who actually needed the bags.

At 2100 we left for the airport. I can save you the suspense - we never found, nor have we heard of our luggage being found. We arrived at the airport to board a MD-111 chartered aircraft that would take us from Kuwait to Germany, Germany to Atlanta. From there we would all go our separate ways onto our homes.

Because of my rank I sat in First Class and slept as much as I could. After 24 hours on a plane - I had plenty of rest!

I arrived in Syracuse, NY on 07 Jan. Lisa was waiting for me. It was wonderful beyond words.

That's about all to tell you for now. I return on 23 Jan. Until then I will watch as little of the news as possible, eat, drink and be merry as much as possible, and enjoy my family and friends for as long as I can.

Women In Combat

2005-01-02T23:12:00.000-05:00

Old beliefs die hard. Women are not allowed to serve in combat units specifically the Infantry, Armor, Field Artillery, and certain specialties in Aviation, Air Defense, and the Engineers.

Conceptually, the Army likes to envision a “front line”. Most of military history is defined in this way. This is where the main battle occurs. Soldiers in foxholes, flanking movements, massive barrages, huge pieces military equipment in the air and on land all moving in a coordinated and synchronized destruction. Sweat, hunger, fear and death all thrive here.

The modern world no longer conforms to this model. With the fall of the Soviet Union there are no super powers left to confront. For a while, at least, there are no grand battles to be had.

What battles exist now is what we have here in Iraq. We have areas of friendly units each with large sectors of responsibility. There is no front line. In essence, the enemy surrounds us at all times.

This is not really a problem for us. The enemy is equipped with rifles, rocket propelled grenades, and the occasional mortar. They are cowards who can barely take the time to aim their weapons. Most are poor, illiterate, easily manipulated people who get drunk or high before they attack. Their most dangerous course of action is to drive a car loaded with artillery shells into a military convoy. We have the most sophisticated equipment in the world and the best trained soldiers. We apply a sense of playing fair – the Rules of Engagement, the Law of War, and the Uniform Code of Military Justice.

Because there are no front lines here every soldier is a combat soldier. This was made clear in the beginning of the war with Jessica Lynch and company. The unit failed to appreciate that they were combat soldiers too. Out training now is predicated on the concept that “you’re a rifleman first”.

That includes everyone on the team. In this environment, despite what doctrine says, women are in combat. In the military, with our political correctness, we use the terms, males and females when necessary. If not necessary we use the gender neutral term of ‘solider’.

Females sit behind machine guns in turrets on convoys. Females are part of entry/search teams during cordon and searches. Females lead patrols. These soldiers are defining a new role for women in the military.

One of the Companies here is a Chemical Company. During a full blown combat operation they are responsible for the protection, detection, and decontamination of friendly units during Nuclear, Biological, or Chemical attack. They also have the responsibility to produce smoke (fog) to mask our movements. In this type of unit women are not excluded from serving.

This unit is now part of a task force that conducts mounted and dismounted (vehicle and foot) patrols. Soldiers, males and females, work side by side. The risk to them is just as great as it is to the males in the tanks. Every time they go outside of the wire they are on a combat patrol. The same is true for my soldiers.

I have not seen much evidence to prove that women should be excluded from the combat arms. Nor do I see a reason they should be excluded from the draft for that matter - the prom queen is just as able to do this job as the all-star quarterback. What I do see is a need for soldiers and their leadership to recognize that they can be called on at any moment to be that rifleman. The enemy doesn’t discriminate and neither should we.

Happy New Year!

2004-12-31T09:05:00.000-05:00

Card Wall
Originally uploaded by BlockHD57.

This is a picture of my wall where I have been putting up all of the cards you have sent me.

If you sent a card it's up there. I also received
numerous packages filled with presents, food,
decorations, books, and clothes. I shared what I
could.

Thank you - family, friends, and people I only know
through my web journal. The cards are a wonderful
symbol of support. They will go into my box of
memories I intend to bring home at the end of my
deployment.

I hope 2005 brings us all safely home as quickly as
possible.

Shot in Anger

2004-12-26T23:24:00.000-05:00

We fired our first shot in anger today.

When we go out in sector I am the patrol leader and convoy commander. I sit in the passenger seat of the first vehicle. I have a driver and a turret gunner with me. Kahlid, my interpreter, sits behind me. Everyone but the interpreter has an internal communication headset and microphone to speak to one another instead of shouting. The gunner has a light to heavy machine gun mounted in a turret that they can turn 360*.

The turret gunner is responsible for stopping the traffic as we enter the highways or cross main roads. We need to keep a safe distance from other vehicles in case they might be loaded with explosives. No vehicle is allowed to approach or intermingle with a military convoy. By now, most Iraqis are smart when they are around military traffic and stay away.

We warn them to stay away with air horns, sirens, signs on the back of every vehicle, and the appropriate hand gestures from the gunners to stop, which is holding the tips of all of your fingers and thumb together. There is a continuum that escalates to deadly force. Before deadly force is used criteria must be met according to the Rules of Engagement. In that continuum is showing and pointing your weapon at people, firing warning shots, and firing disabling shots.

Based on the situation, not all increments need to be used. An obvious situation can quickly escalate to deadly force.

My gunner, Lilly, is a 20 year old hair dresser from back home. In the Army, by trade, she is a light wheeled mechanic. She has risen to the need for her to be much more. She is a driver, security, mail clerk, Civil Affairs specialist, and machine gunner as the need calls for it. Lilly takes no shit from anyone.

We were on patrol in our sector and we were entering a highway from one of the neighborhoods. As we entered the road she motioned the traffic to stop. After she got compliance we headed out into the road. A white passenger car swerved around the stopped traffic and headed towards us. Lilly was the only one who could see it. She did not hesitate and fired from her M-4. The shot rang out in the cab of the HUMVEE. The car passed us and kept going.

I called up to her on the intercom and asked if she could warn me next time she fired a shot. She rather calmly came back and said that she shot the car, shot it in the hood. By now it was gone. I asked her if she was alright. She said she was feeling the adrenaline rush but otherwise ok. I told her she did the right thing.

Two weeks ago the same thing happened to another convoy. This time a car passed a lot of stopped traffic at a high rate of speed. The gunner for this convoy had enough time to go through the incremental use of force and was even able to warn the convoy commander. He fired two rounds to disable the car. The rounds entered the engine block, passed into the passenger compartment, and struck a young child. By the time the convoy turned to provide aid the child had died and the male driver had run off leaving the mother, a boy, and the dead girl. No one knows why he failed to stop. His fleeing the scene of what we assumed to be his family made the situation very suspect.

There are other times, of course, when the cars are loaded with explosives and make it through to convoys. When that happens soldiers pay the price.

There are still bad people here who would put their families at risk to test our resolve and probe for weaknesses. It is possible that both of these instances were tests on our security.

In both cases the shootings were legal and followed the Rules of Engagement. One ended tragically – it is a terrible event for everyone involved. The other was a lesson to my soldiers not to let their guard down. Both are a testament to good solid training, a warrior ethos, and seeing the right thing to doing it.

Merry Christmas Everyone!

2004-12-25T22:04:00.000-05:00

Merry Merry
Originally uploaded by BlockHD57.

Merry Christmas, everyone!

Dear Sam, Merry Christmas

2004-12-24T07:09:00.000-05:00

Merry Christmas Sam! This is the wonderful time of the year for good boys and girls as Santa takes out his sleigh tonight.

