On 1040 29MAR09, during an extensive cordon and search operation, my world went white. Bright shining light everywhere. I didn't even hear the explosion; my ears just went out immediately. Then the ringing started. It still hasn't stopped.
I should preface by announcing that everyone in Blue Platoon is alive and nobody is seriously wounded. In fact, the only Coalition Forces injured in the incident was me. I was walking down the road to one of my vehicles, accompanied by an Iraqi Army Captain (a great guy, easy smile, intelligent, speaks very good English), when everything went into slow motion. I remember walking, I remember everything flashing, and then I don't remember anything for about five to ten minutes. I'm told by my gunner (watching as I walked towards the vehicle) that the IED detonated no more than five meters from me. The IA Captain was standing in such a way that his body blocked any shrapnel from hitting me. In brief, despite all odds, I didn't get a scratch on my body. Not one. My friend was not so lucky. He's alive, and last I heard he's in stable condition. The shrapnel ripped into his arms and legs, tearing open some lacerations all the way down to the bone.
I can't remember what I did for the first five or so minutes after the blast, so what I report is what others observed me doing. Apparently I sprinted to cover, took cover, left cover immediately, and sprinted back towards the blast site, yelling at my gunner to "cover me." He screamed at me to turn around and head for a humvee, convinced I was hit and bleeding. I took his advice and dove into the seat and started calling up orders to the platoon. I'm told most of it was gibberish. Somehow I managed to establish a cordon around a mosque where someone thought they had seen a trigger man flee.
I resumed full consciousness in the middle of a conversation with the Commander. And when I did wake back up, I had no idea what I had been saying when I was still at some other level of consciousness. And I looked like a complete idiot.
"The cordon is in place, LT. What's your plan of action?"
"Hold on... wait... cordon? Give me a second... holy shit my head... what cordon?"
"For the possible trigger man! You were just giving me the description they reported to you!"
"There's a trigger man? Who said there's a trigger man?"
I've never heard of something like this happening before, but apparently it can. I completely lost five or ten minutes of time.
Short of a minor concussion, inflamed and swelling eardrums, a constant obnoxious ringing sound in the back of my head, and some dizziness and nasuea, I'm doing just fine. Thank God for that. I have no rational explanation for how everything around me was perforated with shrapnel and I didn't get a scratch. I've been amazed at my luck before, but this is unprecedented. I can't get my mind around it (maybe because the constant headache has impaired my thinking). I'm fine. I'm good. My joints hurt, my teeth feel tingly and loose, my head is pounding and my eyes have trouble focusing, but I'm alive. Not a scratch. Amazing.
In other news, platoon life continues as normal. Which is to say hectic and busy. I find myself missing my wife and my home more and more than ever (especially today). We're starting to think this madness might never end. We've got to get out of here. There is nothing healthy and sane about a world where random things explode all the time. Some of the guys are starting to push out on mid-tour leave (a bit early, I think), but at least it gives us the illusion that we're half-way done.
I read a particularly inspirational piece of bathroom graffiti a bit ago that may summarize the sinking feeling of despair.
"Anyone ready for some hot man on man action?"
And written underneath, in a different hand:
"Not yet. But soon."
29 March 2009
24 March 2009
MOSUL 24MAR09
An eventful ten days since my last post.
We've conducted two humanitarian aid drops--or more specifically, handed all the materials over to the National Police, secured the site for them, and then watched as they informed the populace that this was a product of their good will and a symbol of increasing Iraqi stability (our food, our security... but I guess the illusion is better than nothing). The first drop, in my main problem neighborhood, almost ended in a food riot. When they ran out of food the crowd started rushing the truck. I almost smacked the National Policeman who did what we fully expected they would (but were still hoping they would not) do: started firing rounds off in the air. NOTE: This does NOT calm down a mob. This does NOT restore order. This is NOT a clever idea. All of a sudden, my platoon is pouring out of the woodwork on this crowd. Everyone quieted right down. Apparently the Americans have built a reputation around here for strict crowd control. I wonder if we're still authorized to use the tear gas grenades. Hope has a picture of me in Basic Training after being subjected to my first tear gas chamber. I had bronchitis at the time, so the entire front of my uniform was covered in green stuff. I vomited into the chinstrap of my helmet. It was miserable. But it is a hell of a way to drive off a crowd. Might have countered the good will we were trying to foster, though.
