Oracle

What the hell am I doing here?
I don’t belong here.
-Radiohead, Freak

I got some more packages. One of them was extra socks and underwear and a couple t-shirts. The second I opened the box, I almost lost it. Those clothes smelled overwhelmingly like my house. I knew homes pick up a scent from being lived in, but I never realized how strongly I had associated mine until I smelled it after two months of being away. For the next few hours, all I could think about was my house and wife and dog. I felt like I was in two places—here, doing my job, but also sitting in my bedroom at that moment, watching my wife and dog sleep.

I am glad I am here. I find it difficult, however, to maintain my motivation when it seems like the Iraqi people have none. I ask the guys that work with them, the advisors we have training and supervising the Iraqi Army, and they all say the same thing: these people have no life goals. They have no dreams, no work ethic, they have no drive. If you ask them what they want to do with their lives, most of them can’t do more than shrug their shoulders.

How do you resurrect a culture where apathy is embraced so wholeheartedly that it isn’t even noticed anymore? How do you make them care about freedom when they don’t have dreams?

Hagiazo

“My prayer is not that you take them out of the world, but that you protect them from the evil one.”
-John 17:17

The dust here gets all over everything. We go through canned air like nobody’s business, blowing dust out of our computers, printers, tools and other appliances. You can wipe off a clean space on your TV or computer, and if you sit there for an hour or two, you can actually watch the dust settle back over it until you can’t tell where you wiped. It’s amazing.

The desert smells different. Not like American soil. Down in Kuwait you could smell the oil in the sand, especially when it got up around 110. Up here in the north, you can’t smell the oil, but you can smell the desert. I can’t describe it. Like an abandoned house or an old fire pit, maybe.

Certain important and defining periods of my life are associated very strongly in my mind with smells. I catch a whiff of perfume in a movie theater and suddenly I can’t stop thinking of a girl I was stupidly, headlong-desperately in love with when I was sixteen. The smell when I take my flak jacket and helmet off after sweating profusely in them all day reminds me very much of the smell of the locker room after football practice, and recalls delightfully obscene jokes told by the other players. I walk into any old barracks or office building on an Army base, and it smells exactly like the Corps dorms, and makes me miss school, and parties, and having no responsibility.

I’m sure when I leave here I’ll take the desert smell with me too, subconsciously. The next time I smell hot sand I’ll think of Iraq. More likely, the next time I’m deployed, I’ll get off the plane and think, “Oh, there’s that smell again.” Assuming we’re still coming here by then. What does Syria smell like, I wonder?

It’s too bad we keep getting into wars in these godawful hellholes. Bosnia, Iraq, Afghanistan. We should find some reason to invade Jamaica or Cozumel. That would be a sweet war, right there:

ME: “Sir, we took the beach resort with no KIA or WIA, although my entire platoon was then taken prisoner by a vacationing cheerleading squad with a margarita machine.”

MY COMMANDER: “A margarita machine? Tell my driver to warm up the humvee. We can’t leave those men to suffer alone.”

I ran into a one-star today. Didn’t catch his name, but I was coming out of the TOC and up walks this general. I was so surprised I almost forgot to salute. I wonder if anybody inside knew he was coming—usually it’s all anybody’s talking about when the brass is coming for a visit. Hope nobody is in trouble.

It’s been very quiet here lately. I’m really hoping it stays that way.

Hawser

And I wear it for the thousands who have died
Believing that the Lord was on their side;
I wear it for another hundred thousand who have died
Believing that we all were on their side.
-Cash, Man In Black

I’m now 11% done with my tour. I keep telling myself that I won’t look at that spreadsheet every morning, but every morning as soon as I’m done shaving I do exactly that. It’s hard not to adopt an attitude of just doing my year here, even if I do believe in the mission. I think it may have been easier to be “here and now” and not homesick in wars where you were in for the duration. Also, we have no clear enemy. Do not confuse this statement; we have very clear goals. But having a face to attach to the enemy is very good for morale and determination. It helps to know who you’re fighting. I’m not sure anybody up in the war rooms realizes how much it would help the war effort to have an information dissemination program where we talked about the terrorist masterminds controlling these actions. Seeing a bunch of sad-sack farmers who come to kill us with rusty old AKs is disheartening. Speaking of which, I wish they’d just stand and fight. I could at least respect that.