You have been very good this year. Look at your year…you have had to give up having me there to pick you up from school a couple of times per week. You have had to give up having me tuck you in at night. You have been wonderful in sending me cards, letters, and your amazing art work. You have been a very good girl for your mommy and you have been doing great in school for Miss Muzzy. I will make sure to let Santa Claus know just how special you are this year.

I have done a good job in celebrating Christmas. I have decorated my room with presents from Uncle Pat and Aunt Amy and Lisa. I have taped up all of my Christmas cards on the wall. I listen to all of my favorite carols. I even have two trees up! Can you imagine?!

There are a lot of boys and girls who will be missing their mommies and daddies this Christmas. That is part of the sacrifice that you are making as the child of a soldier. No, I know you didn’t choose to make this sacrifice. That is why you are all the more special. You are MY hero.

All war is terrible. I would like nothing more than to come home. The cost of being away from you is a hard price to pay. However, people need us here to help them get their country fixed. This is an important job for me to do. And although I can’t fix the whole country all at once I can help small parts along the way. I see many boys and girls who are always happy to see American soldiers in their school, homes, and neighborhoods. I always keep a few pieces of candy to give to them.

Your daddy is doing good work, staying safe, and thinking about the time when he can hold you again. I know your greatest Christmas wish is for me to be there when you open your presents.

I miss seeing Christmas through your eyes. I miss you.
Merry Christmas, Daddy loves you!

Al Saidyia

2004-12-20T00:38:00.000-05:00

We have been conducting many raids as well as cordon and searches in the area called Al Saidyia in the last month. My team continues to be a part of these operations. By documenting the damage that is inherently caused during entry operations we can reimburse people if we hit a house that is the wrong target during raids. We also conduct consequence management during the large scale cordon and searches.

These cordon and searches are different than what I have written about before. They is consists of several blocks being cordoned off and each and every home being searched. The reason we do this is to show the people of the area that we will not allow them to be terrorized by the enemy. The logic follows that since they do not feel secure in turning the enemy in to us we will go through each home looking for them. Think of the parent that punishes the child and says, “I’m doing this for your own good.” I know it sounds convoluted but the Iraqis understand this and even come out to greet us.

They open their doors, lest we kick them in, and open all of their cabinets. They offer tea. They all are willing to talk and converse with us. The consequence management portion is to explain why we are doing this and hopefully get more information from them in the security of being with the Americans.

These operations are highly successful. We have all but put an end to the Murder Company that was the cause of so much death and destruction over the last few months. We have confiscated numerous weapons, bombs, and bomb making material. We have captured many people associated with murder and kidnapping. Furthermore, we have the people of Al Saidyia coming up to us and giving us information necessary to continue to persecute the enemy.

We have completed these operations without loss of life, injury, or even firing a shot in anger.

Al Saidyia is a very affluent suburb of central Baghdad. During the old regime high ranking military officers, doctors, lawyers, and professionals lived in Al Saidyia. Those people still live there. It is primarily Baathist and Sunni. This is where the money is.

The homes are amazing. They are grand structures that look like they belong in Boca Raton or Beverly Hills. The fronts of the houses are very open in their architecture. Many use large columns or ornate walls. The houses are right next to one another but every house has a wall around it. Property is at a premium so there are only small flower gardens and tiny lawns.

The doors are thick, solid pieces of wood that during forced entry require a shotgun blast to the lock followed by a solid kick or battering ram. The houses are almost entirely made of brick and then smooth surfaced for walls. There is very little lumber ever used here so the insides of the homes are usually solid. The floors are stone tiled and covered with rugs.

The furniture and decorations in almost every house I have seen is what amuses me. To sum it up, ‘the 1970’s called – they want their furniture back’. I mean the furniture is the most awful looking stuff you have ever seen. Imagine faux velvet and lots of synthetic materials using terrible prints and color blends. Houses are littered with cheesy picture frames, and gaudy mirrors that light up and stuff that you see in flea markets and garage sales. It all thrives here. Plus – it seems all the Iraqis believe in is fluorescent lighting.

The houses are always in a shambles. I have yet to walk into an immaculately kept home. I would not categorize them as dirty, nor do I think the people are dirty, just unkempt.

Al Saidyia is in a suburb in flux. There are people who live there who see progress as a threat to their way of life. As long as there are still ruthless people in Al Saidyia we will continue to hold it by it’s ankles, turn it upside down, and shake it until all the bad stuff falls out.

Looking Back, Briefly

2004-12-13T00:19:00.000-05:00

We have been here a little over two and a half months. At the same time it feels like the time went by quickly and took forever to get to the holidays.

It has been quiet on the FOB. That is to say there havn't been any rocket or mortar attacks in a long time. The quiet isn't really unsettling either. Looking back I think we came into Iraq at a terribly violent time of the year.

When we arrived we were at the beginning of Ramadan. Ramadan is a holy month for muslims. It is also an impetus for them to become more violent in there actions. For the month of Ramadan we paid dearly. Five soldiers were killed in action both on and off the FOB. Several troops were wounded. There was a tension on the FOB in almost every soldier.

The level of anxiety since then has subsided. Thanks to the passing of the holy month, actions in Falluja, the US election, and several operations in our sector to kill or capture the enemy the situation here has stabilized. The requirement to be ever vigilent, to be ready to react is still there. Every patrol outside of the wire is still a combat patrol. And, maybe, the quiet is even more of a reason to be careful.

Of course the expectation for violence leading up to the elections is very real. Sadly, I imagine that violence will be directed towards innocent Iraqis in order to deter the people from voting.

However, for now, the respite from the constant explosions, gun fire, and attacks on the FOB is welcome.

Making a Powerbroker

2004-12-08T23:26:00.000-05:00

I am buying security in the southern area of my patrol area by making a powerbroker. Here’s how it works:

The southern area is primarily rural farm land. It is tribal and therefore it is an extended large family where everyone knows everyone. These are simple people with simple lifestyle. They are good people who have been mostly ignored by the old regime and probably every regime before it. In fact we are probably the first conquerors who have ever stopped to help these people.

The people in the villages live in the 19th century and have basic needs. These people need a better water source. The water they drink now is terribly low pressured because another neighborhood tapped into the line further up the line. They need a road because the road they have now is dirt, which is actually compacted river silt. When it rains these roads turn into a slick, sloppy mess that is hard to drive on, even for a HUMVEE. Families do not send their children to school during the rainy season because of this. The children have no place to play soccer and there are no play grounds. The list is long.

The area is generally secure and safe. No patrol has been fired on since I arrived here. There are very few instances of hostile activity there all year. Nonetheless, many fighters from Fallujah have passed through these villages in their attempt to escape. They can make trouble for the villagers and for us. Our intention is to keep the area “green”, or friendly.

We cannot dedicate the time or resources to be ever present in these places so we have built up a local man to be our liaison. For security reasons I cannot give his name other than Hussein . Hussein is a local NC Chairman for the rural areas.

Hussein wants things for his people. He has identified many of the things I have listed above as important. And, of course, he’s right. However, like so many others, Hussein has an angle. His angle is his friends - the contractors. The contractors, and there are three, are looking for the bids for the work. It is implied that the contractors will pay a patronage, which is cultural, or at least regional.

Patronage on its face is bribery in the Western culture. It is not so here. This is way a few officers and NCOs got into trouble in the beginning of contracted projects here. A contractor would approach the grantor of the project, who would be military personnel, and ask or give a percentage back to them. There were a few who took them up on the offer. Keep in mind the Iraqis see no issue with this practice. It is acknowledged that part of the bid for a contract is for the kickbacks involved.

Hussein receives a patronage and the contractor gets the job. The contractor gets his share and then pays his workers $4.00 - $6.00 per day depending on the type of work. Unskilled laborers get the least.