While we were leaving one of the aid drops, the National Police started going crazy about a possible IED in an old, rusted out car on the road. They were convinced there was a bomb. We glanced at it and did in fact see a strange object lying there, so we decided to humor them. Last time I didn't believe their assessment I almost got a face full of shrapnel. So as I'm driving my vehicle by to establish the far-side cordon, I take a good look at it.
Huh.
"Blue One, this is Blue Four," calls SSG Lark. "Do you have a visual? Can you give me a description of the IED?"
"Four, this is One. I have the IED in site time now. Visual description follows: Approximately seven to eight pounds, white exterior, orange markings, long tail, whiskers, and four *adorable* little paws. I'm calling him Mittens."
Mittens left shortly after we cordoned the area off, and we watched as he romped and frolicked around our trucks for the three hours we had to wait for EOD to arrive. Guess what? No bomb. SGT Ladies' Man is preparing a visual diagram to represent his revolutionary new concept: the Cat-Borne IED (CBIED). Could be ingenious.
Yesterday, Blue Platoon arrived on scene to assist our colleagues in Red after a suicide bomber detonated in the middle of their National Police partners. I have some general guidelines for all of you who intend suicide: first and foremost, I would advise against a suicide vest. It is fast, yes, but it is not clean. Not clean at all. We were finding stray body parts hundreds of feet away. We were identifying the victims and the bomber by who's legs were wearing what shoes. Watched a cat (Mittens?) eating pieces of human flesh. If this place weren't already completely surreal and screwed up, this kind of thing might mess with your sleep for the next few years. But I find myself sleeping like a baby. SSG Lark is sometimes confused by how unfazed I seem by all of this. He thinks it may be a mental disorder of some kind, or maybe some kind of delayed reaction coping mechanism. I call bullshit. "Don't you realize that this place isn't normal? That this kind of thing isn't normal?" he asks. No, I counter, this kind of thing IS normal for where we are. I actually expected worse. If you came here expecting to find small-town Arkansas, replete with Mom and Pop stores and the Friday night football game, you're probably having some trouble adjusting. But I had a year and a half of training just to pyschologically prepare me as an officer, and they told us to expect nothing short of Armageddon. This is not the End of the World. This is, as I mentioned earlier, just a ridiculous and absurdly violent camping trip.
The final issue today, and one which depresses me immensely but cannot be avoided, is that I'm going to lose Blue Platoon in June. We knew this would come eventually. I was hoping to keep my platoon through the entire deployment, but my time as a Platoon Leader is ending and I need to step aside for the new guys. I've come to love my men, and there's always a feeling of failure and betrayal when you have to abandon your battle buddies halfway through the fight, but this is the way it goes. "Officers are guests," says SSG Lark. "You come in, take control, make all these big decisions, but then, before you know it, you're gone." I have two more months before I shift out. I'll be assuming the position of Night Battle Captain. As Hope sagely pointed out, this is a position that requires no battling, or--as is apparent by my rank--even being a Captain. This position is in headquarters. I'll be coordinating units in the field while the leadership sleeps, basically acting as Battalion Commander during the slow parts. The moment something happens they'll reassume control, but they have to sleep sometimes, and this is where the Battle Captain comes in. I just track everybody's locations, missions, and dispositions, and then push assets like air support out to them as necessary. My life will be filled with screens and air footage. I'll carry a pistol and smell freshly bathed. I'll work in standard shifts of eight-to-twelve hours. I'll catch myself ruefully reminiscing on the glory days when "outside the wire" wasn't a theoretical concept. Dear God, what will become of me? Transitioning from constant combat operations to headquarters may be too much. My Mom is thrilled. I'm knocking my head against the walls.
As an Infantry Officer, there is a progression of possible jobs I need "to get my ticket punched" for future success. After my time as Platoon Leader, I would ideally like a Scout Platoon, a Mortar Platoon, or to serve as Executive Officer in a company. These are the "next step" jobs. There are also the jobs you definitely don't want, such as serving at Brigade level in the shops. This is where Lieutenant careers go to die. Battle Captain is something towards the high end of the middle. It means my performance has been good but not great, and it means my future is probably not in the Infantry. Which we all know. My Commander told it to me straight: my strength is in the non-kinetic part of the war. Reconstruction, negotiation, public affairs, civil meetings. I enjoy the Infantry portion, but we both know that I'm looking to transfer out of the Infantry and into Civil Affairs. And he's done his best to facilitate this move. In return, though, he cannot in good conscience put me forward for the next-step Infantry positions over officers who actually need them for their careers. Battle Captain will not hinder my branch transfer. It may even help it, since my Commander is trying to push for me to also serve as Civil Projects Liaison. But my Infantry days are coming to a close. My Mom and Hope can throw a party somewhere, but right now I'm a little disappointed. I don't want to leave Blue.