It’s getting cold here. Very cold. Another few weeks and it will be below freezing in the mornings. It’s past noon here right now and it’s still chilly in the shade. Two weeks ago it was like an oven outside. I have been away from Texas too long—these sudden weather changes are affecting me a lot more than they should.

I got a care package from my parents’ neighbors. Thanks very much, Ms. E and Charlotte. The Starburst are already almost gone. Everything in there was much appreciated, especially the barbecue sauce and the fruit. I’m not sure if I will be able to use the catnip, though. I haven’t seen the kitties in a week or so, and I was starting to wonder until I saw a wolf slinking around the area a few nights ago. I hope he hasn’t eaten them or scared them off. They were just starting to let us come near them. Also, they mouse for us. If I see the wolf again, I may shoot him. The last thing we need on top of all the bad hygiene around here is a wolf bringing in God knows what kind of germs.

The monotony is starting to kill me, and it’s getting harder to moor myself mentally to the routine things I need to do every day. Shave. Work out. Clean my rifle. I really need a day off. Not looking like it’s going to happen any time soon.

Q and A

“This ain’t no ancient civilization, Mister.”
“Sometimes it is.”
-Ghost Dog

An “alert reader,” as Dave Barry would say, sent me in a few questions about my deployment. I will attempt to answer them now.

Q: Are you living and sleeping in a bunker or tent?
A: I live and work out of a bunker. My work area is right outside. About eight or nine of us live in here and the rest live down in another bunker, maybe 200 meters away. Most living and work areas here are old bunkers, many of which are broken up on the outside from bombings and mortars. The unit here before us was very creative and industrious about fixing up the insides of these bunkers—Jen has some pictures of the inside of mine. We have our own rooms, a second floor and a TV room in ours.

Q: Do you eat in a DFAC or do you eat MREs, or something else?
A: We get what’s called mermite chow, which is kind of in-between. Not as nice as a full DFAC, and not as disgusting and chock-full of fat and calories like MREs. Our platoon has a good system worked out where we go and get our chow from the DFAC and bring it back to a mess tent we have set up behind the bunker. That way, we’re out of everyone’s hair. We’ve found it’s best to stay away from command unless absolutely necessary. Out of sight, out of mind.

Q: Do you have have access to AFEES or PX support or other outlets? What about the Haji store you mentioned?
A: Here on our FOB, we have a tiny PX with the bare necessities; and a little Haji store, run by Iraqis, which carries movies and games mostly. The big base up the road has a large PX, Burger King, Taco Bell, Haji bazaar, barber, and many other luxuries. I hear the PX up there even has ribs and steaks and stuff for barbecue, and I plan to check this out as soon as Jen sends me my barbecue utensils, sauce and mesquite chips. We’ve got the welder building an enormous grill, and I hope to have a barbecue every Saturday afternoon, mission permitting.

Q: What does “Haji” mean?
A: Some people think this is a derisive term, like “gook” was in Vietnam. This is not so. I have heard that Haji is Arabic for “old man,” and can be used as a term of endearment. While I’m not sure if this is accurate, I do know for sure that Haji means someone who has made the Hajj, or the pilgrimage to Mecca. So to address somebody as Haji is actually honoring their piety. I’m sure some soldiers think it is a derisive term and use it as such, but then, some people think jelly should go on a peanut-butter sandwich.

Q: Any dust storms? Is it windy? Is the weather starting to turn a little cooler there?
A: No storms yet, but it is getting windier. We are getting into winter and the rainy season. It is indeed a little cooler. I went to shave a few minutes ago and the best word to describe the air when I stepped outside would be “brisk.”

Q: Is it all desert, all sand or is there rolling hills and rocks. Are there any plants or trees? What rivers are nearby? Any evidence of the Garden of Eden, any artifacts?
A: It is all sand, but also many rocks. There are not many hills. There is not much grass as we think of it, with fields of ankle-length green you can play football in. Rather, the grass here is about waist-high and gray-brown. There are lots of trees, and the area around here is very green. This area is apparently unusual, however, for how watery it is. We actually have swamp, in the classical sense, in much of our AO. The Tigris river is not that far away, I believe, but I’d have to look at a map to see how far. No evidence of archaeological or religious artifacts that I’ve seen, but then, I can’t imagine many people have had time to look for them, what with being shot at and stuff. I will say that this area doesn’t feel any holier to me than any other place I’ve been.