Here is where we come in. We go to the village and sell Hussein as the greatest thing since sliced bread. “Hussein got you the road.” “Hussein arranged for you to have a playground.” “You should go to Husseinwith your issues. He is your local government.” “Hussein can get things done.” I try to stop the idea that everyone should come to us with their problems and address the local government.

Hussein is now an important man in the community. He has money, power, and prestige. We have given him all that. And what we give we can take away. We have the power to stop payment, stop work, cancel work and fire contractors. Without the funding we provide nothing can happen.

Before there is ever a problem we bring Hussein in and congratulate him for his success. Usually he has his contractors in tow. Then I explain to him in no uncertain terms that if one soldier gets shot at, if one rocket is launched, if there suddenly appears anti government graffiti on the school walls – all the money stops.

I explain that I am holding him responsible for the safety of the projects, as a man of the people. If I feel that the area is unsafe for workers I will do my best to protect them and not let them come to work if the enemy is in the area. I also tell Hussein that I will go back to his villages and tell all of the villagers that Hussein was the one who failed to bring about the progress they all want.

Hussein is now in a precarious position. He must keep his people in line or lose the money, the power, and the prestige. Worst case is that the projects are cancelled, the locals blame him and kill him. He is lucky, as I said his people are good people and good to us. However, they know who belongs and who does not belong there. They are responsible for driving out the enemy if they seek refuge there.

All this is very strange for me. Creating a powerbroker and then holding him in a position that would allow me to manipulate him, or even get him killed; all for the benefit of our forces. The side benefit is the progress to the people’s lives. It is not the other way around. I am buying security and establishing a government with the primary goal of keeping soldiers safe and getting everyone home as soon as we can.

The Contractor

2004-12-04T23:41:00.000-05:00

This is the story of a contractor named Hassan. I work with numerous contractors who are hired to work on the numerous projects to help rebuild the infrastructure of Iraq. They are paid a lot of money for these contracts. Over the past year and a half there have been good contractors and ones that took advantage of us.

In the south we are building two water towers for the two villages down there. This will be a wonderful project for these people to receive better water service to their homes. Hassan received the contract.

The project was planned, bid out, and signed for before our team arrived. The contractor is being paid almost $300,000 for both towers. Work on the towers began about the time I took over the team and the work is nearly complete. I have had to get on Hassan several times to hurry the work to meet the deadline.

We do not pay the money up front. Nor do we pay at the end. Instead we pay incrementally as we go along based on the percentage of work complete. This keeps the contractor focused to a time schedule. Hassan has almost been paid the full amount for the contract. Today he came to the FOB with a problem.

Hassan was paid $70,000, in US cash, on 24 NOV 04, as a partial payment for the work that I has assessed as complete to date. Hassan said that he was paid $70,000 but when he got home he looked and there was only $7,000 in his pocket. He said, just short of making an accusation, that the pay agent shorted him. Something just didn’t sound right.

The payment process requires three people; the contractor, the pay agent, and a witness. Three set of paperwork must be signed. The money must be counted and witnessed. The chance of $7,000 being mistaken for $70,000 is very hard to do.

Hassan came to my office and was very tentative about approaching the subject. I was incredulous as I tried to figure out how, or if, this actually happened. The first person who I asked was the witness to the transaction. She is a very trusted NCO, and when she speaks I listen. She told me that she witnessed Hassan take the money and produced the receipt for it. She became put off by this man sitting in our office. I asked if there was any way we could have made a mistake. Now she was looking at me the way she was looking at Hassan. There could be no mistake.

Next stop was to see the pay agent. While I was waiting for him I was handed a stack of hundred dollar bills - $100,000 – a stack about 5 inches thick. Then I was handed a stack of hundreds - $10,000 – considerably smaller. The not-too-subtle point being made to me was that the pay agents can tell the difference between $70,000 and $7,000. Again I was produced paperwork showing all of the signatures and proper accounting. Everything was correct.

I went back to speak to Hassan and showed him all of the paperwork and explained to him that every bit of evidence suggested that he was paid $70,000. I told him that I could not give him more money just because he claimed he didn’t get it or lost it. The man sunk deeper into his chair. He made an outrageous claim that he’d have to sell his home to pay off his debt. Having to use an interpreter made the situation more tense and uncomfortable. I am sure Kahlid watered down some of Hassan’s comments to keep me from getting angry.

The more time I spent with him the less I thought he was trying to rip us off. As near as I could figure out as we were sitting there was that he was being extorted by terrorists or criminals – maybe his children were kidnapped (not uncommon here). I knew what the witness believed and I believed her. I could not figure it out.

Finally, I went looking for and found the missing pay agent. I found him standing in front of the money counter with a large stack of money. I asked him who he was paying. He told me he was paying Hassan.

Yes, we had short changed Hassan $63,000 and everyone missed it.

It would have been so easy for the pay agent to steal the money – all the paperwork was correct and in his favor. Instead the pay agent realized he was over at the end of the day but could not track down where the error occurred because all of the paperwork was correct. He simply let the money sit in the safe until today.

I was about to make someone’s day.

I walked into the room with Hassan and my interpreter in it. Very quickly I explained that we found the money, we had made a mistake, and we were paying him now. Hassan jumped up and grabbed me and kissed me. He hugged Kahlid. He hugged and kissed the pay agent when he came in. He cried tears of relief. We apologized profusely.

How easy would it have been to just dismiss this man as just another corrupt Iraqi? How easy would it have been to escort him off the FOB – and even fire him for attempting to make such an accusation? How easy would it have been to make one more enemy?

Instead this story has a happy ending. Hassan thinks the world of us. He swore that he would raise his children to always respect American soldiers and the name of the pay agent and my name would always be remembered by his family.

I am proud of myself today for taking the time to go through the motions and listen to my gut. One victory for me.

Big Thank Yous

2004-11-29T12:48:00.000-05:00

Team Arrow
Originally uploaded by BlockHD57.

I have been asked, “what can we do back home?” Honestly, we as soldiers are blessed to have things in such abundance here. Our needs are small when we already have XboX and Playstation 2 and Internet Cafes. If you want to send something, send used children’s clothes and old toys. I see a lot of families who could use the help. My recommendation is to send the clothes in small grocery shopping bags with the gender and age range (boy, 7-9) written somewhere on it. I will make sure that it gets to the right people and that we get it out to those who need it. The time of year does not make a difference here – any time is a good time for charity, which is the fourth pillar of Islam.

Send old coats and jackets too! It does get cold here, cold enough to see your breath.

I have received some wonderful packages and now that they are all here I want send out some thank you notes of the highlights:

To Pat, your package got here first. Thank you for the paint rollers. Nothing made me feel like a regular guy, back at home, like painting my room. It was a huge morale booster. I also receive the second one, Amy, the decorations are going up!

To Kira and Grace, your drawings are on my locker. I see them everyday. I especially like the one where I am in a tuxedo and Aunt Lisa is in a wedding dress!

To Colleen, who sent me my Excelsior hat. I am going to have my name put on the back in Arabic.

To Betty, who sent me the election stickers. I was very tempted to sneak one on to the back of an Iraqi car just to see what happened.

To Gregg, who sent me a great CD of music and movie trivia for Halloween. I might have won if I had been at the party.

To Susan who gave me Spotted Dick. Really, Susan, how could you give that to your former brother-in-law! (And if you don’t know what it is stop smirking and look it up!)

To everyone at work who sent me a quote of my blog in the Cornell newspaper. Does this make me a liberal now?