What this means for the Journal will be more difficult. Come June, the focus will shift from Blue Platoon to little old me and my adventures (or lack thereof) in headquarters. Not exciting stuff. Also mostly classified, so the material will be limited. So I'll be trying to cram as many entries as possible into the next two months. After the transfer, we'll see what a normal entry consists of; right now, I can't even imagine. Until then, though, I'm still here with Blue. I'll write again soon.
We've conducted two humanitarian aid drops--or more specifically, handed all the materials over to the National Police, secured the site for them, and then watched as they informed the populace that this was a product of their good will and a symbol of increasing Iraqi stability (our food, our security... but I guess the illusion is better than nothing). The first drop, in my main problem neighborhood, almost ended in a food riot. When they ran out of food the crowd started rushing the truck. I almost smacked the National Policeman who did what we fully expected they would (but were still hoping they would not) do: started firing rounds off in the air. NOTE: This does NOT calm down a mob. This does NOT restore order. This is NOT a clever idea. All of a sudden, my platoon is pouring out of the woodwork on this crowd. Everyone quieted right down. Apparently the Americans have built a reputation around here for strict crowd control. I wonder if we're still authorized to use the tear gas grenades. Hope has a picture of me in Basic Training after being subjected to my first tear gas chamber. I had bronchitis at the time, so the entire front of my uniform was covered in green stuff. I vomited into the chinstrap of my helmet. It was miserable. But it is a hell of a way to drive off a crowd. Might have countered the good will we were trying to foster, though.
While we were leaving one of the aid drops, the National Police started going crazy about a possible IED in an old, rusted out car on the road. They were convinced there was a bomb. We glanced at it and did in fact see a strange object lying there, so we decided to humor them. Last time I didn't believe their assessment I almost got a face full of shrapnel. So as I'm driving my vehicle by to establish the far-side cordon, I take a good look at it.
Huh.
"Blue One, this is Blue Four," calls SSG Lark. "Do you have a visual? Can you give me a description of the IED?"
"Four, this is One. I have the IED in site time now. Visual description follows: Approximately seven to eight pounds, white exterior, orange markings, long tail, whiskers, and four *adorable* little paws. I'm calling him Mittens."
Mittens left shortly after we cordoned the area off, and we watched as he romped and frolicked around our trucks for the three hours we had to wait for EOD to arrive. Guess what? No bomb. SGT Ladies' Man is preparing a visual diagram to represent his revolutionary new concept: the Cat-Borne IED (CBIED). Could be ingenious.
Yesterday, Blue Platoon arrived on scene to assist our colleagues in Red after a suicide bomber detonated in the middle of their National Police partners. I have some general guidelines for all of you who intend suicide: first and foremost, I would advise against a suicide vest. It is fast, yes, but it is not clean. Not clean at all. We were finding stray body parts hundreds of feet away. We were identifying the victims and the bomber by who's legs were wearing what shoes. Watched a cat (Mittens?) eating pieces of human flesh. If this place weren't already completely surreal and screwed up, this kind of thing might mess with your sleep for the next few years. But I find myself sleeping like a baby. SSG Lark is sometimes confused by how unfazed I seem by all of this. He thinks it may be a mental disorder of some kind, or maybe some kind of delayed reaction coping mechanism. I call bullshit. "Don't you realize that this place isn't normal? That this kind of thing isn't normal?" he asks. No, I counter, this kind of thing IS normal for where we are. I actually expected worse. If you came here expecting to find small-town Arkansas, replete with Mom and Pop stores and the Friday night football game, you're probably having some trouble adjusting. But I had a year and a half of training just to pyschologically prepare me as an officer, and they told us to expect nothing short of Armageddon. This is not the End of the World. This is, as I mentioned earlier, just a ridiculous and absurdly violent camping trip.