Q: The meetings you have to go to, are they briefings or some other kind of meeting?
A: A little of both. Some are just meet-and-greets, some are to hammer out details of plans or policies, and some are to brief a commander on the status of this or that aspect of his command. And then, of course, some are to make the guy who called the meeting feel important, and to waste everybody else’s time. If I am ever in a position where I have lots of people under me, I won’t call meetings. What is the point, when you have phone and email? If I have to, I’ll do them while we do something else: a PT meeting or a lunch meeting.

Q: Do you get to go outside the compound on missions or to visit larger bases?
A: Yes, we get to visit larger bases. There is one very close. We also have the opportunity to go on patrols or raids, yes.

Q: Do you have to go out and retrieve disabled vehicles or does someone else do that?
A: Well, if the operators are worth a damn, they know how to recover their own vehicle. If something is so damaged it can’t be towed by a similar vehicle, a recovery team will go out to get them. I think who recovers what unit depends on where that unit is; but I think we always try to go get our own unit.

Hope that was informative. Take care.

When first under fire and you’re wishful to duck,
Don’t look or take heed at the man that is struck.
Be thankful you’re living and trust to your luck,
And march to your front like a soldier.
-Kipling

I got promoted today. Our battalion commander pinned me himself, and then gave me my oath of service again. That is unusual, but I’ve seen him do it before—he likes to do it to remind everybody of what comes along with our service. It also makes the ceremony a little more formal, which I appreciate. I hate unnecessary informality. Familiarity can be achieved while still maintaining professionalism. I was surprised so many staff officers showed up, when they probably had lots of more important stuff to do. Made me feel good. Like I belong.

There was a storm early this morning that ended right as I was getting up. I’m not sure if it was a full-on sandstorm, but it stirred things up enough that it left dust hanging in the air all day. Visibility was severely reduced and the haze gave things a kind of eerie pallor. It was like looking through dirty glass at everything. It was even stranger after sundown, and the moon’s halo was crazily accentuated by the dust. It was very bright, because of the full moon, but visibility was still low because of the dust. I don’t think I’ve ever experienced it before. Walking back from the gym was surreal.

Some of the soldiers found a large, black, very smooth round stone last week. I seemed to recall reading something, somewhere, about these stones being all over Southwest Asia, and the Arabs thinking they are fossilized djinn. I kind of thought it neat, the idea of a dead sand god sitting there on the picnic table outside our bunker. Then some jackass painted it white and pink and drew flowers on it. I am not superstitious—I know those stones are just geological oddities—but it still seemed somewhat blasphemous or disrespectful somehow. I may not believe in local religious traditions, but I think we should still respect them. This is the reason I always genuflect when I go into a Catholic church, even though I am Protestant. It’s just respectful. Maybe I’m just a weirdo.

I went outside after I ate supper and could hear the singing from the village nearby. I don’t know if they have prayer that late, but it sounded like one of their prayer announcers, or whatever you call them. It was haunting. Moonlit haze, a slow chilly breeze, a hot combat zone and an alien voice sailing on the night air. We rise and fall on strange tides, out here in the dune sea.

Election Day

The many men, so beautiful, and they all dead did lie.
And a thousand thousand slimy things lived on, and so did I.
-Coleridge

Rough couple of days out here. I feel kind of spent emotionally. We had some guys wounded. None of them life-threatening, and none of them my soldiers. It still hurts, though, and enrages. Rage is not a descriptive enough term, though. An almost physical yearning to visit abject suffering on the enemy, I guess, is more accurate. We’re trying to help these poor people vote. That’s all they want to do: determine their own fate. But a handful of oppressors don’t want that to happen. I can’t come to terms with it. It’s completely alien to me. I may disagree fervently with the viewpoints of many on the left in our own country, but no matter how liberal or socialistic your views are, you should be allowed to express them, and to vote on them.

I think we’re such a great and strong country precisely because we allow our crazies and crackpots a venue for legitimate discourse. Think of all the people who changed our history, and whom we now idolize, that were regarded as crazy at the time. Amelia Earhart. Albert Einstein. Teddy Roosevelt. Henry Ford. Al Edison. Hemingway. Steinbeck. Kerouac. Salinger. Oppenheimer. Rockefeller. Lincoln. Martin Luther King. Washington. Adams and Jefferson. Sam Houston. Both Lee and Grant. Not all of them were thought of as actually insane, but all of them were eccentric and controversial. What if we’d silenced or killed all of these people before they could make their mark? No civil rights, no science or industry, no beautiful literature, no government, no courage, no brilliant military victories. We are a nation of outcasts and rebels, and it is what has made us strong.