To Mom and Andy and family who sent me a convenience store full of food and pillow cases. I forgot I asked for them!

To Lisa and Sam – thank you both for the paintings that hang on my wall. My favorite is “Starry Night Bunny”, although I am fond of the “Two Smiling Hearts”.

To Sam who drew me a picture of her kitty, Jackie, complete with thought bubbles which said, “I love Sam”, and talk bubbles which said, “Meow”. You are a great artist!

To Lisa who keeps me going with her homemade cards. They help me mark the time in short increments until I can open the next one. I cherish each one.

Thank you everyone for all of the things that you sent. It has meant a lot to me to receive your love and support in various forms!

For those of you who are thinking to send a package please refer to my blog request for cards and pictures. I now have more food than I know what to do with (although Gregg’s cookies and Linda’s cookies were very good).

Hamza

2004-11-25T08:07:00.000-05:00

It’s the day before Thanksgiving and I am looking forward to the big meal tomorrow. Unfortunately the war is still going on outside.

This morning I learned that Hamza, one of the Neighborhood Council (NC) members, was murdered last night. I knew Hamza from the NC meetings that I go to. Last night a car drove up to his house, someone rang the bell to his home and then they shot him. This is the first person who I know, who I have had dealings with, who has been killed.

Hamza was a humorless man. He always wore a straight face and seldom smiled. He always dressed well and wore a tie to every occasion that I saw him at. He middle aged with dark skin and a darker mole on his forehead. He had thick wavy hair and wore eye glasses. Although he was always very stoic he always made sure to shake my hand hello and goodbye whenever we met.

Hamza set me straight the very first time I met him. I was new to Iraq and I was new to the NC meetings. I must have asked some very inane question because he proceeded to lecture me for the next five minutes. It was about security – he needed security, his neighborhood needed security, the whole of Al Saidyia needed security. In the month and a half I knew him, nothing about his message changed.

Hamza knew his life was in danger because he had been threatened numerous times. There was no illusion that the threats were real. However, the threats did not deter him. Nor did it deter the others on the council. Last week the NC building itself was blown up with 100+ lbs of explosives. The next day Hamza was at the NC meeting held at a secret location. Since the end of the war he also gave us valuable information that was used to detain and question several suspected terror cells.

Hamza was a brave man. I have been troubled by his death all day.

Most Iraqis have an agenda here. Some want power, some want money; others have religious extremism in mind. I never learned what Hamza’s agenda was. I have no idea why he put his life on the line knowing that others like him have been scared off, beaten, or killed. I believed in Hamza because he was not scared off.

Is it possible that he, along with the surviving members of the NC, actually sees a future for Iraq and wanted to be part of it? Did he truly desire to represent the people of his neighborhood? Is this part of what brave men must do for a better world for themselves and their children? Can Hamza’s death compare to the death of an American patriot in 1776? Why would this relatively insignificant man, in a relatively small city/town council cause enough fear in the enemy that they gunned him down? Is the enemy that afraid of progress?

It is possible that I am part of the future of a free and democratic Iraq. That freedom has been paid for with the blood of American soldiers and innocent Iraqi men, women and children. Even in that future people like Hamza will be just a mere footnote to history.

We read about the American soldier and how he or she is a hero. We overlook the patriots here in Iraq. Today, remember Hamza. I have to believe Hamza died for something he wanted for all of Iraq; freedom.

Thanksgiving

2004-11-20T22:51:00.000-05:00

Thanksgiving is here. This has always been one of my favorite holidays. Truly American in its theme Thanksgiving is an abundance of everything; family, food, alcohol, violent sports, and capitalism (Christmas commercials). If done right Thanksgiving is a long holiday. Someone is up early cooking in the kitchen, there is hot coffee and pastries first thing in the morning, cheese and crackers and wine all go out early, and the guests arrive early enough to let all of the kids play together with the Macy’s Day parade in the background. The day ends with movies, more dessert, a little Baileys in the coffee, and patting your stomach in a content way.

This is my second Thanksgiving away from home with the military. The first time was in 1990 when I was a brand new Lieutenant. I was in Military Police school in Ft. McClellan, AL. Dad drove out from Myrtle Beach to join me and we spent the day having a meal with young soldiers, Privates, from the Basic Training unit I was in back in 1987.

This year I get the honor and privilege to be a server for the troops. I hope that I will be wearing a large apron with a big pair of tongs in my hand serving up meat or stuffing to hungry soldiers as we all give thanks for the special things in each of our lives.

Being on another continent, in the middle of a war has allowed me to strip down the holiday to its meaning. With the exception of recent decorations in the chow hall there is no way of knowing that it is close to Thanksgiving. For that matter, it’s hard to tell what month it is, let alone a specific day. Without the incessant commercialization the holidays are exposed to their roots. Thanksgiving - what am I thankful for?

I am thankful for my daughter, Samantha. I still look at that child and remember the long days after she was born and her mother and I stressed for 17 long days until we could get her out of the neonatal at Albany Med. I am thankful she is this tall, healthy, vibrant kid who is doing well in school and sending me her own emails. I was fortunate then to have been blessed with a special child and it is no different today. Sam continues to be a force to be reckoned with and it makes me glad to see such strength in a girl of the 21st century.

I am thankful for everything Lisa is in my life. She has renewed my soul and my appreciation of life, love, and the blessings of a happy future. As this is yet another in a list of first holidays that we will not share in each others company I know that throughout the day my thoughts will be with her. I am grateful that there will be someone as wonderful as her at the airport when I get home. That thought sustains me on the moody-missing-home-why-am-I-here days.

I am thankful for all of my family and friends. Dad is reading the blog and is even rumored to be using the computer mouse! This is a big step for him in order to keep up with what I am doing. Mom is still mom, doing well and looking good doing it. Andy and I have talked more in two months than we have in two years so there is something we can all be thankful for. I am thankful that Stacey continues to be a strong parent for Sam while I am away. Gregg, Xine, Pat and everyone from work continue to be there with emails, cards and support. The packages have been outstanding – and filling.

Finally, I am thankful for being here. I am glad that I am here to be a small piece in a larger puzzle and I take Lisa’s words to heart when she says to “be good to someone today.”

My being in Iraq has put perspective on all that is important to me. I am thankful, then, for the people in my life. It is the relationships with all those that have an impact on who I am, how I got there, and who I continue to grow to be.

Have a great meal everyone! Have one toast for me!

Fallujah, the War Raging Outside, and Veteran's Day

2004-11-13T02:09:00.000-05:00

The major fighting in Fallujah is almost over as I write this. It began last week. As soon as the election was over I could hear war planes in the skies. Fallujah is about thirty miles away so most of the combat air assets could be heard day and night.

I was out on one of my projects with a lot of Iraqi men when it became obvious that we were all listening and craning our necks to the sky. Every once and a while I could catch a glimpse of dark grey specks miles above.

Iraqis will tell you what you want to hear, or at least what they think you want to hear. It is difficult to ever get an honest opinion from them. The men looked at me and told me how glad they were that we destroying the Ali Babbas, Iraqi slang for thieves or terrorists, in Fallujah so that we could all move ahead with progress. Whatever they really thought they were impressed by the show going on overhead and I smiled inwardly.

A couple of days later I was sitting in the FOB listening to jets roar in a rhythmic pattern, they were making huge circles in the sky. Then from far away came the unmistakable sound of large bombs exploding. The soft bass drum sound was in time with each of the aircraft that fell overhead. Fallujah was taking a pounding and we could hear it over the unobstructed distance of the desert.