The final issue today, and one which depresses me immensely but cannot be avoided, is that I'm going to lose Blue Platoon in June. We knew this would come eventually. I was hoping to keep my platoon through the entire deployment, but my time as a Platoon Leader is ending and I need to step aside for the new guys. I've come to love my men, and there's always a feeling of failure and betrayal when you have to abandon your battle buddies halfway through the fight, but this is the way it goes. "Officers are guests," says SSG Lark. "You come in, take control, make all these big decisions, but then, before you know it, you're gone." I have two more months before I shift out. I'll be assuming the position of Night Battle Captain. As Hope sagely pointed out, this is a position that requires no battling, or--as is apparent by my rank--even being a Captain. This position is in headquarters. I'll be coordinating units in the field while the leadership sleeps, basically acting as Battalion Commander during the slow parts. The moment something happens they'll reassume control, but they have to sleep sometimes, and this is where the Battle Captain comes in. I just track everybody's locations, missions, and dispositions, and then push assets like air support out to them as necessary. My life will be filled with screens and air footage. I'll carry a pistol and smell freshly bathed. I'll work in standard shifts of eight-to-twelve hours. I'll catch myself ruefully reminiscing on the glory days when "outside the wire" wasn't a theoretical concept. Dear God, what will become of me? Transitioning from constant combat operations to headquarters may be too much. My Mom is thrilled. I'm knocking my head against the walls.
As an Infantry Officer, there is a progression of possible jobs I need "to get my ticket punched" for future success. After my time as Platoon Leader, I would ideally like a Scout Platoon, a Mortar Platoon, or to serve as Executive Officer in a company. These are the "next step" jobs. There are also the jobs you definitely don't want, such as serving at Brigade level in the shops. This is where Lieutenant careers go to die. Battle Captain is something towards the high end of the middle. It means my performance has been good but not great, and it means my future is probably not in the Infantry. Which we all know. My Commander told it to me straight: my strength is in the non-kinetic part of the war. Reconstruction, negotiation, public affairs, civil meetings. I enjoy the Infantry portion, but we both know that I'm looking to transfer out of the Infantry and into Civil Affairs. And he's done his best to facilitate this move. In return, though, he cannot in good conscience put me forward for the next-step Infantry positions over officers who actually need them for their careers. Battle Captain will not hinder my branch transfer. It may even help it, since my Commander is trying to push for me to also serve as Civil Projects Liaison. But my Infantry days are coming to a close. My Mom and Hope can throw a party somewhere, but right now I'm a little disappointed. I don't want to leave Blue.
What this means for the Journal will be more difficult. Come June, the focus will shift from Blue Platoon to little old me and my adventures (or lack thereof) in headquarters. Not exciting stuff. Also mostly classified, so the material will be limited. So I'll be trying to cram as many entries as possible into the next two months. After the transfer, we'll see what a normal entry consists of; right now, I can't even imagine. Until then, though, I'm still here with Blue. I'll write again soon.
14 March 2009
MOSUL 14MAR09
Once again, Blue Platoon has experienced an incredible spate of good luck. They tried to kill SSG Lark two days ago... and they almost succeeded. I should probably mention that they tried to kill everyone in his truck, but as I work with SSG Lark more than anyone else, that struck closer to home. As we were completing a traffic checkpoint (searching pedestrians as they entered the neighborhood) and preparing to exfiltrate, an insurgent opened fire on his truck. With a pistol. The gunner swerved over to engage. Our .50 cal Browning Machine Gun vs. their pistol makes for very good odds, so we expected some serious results. But the diversion worked just as intended. A nearby pedestrian walked out of the crowd on the gunner's blind side, approached the truck, and rolled a hand grenade into the turret. The truck behind was baffled... the grenade was bright red, and they couldn't imagine why someone would toss a tomato at the vehicle. Another insurgent walked out of the crowd with a pistol, tried to open SSG Lark's door, found it was locked, and popped a shot into the window. Thank God for shatterproof glass. The driver, PFC Timidity (as we will call him as we introduce him for the first time), demonstrated innovation and quick thinking not usually seen in him (hence his name) and gunned the truck forward. The grenade rolled off onto the ground, detonating and disabling the vehicle, but injuring no one. Very lucky. The ensuing firefight and pursuit damaged a dozen civilian vehicles, but all three of them disappeared into the crowd and fled.