I hope we leave this country in good shape. I am afraid that Syria or Iran may exert pressure through former Baathists in exile there, funding insurgents. I am not one of those who thinks the entire insurgency, or even most of it, is controlled by foreign terrorists. It’s mostly Iraqis. But they’re getting help and being propagandized from outside this country, and I hope that we will not make the same mistakes we made thirty years ago. We need to fight this enemy wherever he hides. Anti-war nutjobs like to compare Iraq to Vietnam, and they’re all wrong, but in one way they may be right: Iran and Syria are very much like Cambodia was then. I’m not a policy wonk or a planner, but I hope the American people have the stomach for this fight if it takes us elsewhere. For all they may deny it, France is still reeling culturally from the debacle that was the Algerian war, because the French anti-war nutjobs became so vitriolic that it nullified the military victory and prevented final steps to control the insurgency there. I hope this doesn’t happen to us here.

Incidentally, a bunch of the officers got together and watched The Battle of Algiers the other night. Apparently somebody else here sees the parallels. Good for them. I did my thesis on Modern Insurgency using Algeria as my case study.

I will update again as soon as the opportunity arises. BTHO Oklahoma St.

Eyeroll

So although I might like it for one afternoon,

No, I don't want to live on the Moon.

-Ernie

I have given up trying to watch my movie by now. I have given up saying "maybe today will be a good day." My XO told me, when I ran my first M4 range, "don't worry about it--the worst day you ever have in garrison will be much better than the best day you ever have in Iraq." I am beginning to see what he meant. After I get back home, "bad day" and "good day" will have new meaning. If I ever complain again because my favorite show isn't on, or my food takes too long in a restaurant, or I have to wait in a long line, if I ever do that again, I want somebody to slap me. Slap me and say "how long has it been since you were shot at?"

Somebody sent me a funny and sad little excel spreadsheet that shows how long you've been in country and how long you have left--in weeks, days, hours, minutes and seconds. According to the pie chart on the spreadsheet, I have already completed 8% of my tour. That's encouraging and disheartening at the same time.

As soon as these guys leave, I'm painting over all their Packers stuff on the walls. I'm getting tired of it. Somebody send me some maroon paint. Although the way we've been playing lately, I may wait on that. Honestly, the one season where it would really lift my spirits to see us kick ass, or even hold our own, and it's like half the team missed the damn bus. We shouldn't have treated Slocum like we did if this was what it got us. I didn't like how we booted him out, but I thought well, if it gets us a championship team, I'll tolerate it. But no. So now I have the guilt of how we treated a coach who did a lot of very good things for us, AND I get to watch us piss away what little reputation we have left. I am already heartbroken over how stupidly, rabidly liberal the school has become; football was the one thing I had left to be proud of about my school. Now I'm losing that too. Thanks, guys.

Well, it is 11 in the morning and I need to get back to the bunker. I only detoured over here because I was on the way back from a meeting. Honestly, if they want me to come see them every morning, they should give me a damn ride. It's a mile and a half over there in the blazing sun with full gear on. And come to think of it, the rainy season is about to start. That will be even more fun than the sun, I bet.

Zero

It makes me think of
Bad decisions that leave you alone
How could everyone rearrange?
How could everyone else have changed?
-Counting Crows, "I Wish I Was A Girl"

I zeroed today in six rounds. I'm not very hardcore, but I've always prided myself on my marksmanship. I can hit a nickel at three hundred meters. I put five rounds center mass and jerked the six, so I only hit the shoulder, but five out of six in the chest counts. I love these new carbines. They're so light.

I am really missing my animals and my wife, but we had a very good discussion about my work on the phone. I have decided in a more or less final manner to stay in until at least after my company command. Jen can be very insightful sometimes. She picked up on something that was happening on the other side of the world between myself and my leadership that I hadn't yet, and the upshot was that, given a boss who doesn't micromanage, I am extremely comfortable with stress and challenges. And given my career goals in the next few years, I will soon be working with a group of people who are trustworthy, and also trust me. I won't say any more about it; I don't want anybody thinking I'm displeased with my position, because I'm not. But talking about looking forward to new challenges can sometimes be mistaken for complaining about where you are now, especially with the extreme sensitivity to "loyalty issues" some officers have.

Well, I'm gonna check my bank statement and decide on a movie to watch tonight. I've been working every day for a month straight, and dammit, I'm going to take a couple hours off tonight and just let my mind relax and be entertained. Out here.