We have been taking casualties in the units here on the FOB, soldiers have died, interpreters have been murdered, and many workers are threatened with kidnapping or worse. I will admit that my morale took a boost with the sounds of justice coming to Fallujah.

The sooner Fallujah is over the better it will be, and the more of them we kill the less danger it is to the rest of the people in this country. The enemy is getting more and more desperate because their days are numbered as a result of the U.S. elections. There is no ambiguity of where this President stands. Had Senator Kerry won it is possible that over time this war would have evolved into a horrible religious civil and tribal war. The next Lebanon. There is resolution in President Bush and the Iraqis and the enemy knows it.

We did not get a lot of details out of Fallujah because the units on the FOB did not have any assets there. You all probably hear more information through the mass media machine back home. We heard of some of the casualties numbering less than 20 U.S. and over 800 AIF.

Meanwhile, the war exploded across the road here. Whether it was a diversionary attack by the enemy or contact by chance one of the Cavalry units on the FOB got into a hell of a fight earlier this week. Open, in the street, fighting. The Cav’s blood was up, they engaged and stayed engaged, and the battle raged for a day. At night we could here the fire fight going on not a mile from the FOB. Here is the interesting thing about the fight. Usually when the enemy is shot or killed the people will come out of there homes and collect up the wounded and dead. They do this because the fighters are from the neighborhood. In this case the dead and wounded have been left on the street. In other words they were not from around here.

The Cav unit has lost two soldiers in the last three days from this fighting and the FOB has become more of a target.

This afternoon a rocket went over my head while I was preparing boxed meals for delivery to the poor. The Team was loading the meals into a connex for storage until we can take them out in the future when it happened. The rocket made a THOOM sound and then SHOOSED overhead. We all dove for cover into the connex in a huge pile of limbs. It missed…and we all laughed at the contorted way we ended up together. I thought to myself that I have already been here too long when I can laugh at rockets trying to kill me. I hope this comes to an end soon.

Finally, Veteran’s Day passed the other day. It did not go unnoticed. From the decorations in the chow hall, Lisa’s card, and reading Lisa’s and Gregg’s blogs, the day was a little more special than the rest when everyday is so repetitive here.

I do not feel anymore different with the title of veteran. There is a part of my mind that equates the word, veteran, with old men in dark blue garrison caps with yellow embroidery, unit pins, and VFW jackets. I associate the word with Band of Brothers and Saving Private Ryan. My dad is a veteran because he was drafted into the Army for Korea. I think of grand and glorious causes and marching off to battle. I think of the men in the fight the other day across the street – they are veterans.

I am simply doing the job that I volunteered to do over 15 years ago. I suppose that makes me a veteran too. It was long felt by many that Veteran's Day would slowly cease to exisit as the men and women from the major wars of the 20th Century passed on. Maybe now there will be a renewed sense of pride among Americans for their soldiers.

Christmas Wish List

2004-11-11T00:27:00.000-05:00

Hello everyone.

Aside from a little morale issue - missing Lisa and Sam - I am doing well. I plan on posting some topics in the future about my free time, Fallujia, and some good news stories about the projects we are doing in the area.

But here is the reason I write today...

The holidays will soon be here and I have a wish. I do not need packages, or cookies, or presents. What I'd like is a card from everyone reading this blog. There are plenty of people who read and do not reply or otherwise post comments so this is a little test of the number of people reading my blog.

It also serves as my holiday morale boost.

Please send a card along with a picture of you and your family that I will put up on my wall. Think of it as my own personal support group.

The address is:
MAJ Rich Brown
A/403rd CA BN
5 BCT 1CD
APO AE 09310
(regular postage applies)

That's my big Christmas wish from all of you!

Cordon and Search

2004-11-08T01:11:00.000-05:00

Early this morning my Team was part of a successful Cordon and Search.

A cordon and search is only conducted when there is credible and reliable information that the target is in possession of illegal weapons, contraband, or information that can be used against the IIG or US forces.

A cordon and search is when numerous units block off an entire section of a neighborhood. No one can get in or out of the cordon. Then, additional units create an inner cordon of the specific location, or numerous locations. In this case it was several houses. Then comes the search. Units go in by breaking down the doors, if neccessary, for speed and force protection, announcing their arrival (in Arabic), and collecting everyone in the house into one room. The entire house is searched. Anyone trying to escape the target location runs into the inner cordon. If they manage to get past that there is the outer cordon.

This morning at 0300 we went after an assissination cell. These men were responsible for hiring hit men to target and kill any local national who worked for the Americans or the new Iraqi government.

There are decent people who see working for us as a two fold benefit to themselves. First is the money. Anyone working for the US forces is paid more than fairly and in US dollars. They can support their family much better than they could looking for work off of the local economy. Second, some see it as a way to progress for themsleves and the country as a whole. The last part is a little altruistic - but in most cases a little bit true.

These (mostly) men put themselves and their families at great risk. My friend's two interpreters were killed the other day. Kidnapping of children is not unheard of. The word (and fear) is put out on the streets not to work with the Americans.

To put an end to some of this by taking out an assissination cell is a good mission. It shows the people that we are committed to their safety and security.

My Team's job in this was to go in after each house was secure and all the bad guys were collected. We took pictures of the damage we caused in the event any of the suspects are innocent. That's right, we will compensate the innocent home owners. We are even discussing compensating the families of the bad guys as way of saying that we don't want to punish the families for what their husbands and fathers are doing.

We began the day before with the briefings. I went over each persons responsibilities, maps, expectations, contingency plans...my students at Cornell know this as an OPORD - yep, just like I teach it. We got some rest and woke up at 0045. We loaded up and linked up with the units we were supporting by 0130. We got our last minute orders and changes and were rolling out of the wire by 0240. We were in the neighborhood by 0300.

We drove along the highways and roads in blackout drive. Our Night Vision Goggles provided the illumination we need to see. The world turned into various shades of green. I felt pretty safe in this huge convoy of vehicles. Our combat power was almost 10 times what I roll out with during the day. The biggest worry was that this was night time and that we, as a Tem, had never worked at night.

At 0300 the units entered the houses. We were located with the headquarters element one block over from the target homes. After 8 minutes we were called forward. We went into three homes in a matter of 10 minutes and had to drive to each one. We were hustling. Each home had various amounts of damage we caused; a broken door, a broken car window, a gate torn off of it's hinges. However, there was no excessive damage - only the appropriate amount needed to accomplish the mission.

The targets were secured in the front of the house. In each house was located an illegal collection of weapons. The units also secured computers and cash. The families were all located in one room in each of the homes I went into. Unlike my Trooper days, the wives were not proclaiming their husbands innocence. In fact, in each home the families were passive. Of course, there were big men with weapons there. In the end no one was hurt - on either side.

We documented and photographed everything and left. I don't think we were in any one home for more than 60 seconds. By 0334 we were back on the FOB. By 0400ish I was back in bed.

The Team performed well for not really being prepared for this kind of mission. We learned some good lessons that we will go over later today when everyone is up. The units we supported spoke well of us being there so I expect that from time to time we will do this again.

Trying To Understand The Iraqi Mind

2004-11-04T06:38:00.000-05:00

I am a little frustrated and very confused in trying to work with the people of Iraq.

We are working on rehabilitating a roadside market in our area of operation. This roadside market is just that, a group of huts literally on the shoulder of a major highway. This is mainly produce; fruits and vegetables. There are several butchers who's oblivious victims munch on hay behind them. There are several tile "shops" as well who sell toilets, sinks, and grout. The land, the shops - none of it is owned, leased, or otherwise rented by these entrepreneurs.