Range

And miles to go before I sleep.
And miles to go before I sleep.
-Frost

Many people fail to realize that Frost is talking about Death in this poem. I am not one to force my view of poetry on others, but this is one case where the meaning is so obvious that these people kind of irritate me. Like people who think The Emperor of Ice Cream is about a pimp's funeral. Where the hell do they get this nonsense?

Heating up here. Haji is getting very anxious to bloody our noses because of a) Ramadan and b) the upcoming elections. He thinks he's got a bunch of virgins waiting for him in paradise, and I say, sure, why not? Let me help you get there, buddy, on the 5.56 Express.

Pray for us. The next week will be very trying for us.

Today was about the worst day I've had here professionally. I feel like I talk and command doesn't listen, sometimes. I admire all of the people I work with greatly, but every once in awhile I think they just hear what they want to hear, and ignore news that would be inconvenient for them. I guess we all deal with this in our jobs, but it doesn't help when your very expensive MP3 player (your main source of stress relief) stops working for no discernible reason. I went to walk around my work area and check on my joes, and came back, and it wouldn't turn back on. Can't get it to work. It was just enough to take me from pissed-off and annoyed to enraged and morose.

Screw it. All you can do is suck it up. I'm one day closer to home. I'll see you tomorrow, Iraq.

Swamp

"Left," he cried, and breath forsook me,
Terrified yet without fear;
All the fastnesses I secret
Crushed me as we hurtled near.
-Elmwood, from "Corridors of Death and Sound."

The mosquitoes here are ungodly. The ate me the hell up last night as we were sitting around outside the bunker talking. There is a swamp around most of the FOB, and it is getting worse as the rainy season approaches.

All the guys in the bunker got up to watch Monday Night Football at 4 in the morning. I couldn't sleep very well with the game on and them cheering and yelling. I am kind of worried, though; I am going to bed at, like, eight or nine, and if I let myself I can sleep for ten hours straight. Either I am not getting quality sleep, or something is wrong. It is bothering me. Usually I only need six or seven.

Heard lots of firing last night from the base down the road. Nobody knows what was going on.

My smallpox site has finally stopped leaking stuff, so the medics said I don't have to leave the band-aids on. I'm glad. I can finally start running again. I'm going to run over to the gym this afternoon and start my lifting regimen. I'm going to try to put on ten to fifteen pounds of muscle this year, and lose a lot of fat. I put a good inch or two on my waist right before I came, and it already seems to be gone. I'm pleased. I think it's because I don't have access to beer here, so I have already decided to not drink nearly so much beer upon my return.

One of my buddies bought four seasons of Futurama for $5 from the Haji store. I'm trying to get him to get me a copy of Serenity and Lord of War. He said to check back on Wednesday, since that's when he gets his new stuff. I just hope my damn tuff box gets here soon, because it has my XBOX in it.

I kind of gave up on Brothers K, and am now reading James DeLillo's Underworld, which was recommended to me years ago by my high school senior English teacher. I'm still living out of my ruck, but at least I have a bed now, and a little rug. When the unit we're replacing moves out, I'll have a very nice room.

Mortars

"...of the embattled flaming multitude
Who rise, wing above wing, flame above flame,
And, like a storm, cry the Ineffable Name,
And with the clashing of their sword-blades make
A rapturous music..."
-Yeats

I got mortared yesterday, twice. I was nowhere near danger, so don't worry. It's just odd that I come to a base that's so safe, that never sees action, and twice in one day I am close to it. I think the local terrorists are just trying to test out this new group of soldiers coming in. I feel sorry for them once the outgoing unit leaves; of all the brigades in all the divisions in the Army, ours is probably the worst to pick a fight with. We're going to bring the wrath of God down on these idiots.

It was kind of surreal. I've been training for combat for six years, almost, and now I'm in it. It's like an athlete, I guess, not able to believe he's finally playing in the championship game. Of course, plenty of good soldiers are in a lot worse situation that I'm in, but still. Incoming mortars. Just drives home how real it is now.

However, I am very excited about this place. I hope we stay all year. I am in a very good place and am very excited about my job. I can't remember being this optimistic about work. Hopefully the head shed will just stay in their lane and let me do my job, and it'll be great.

To my family and friends: if you know where I am, or my job, or what unit I'm a part of, don't post it on here. This is for security reasons. Also don't post my full name. I just want to be sure I don't get in trouble with command.

Well, I'm going to try to call Jen. Take care, all.