The "shops" consist of thatched palm fronds over rickety metal frames. There is no protection from wind or rain, only some shade from the sun. Those are the high end shops. Others just sell their wares literally on the road. Every vendor, except the tile man, must take their inventory with them at the end of the day because there are no locks, because there are no doors, because there are no walls to attach them too.

The shops sit three to ten feet off of the highway. Traffic moves along the highway at 50-70mph. Nonetheless, people pull off to the side of the road to shop. And since there is no place to park, they park on the road.

In back of the shops the sewer line is broken and black foulness rises out of the ground and mixes with the trash, rotten vegetables, and the occasional dead animal. The butcher keeps a pile of entrails and skins next to his butcher's leanto. Still, this is the biggest produce and meat market in this area of Baghdad.

Our mission is to plan and monitor the repair of the sewer line, the removal of the contaminated dirt, widen an internal access road and build a wall along the highway that will prohibit traffic from stopping on the highway itself and force the vendors and the customers onto the safer internal road. This project will clean up the area, improve safety, and provide each vendor with a 6'x6' cement pad to set up their stand. There will even be an area for people to park. Win-win, right?

Step one, move the vendors in order to work. Ten days ago we bagan the project by warning all of the vendors that they had 48 hours to vacate the area. We gave them another similar area to sell in 1500 feet down the road. My Team went there for three days in a row handing out the warnings. I made a special note to talk to the tile man because he had a lot of inventory to move.

Four days later we had not begun work and the vendors had not moved. Other military units went down there and gave similar warnings like the ones we gave. Still no one moved. The other day, ten days after the initial warning, we were ordered to go down and remove the stalls - with a bulldozer. The vendors were given six hours.

My job was to go and conduct Consequence Management - basically collect up all of the vendors, and several squatters it turns out, and let them vent on me rather the become obstructive to the process. Part of my job is to remind them that in a month it will be better than it is now. Now it gets interesting...

Upon our arrival no one had moved. The Iraqis looked at the bulldozer. The initial Iraqi response - shock. Shock as if to say, "Really, you were serious?" Or, "We didn't know you meant us." Second response - pleading. Pleading to have another hour (because 10 days wasn't enough). Third reaction - panic. Everyone ran for their stuff to save it. If there stuff wasn't in danger they just watched, rather than helped, their neighbor. At this time I will note that the one shack we bulldozed was full of cases of beer and liquor (which they saved).

We bulldozed the first structure which was not a stall, but a cinderblock and tinroofed building where squatters had been living. These were the men who saved their alcohol. When the place came down about three dozen rats ran out. The children ran after them to stomp them.

There were no women involved so eventually we had a group of irrate men facing us. They were not surrounding us. They were not blaming us. They were just mad. It was at this time that a young Iraqi soldier - one of the new "good guys" - slipped into the group behind me. I never saw him. No one acknowledged him. Being Iraqi and being helpful and knowing what works with locals, the soldiers raised his rifle, put it on "fire", and pulled the trigger. Right behind me. I cannot put down the words that went through my head next - feel free to add your own.

After I checked my body for holes and realizing I had no extra ones we continued this process.

Now then, things were not out of control. Except for the enthusiastic soldier, things were heated but not violent. The dozer continued to plow down stalls. These were mostly the metal frames. However, next came the tile shop. The owner begged and pleaded for time. He was given fifteen minutes. No lie, he moved off and smoked a cigarette and waited until the bulldozer moved again.

The bulldozer was this enormous thing that was fully armor plated. The appearance was that of a big, boxy, treaded vehicle closely resembling a World War I tank - with a plow attached. It lurched forward and tile man again ran to us to beg for time. By now he realized that there was no more time and that he had wasted the last ten days as well as ten of the extra fifteen minutes. He sprung into motion moving as much as he could. Others finally helped him. On cue, after fifteen minutes the dozer made its first pass. Porcelain shattered like glass. For a moment the man stood in the midst of his shop before being dragged out before he would be run over.

We pulled him aside. Keep in mind I have talked to this man at least twice before any of this happened. "Sir," I told him, "didn't I warn you? Didn't I come here and tell you to leave? Didn't I tell you this was going to happen? Why? Why did you let this happen?" He looked at me and acknowledged that I had warned him. He began to cry and walked away.

I was able to stop the dozer for an extra 10 mintues and the man was ultimately able to save about 60% of his inventory. I wish I could say that I felt bad for him. I guess in the end I just felt he was dumb. I know that sounds like a cold, hard, terse way to describe it. However, I mentally shrugged my shoulders on this one as if to say, "what did you expect".

I spoke to my interpreter at length about it the next day. It all comes down to understanding the Middle Eastern culture. This is a culture that is wrapped around it's religion. In'sha Allha is Arabic for, "God Willing," or "If God Allows It." If you say to someone that you will see them in a few days, In'sha Allha is appropriate to fit in there somewhere.

In my opinion, In'sha Allha is also a scapegoat. When you tell someone that you are coming to destroy their livelihood with a tank the answer isn't "In'sha Allha". The answer is to move your stuff and be far away when the guys with the heavy equipment arrive the next day. God does not will it to happen - or maybe he does but we Westerners are smart enough to get out of the way. In my mind I could not blmae God for what happened the other day.

Unfortunately, that is a Western way of thinking and does not apply here. So as I watched the destruction of someone's property I tried to think In'sha Allha. Of course there is a caviat that says God does not willing take food from someones mouth and in by our destroying the stands and the tile - we were ultimately to blame.

There are huge fundamental gaps in our cultures. It affects every interaction we have with Iraqis. It will affect every step of their quest for freedom. I believe that what they know as freedom will not look like anything we expect it to.

Will they get there? In'sha Allha.

Preparing for the Holidays

2004-11-02T11:03:00.000-05:00

Oooh. . . . Lisa is back with a fun little post of her own, and yes, I do have permission to be here this time!

I wanted to share with all of you a helpful link I found to the Department of Defense statement on mailing letters and packages to our troops in time for the holidays. They give us some very specific "due dates" to ensure delivery.

http://www.defenselink.mil/releases/2004/nr20041028-1450.html

Judging from their suggested dates, I need to start my Christmas merriment a bit early this year, at least the bit of merriment that is gift-tagged for Rich.

Now I also know what Rich will say. . . and he can respond in his own post. . . but he is not looking for much in the form of gifts. . . nothing big anyway. Cards, decorations, cookies, pictures, and other little things to remind him of home. My personal-- and selfish-- suggestion is to wait and bring out the big gifts for our wedding (wink-wink)!

I have also discovered the hard way to ask the men and women at the post office, UPS store, Kinkos/Fed Ex place for a customs declaration form. Anything bigger and rounder than a legal envelope requires this form or it will be returned to the sender. And they really do mean that!

Thanks for reading, and happy Election Day (or dare I say "Election Month"?)!

Lisa

NGO Man

2004-10-29T21:24:00.000-04:00

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

2004-10-26T13:25:00.000-04:00

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

2004-10-22T16:59:00.000-04:00

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

2004-10-20T08:53:00.000-04:00

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

2004-10-17T10:18:00.000-04:00

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

2004-10-14T12:54:00.000-04:00

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

2004-10-12T14:37:00.000-04:00

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

Oh - and get a new fan.

Hamurabi School

2004-10-10T07:06:00.000-04:00

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

2004-10-09T11:05:00.000-04:00

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

2004-10-07T20:40:00.000-04:00

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

2004-10-06T12:50:00.000-04:00

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

2004-10-05T16:28:00.000-04:00

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

2004-10-04T01:21:00.000-04:00

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

2004-10-01T13:59:00.000-04:00

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?

2004-10-01T13:56:00.000-04:00

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

The Last 48 Hours

2004-09-30T13:21:00.000-04:00

There is some OPSEC stuff that I cannot talk about so forgive me for being vauge.

First, I have a new job as the Executive Officer for the Company. This takes me off of the Team and rolling out of the gate every day. The reason for this was based on the need for a XO and the strengths of all of the officers involved. It was a smart decision - I know how to keep my boss out of trouble and run middle man between the Team Chiefs and the CO. Plus the Captain who took my place has operational experience in Afghanistan running missions.

I will still go out once or twice a week, or as necessary.

Yesterday we went to a local council meeting. The meeting was held in U'Day's old hunting club. These guys loved marble! The meeting was spoken all in Arabic. I had a 'terp next to me giving me the highlights. He also editorialized much of it.

The Iraqis have a hard road because of Saddam. His system was so corrupt that everyone is ingrained with the concept of "where is my cut", "what's in it for me?" - to the deteriment of the people they are supposed to represent. This is a power-down-from-the-top culture, not a power of the people culture that we are used to. The gap between western ideas and ideals and the Iraqi ideas and ideals is huge. I say Iraqi because I do not know enough international politics to comment on other countries.

I meet people who sincerely want to see their country recover from oppression. They know that it is the key to "independence" and the departure of US forces.

Most know the problems of the insurgency come from outside their borders. Other nations fear that we might be successful, and in turn face their own removal from power at the hands of their masses. An average, everyday. low level government employee told me that. Wow.

Last night I heard my first rocket/mortar explosion near by. As I write this it is almost time for another one. They are loud, annoying, but very poorly aimed. Understand that as soon as they fire they have to move because of our ability to locate them and return fire. I hear rifle fire everyday off in the distance.

We had an incident today that is already on CNN and FOX. Several soldiers from our FOB were seriously wounded. Word spreads like wild fire. Rumors also run rampant. The senior leadership goes into overdrive. There is a discernably different look on their faces. Other than that business goes, as it must, onward.

I am doing well - my mood is good and upbeat. I get a hot shower every night and hot chow everyday. What more can I ask for?

Mailing Address

2004-09-29T15:39:00.000-04:00

Send me mail! US postage rates apply.

MAJ Richard Brown
A CO 403rd CA BN
5 BCT 1CD
APO AE 09310

My First Mission

2004-09-28T23:00:00.000-04:00

It is 2103 on 28 September 2004 as I write this. My day is almost over. I just need to enter into my journal with you all.

Today was my first mission. How do I describe all that I experienced in 3 hours? I will do my best.

We rolled out of the wire with the Team that we are replacing for our first tour of the neighborhoods where we work. This is called our sector. We locked and loaded rounds into our weapons and discussed actions on contacts. We had our machine gunners in the turrets of the Uparmored Humvees as we drove quickly down one of the main thoroughfares. Traffic, and there is a lot of it, instinctively moves out of our way after a year and a half of US presence. People use their horns to signal the changing of lanes. We turned off of the highway.

Our sector, well all of Iraq really, is littered with trash. Everything is brown or tan. Even the palm trees lack enough green to be pretty. In the southern area of the sector there is nothing to note.

We drove to one of our projects, a swimming pool renovation. The building was occupied by a few men, but the contractors were not there. The work had just started so the building was still a wreck but the pool was full of clear water. In a few months the whole area should be cleaned, landscaped the best they can, and opened for the people.

We drove through one of the poor neighborhoods. I was told what to expect but not prepared. I am an ol’ factory type of person. I have a great sense of smell. Needless to say the smell of raw sewage running in the streets on a hot Iraqi morning was overpowering. It’s not just a trickle, or even in a ditch on the side of the road, although many times it is just that. No, there are places where the brown/green water is twelve inches deep in the middle of the street. In the Spring the whole area floods. In the “irrigation” canal the water runs deeper so the kids swim in it. I saw it myself today. You are aghast, as was I, but that is the only life these people have known.

We stopped to walk through the local market. Everything is out in the open. They slaughter lambs right there and let the blood drain into the street. There was live poultry there too, but I don’t know if they just sell the bird to you or if they just kill it there. Nothing is refrigerated so the meat, fish, food is out in the open. Men or boys stand near by shooing the flies away by the dozens. The produce looked great; tomatoes, onions, peppers, bananas, potatoes. There were tables full of ground spices. Pots of a fresh yogurt type of drink. There were vendors selling cigarettes, Pepsi, Coke Cola, toys, trinkets, rugs, wedding dresses, fans – it was a feast for the eyes. It had all the sounds you would imagine in a marketplace such as this; animals, traffic, and the noise of people bartering, selling all of the above. The nose, however, now had to deal with all of the above, too.

I watched the people from behind dark sunglasses. The old men would acknowledge us. The young men in their twenties, who were raised to despise us after the Gulf War, just stared – we stared back. The women ignored us. The children followed everywhere. The children are curious and always looking out for a treat from the soldiers. Some are trying to sell you something. Almost all make an attempt at English. I actually heard one say, “Saddam bad, Bush good”. When I made the so-so gesture with my hand at the last part the teenager laughed and ran off to tell someone. The little ones all smile and give the thumbs-up sign, and no, it is not obscene gesture here. Some of them are beautiful but have such limited future.

In my brief seven years as a Trooper I never saw the human condition like I did today. That was the bad part.

Now for the good part. The soldiers are dedicated to make life better for the people. We drove to see some of the other projects we are working on. We stopped in at a youth center that is near completion, with a new soccer field, basket ball court, and rooms with the smell of fresh paint in them. We visited a new health clinic that is going up in one of the poorer areas. We picked up the medals for the weekend's local soccer tournament. We toured a new neighborhood that will be a model for others with paved streets, sidewalks, curbstones, and street lamps. There are sewer lines being dug into to areas that never had them before. There are sewage vacuum trucks that respond to our requests to clean up problem areas. There are trash trucks, transfer stations, and a landfill. We do not do this work ourselves. Instead, we identify, propose and put projects out to bid.

Let’s be realistic. Very slowly these people are entering the 19th Century. With any luck we can help them along towards the 20th Century. There is corruption in this society where everyone gets a cut of the action. They have been doing business this way under the old regime, it is what they know, it their way of life. There is a long way to go.

In the end my first mission had no profound effect on me, or my sense of purpose. It only slightly dawned on me that I was in Iraq, walking down the street, in full body armor, helmet, rifle and pistol. I was more overwhelmed by what my senses were registering.

We were back by 1230. I washed my hands several times before lunch.

Baghdad, Iraq

2004-09-27T04:20:00.000-04:00

First - I am safe and sound.

Our trip in went like this:

As we entered Iraqi airspece all of the lights went off in the C-17 and we were lit by the dull red tactical lights throughout the fuselage. You could tell we were changing speeds and jinking left and right. Somewhere along the way we picked up fighter escort.

In the dark I thought of Sam and how long it would take me to get back to her. But at least this would be the first day!

At 2253 (10:53pm) we were wheels down. We landed in Balad airport, north of Baghdad. We off loaded our stuff and were taken by bus to waiting area. We were told that we were being flown by helicopter in three hours.

At 0024 (12:24am) we were issued live rounds. Still we waited.

We broke out our gear from the pallets and secured as much as we could to take to the helicopters.

We boarded CH-47's (Chinooks), a doubled rotored cargo helicopter and took off at 0237 for the capital. We rode with the back tailgate open, a gunner sitting in tailseat. It was like sitting in a oven looking out as the prop wash filled the hold where we were sitting. I took the last seat which meant that I could look out at everything in the fuzzy image created from the heat. Everything blurred.

We made a sharp turn and then I heard the unmistakable sound of machine gun fire and then the smell of gunpowder. I was sure of my senses when our gunner opened fire into the great nothingness of below. I think it was theatrics, they said it was a test fire, either way it got our attention.

We landed in a great swirl of dust. The sand here is fine, like talc. It got into everything immediately. We were great by our higher headquarters who drove us to one of Saddam's lake retreats. The moon was up and almost full - it lit the area pretty well - an open field around the corner from our first stop. The smell of the place remined me of, well, oil. It smelled like it does driving thru oil tank fields of New Jersey - sorry Pat. The palace, retreat, whatever, is not that opulent, but it is big. They sorted us out and put us up in a place on the floor. The last time I looked at my watch it was 0442.

It is 1136 now. Our ride is coming from wherever to take to our next destination - most probably with the first element.

I know there is more that I could add, but I need to eat and get going.

Frankfurt, Germany

2004-09-26T06:02:00.000-04:00

I am in Germany! It's cold, wet, and looks a lot like an airport! We are here for a three hour layover before moving on into Theater.

Yesterday day was a long day of waiting. Waiting to go to chow (eat). Waiting to go to Green Ramp. Waiting at Green Ramp. Waiting to take off. Each of us passed the time in our own way. There was joking and bravado. There was a lot of reflection - you could see in the eyes. There were a couple of families there to say good-bye to include a 5 or 6 year old girl begging her daddy not to go. That was hard on the dad and those of us in the vicinity. There were several red and swollen eyes as the time drew near.

I passed the time with my computer (mine and Lisa's). I bought a game for it to pass the time (sorry, Dear); as if I am going to have a lot of spare time in the next year... It allowed me to escape the boredom. The emotion of the moment really caught up with me and I made a lot of last minute calls to Mom, Sam, Dad, Lisa. I spoke to Andy earlier in the week. He actually said these words, "I am proud of you." A huge statement from my brother.

I walked out onto Green Ramp and looked at the C-17 loading our gear into it's belly. It's not like an airport where you are on the other side of a glass wall, you can almost walk onto the flight line - almost. I watched the sunset and moon come up on a prefect late September evening. My last eveing in the USA. Melodramatic, yes, but those were my thoughts at the time. I was mixed with fear, hope, excitement, and the feeling of "it's about time".

We walked in a long line and boarded the plane. There were enough seats for us, along with pallets and boxes of our cargo. It was cramped. Take off was easy and soon it was time to sleep. I pulled out my blankets (two poncho liners) and found a place to rack out. (Unlike a commercial airplane, the Air Force does not care what you do after they reach altitude). I discovered that the back of the C-17 is freaking cold! I woke up shivering and looking for a warm locale. Not much luck. Still I managed about 4 1/2 hours of broken sleep.

We landed in Germany and it is like I described above. Because ofthe short layover there is no way to leave the airbase, remember this is a US Air Force "terminal", so my exposure to Germany is limited to one building with a view of the runway. I'd like to come back - I mean besides the return trip home! I am in the USO, drinking coffee and using the computers. The USO takes donations. If you feel like supporting a soldier I recommend giving to the USO. It will be a donation well spent.

My 15 minutes is up. I am suffering from serious jetlag so forgive the rambling. We'll be boarding soon. Next stop, Iraq.

Things I Will Miss

2004-09-22T14:17:00.000-04:00

Ok, Honey! - I get it already, geez...nag nag nag

ATTENTION EVERYONE - I am engaged to Lisa Marie Blockus! She has reminded me that I have been remiss in posting this tidbit of information. Whatever...

I have found the perfect girl and the perfect ring to go on her perfect hand. I am incredibly lucky to have found this love that I share with Lisa. How lucky am I?! I could gush for pages but I can say it succinctly with this; Lisa is the most incredible force and presence in my life. She has awakend feeling that have been lacking or even missing in my life. Again, how lucky am I?

I will miss Lisa, and our moments just being in each others presence.

I will miss the feel of her hair and the smell of her skin.

I will miss making her smile in person.

Some other things I will miss:

My daughter's hugs and non-solicited "I love you's"

Raking the autumn leaves as that sweet smell fills the air.

Grilling brats with an ice cold beer in hand.

Vegging out in front of the XboX after an aggrivating day.

Mowing the lawn in neat rows of perfection.

Walking across Barton Hall floor into work.

Turning the radio up in my car heading up I-81 as my foot hits the gas and I feel that acceleration push me back in the seat.

Apple pies in the fall. Mmmmm...

Decorating the house for Halloween.

The first real snowfall - but not the second, third, fourth, tenth, twentieth.

I will miss being on the same continent as my friends and family.

This is the short list.

Looking At Green Ramp

2004-09-16T18:34:00.000-04:00

My barracks overlooks Pope Air Force Base. It's about one mile away.

At all hours of the day military aircraft of all shapes, sizes, and purposes take off, literally over my head. I can clearly see the tail fins of the C-17s move like sharks behind the trees as they get ready to take off. Then, the pilot guns the engine, slips the brake, and this beast of plane, impossibly takes off into the sky. The noise is incredible.

One mile away is a large open building that looks like an open warehouse. It is referred to as Green Ramp, the last staging place for troops before they board the aircraft that will take them to Iraq, Bosnia, Afghanistan, anywhere into harm's way.

Very soon I will be at Green Ramp.

To say that I am ready is an accurate description of how I feel. Our training and paperwork is going to be completed this weekend and aside from a few odds and ends, the only thing left to do is pack and load out. It's sort of exciting. It's also about time, mentally, emotionally, and training wise.

In case you don't read anything for a few weeks don't panic, it will take a while for me to get settled in and get into a routine.

On a side note: friends can check out Lisa's blog at www.blockheadsworld.blogspot.com

Love to all.

Good Bye Sam

2004-09-13T14:16:00.000-04:00

I haven’t had a lot of time before to sit down and put this into words. Saying good bye to Sam was the hardest thing that I had to do.

September 2, started out by meeting Stacey and picking Sam up for the ride to the airport. Sam was quiet but her mood was neither high nor low. She was excited to be spending time with Lisa after I left and was planning her day around that.

Occasionally, Sam would comment on not wanting to go to the airport and asked to turn around once we got there. Clearly she did not want me to get on the plane.

I took my bags in while Lisa and Sam parked the car and walked in. Sam became excited with the audience of my fellow soldiers around, in other words, Sam was being Sam.

Once we had all of our people gathered we went to the departure lobby. The three of us sat alone, away from the others. Sam found that there were birds living inside the terminal and made a point to want to feed them. She took crumbs from my cinnamon roll and went all over leaving crumbs for the birds – which they did indeed eat. She was being aloof as if by design to avoid the obvious.

Then it was time for me to take her aside, away from Lisa, and have our final moment together. Sam was not sure why we were walking away until we stopped and she saw that I was crying. Then she immediately realized that it was time to say good-bye. Sam began to cry and hug me. No words, just crying. We just sorta held each other for a while.

We joined Lisa and walked over to the security checkpoint. Sam was so upset, Lisa and I were crying and the people around me who realized that I was a soldier and what was going on began to well-up too.

I had to go back to Sam at least three times. Once or twice for her, and once or twice for me.

I know that my daughter is resilient and strong. She showed a lot of bravery in letting me go down that corridor. I know that the rest of the day took an effort to smile but she eventually go there. I am very proud of her.