I grabbed a squad and pursued. Maybe not the best idea in the world, but it worked at the time, so we ran--literally ran--for an hour after them. They split up, but the choppers were able to get on station fast enough to identify one of them and walk us in to his location. It was quite a little pursuit. When we caught up, he had dropped all of his weapons and had linked up with his cousin who tried to cover for him. "He's been with me all day." Right. SSG Lark saw you up close and personal. He knows you. He recognizes you. You are ours now, buddy. I had both of them detained. I felt pretty bad about leaving the cousin's eight-year-old kid crying on the street by himself, but getting shot at and blown up can make you pretty callous. We dragged them both back to our vehicles and into our detention facility.
(Cue the circus music.)
Now, ladies and gentlemen, behold the grand spectacle of the detention process in the new Iraq! With time ticking down before mandatory release, the lieutenant here must gather witnesses and documents in an uncooperative country or watch his culprit run free! It's a scavenger hunt of epic scale. Can our hero do it?
The first act is to round up the witnesses. But wait! In a country where everybody knows everybody's mother, suddenly no one wants to talk about the incident! A dozen people on the street, but each one of them is more terrified of the insurgents than of the Americans. Did you see anything? No? Are you sure? Here, if we blindfold these detainees so they can't see you, can you tell us if you've seen people matching this description on the scene? You can't? Oh, you were hiding at the time and completely oblivious? Of course you were. All of you? No? Great. Well, come with us anyway. We're taking your statements whether you want to give them or not.
Now quickly, as time ticks down to the twenty-four hour limit, process these guys into the detention facility! Tick tock tick tock.... and six hours are gone with paperwork and sworn statements. But wait! You can't hold them without a certificate from an Iraqi Colonel or above allowing Coalition Forces to detain Iraqi citizens. And here's the extra challenge in your scavenger hunt: all of the Colonels in your area are on leave! That's right, vacation! They're gone! With two hours left, you need to find a Colonel willing to sign away these citizens to our custody. Isn't there a Colonel at the Brigade Headquarters? Maybe, but he's new. So we speed over there, run out of the vehicles with the documents, and try to get him to sign it. Twenty minutes left now. What's that, Colonel? You haven't heard anything about this incident and want a full report, as well as a phone call to your command group? Uh... listen, we're a bit short on time here (ten minutes left). Could you just take this on faith? No? Got it. Here's the breakdown. And the phone call. Two minutes left. Documents in hand, we sprint back to the vehicles and drive back to the detention facility. A sergeant from headquarters is there causing a ruckus and trying to distract them to buy time (which is now out). Then, just as they are getting wise to our game, up rolls the convoy! Out we go, documents in hand, and sprint to the desk. Congratulations! You have now imprisoned two men for fourteen days. This gives you time to get witnesses (unlikely) and gather evidence.
The interrogator informed us that they started breaking their story. Separating them and trying to get the cousin to flip may be working. One says they took a cab here, the other says they walked, one says there were just two of them plus the kid, the other claims a whole group was with them. The stories start to crack. All the while, this guy has to be wondering how we caught him. Did he ever wonder why those helicopters kept hovering over his general area? Well, buddy, we caught you. And if we have to turn you over to the Iraqi authorities, while they will most likely eventually release you, we know that you'll at least have a very bad time of it. They don't follow the rules we follow. Why don't you just admit to everything now? They execute terrorists. We just lock you up.
Anyway, it's been an eventful few days. We caught one. Yes, we should have killed all three in the firefight. I know. We'll work on that. Embarrassed? Yes, a little. Our marksmanship is not what it should be, apparently. But we did get you. We're the first platoon to make contact, maintain contact, engage, close with, and detain the enemy. SSG Lark is still a bit shaken up, which is understandable, and PFC Timidity will be getting his Combat Infantryman Badge. Good work, crew. We've been very lucky. Couple this with the IED that detonated much too close to me the day before, and we have what can only be described as unreasonably good fortune. So keep the prayers coming. If you get a chance, say one for the little kid we left on the street without a father. He's innocent in all of this. But do I regret my actions? I surprise myself by finding I don't. He's a casualty in all of this, but that's the price you pay when your family supports the insurgency. Don't shoot at my men. It makes me a bit vengeful. So, I'm off to yet another meeting and another patrol. I'll write again when I get the chance.
I grabbed a squad and pursued. Maybe not the best idea in the world, but it worked at the time, so we ran--literally ran--for an hour after them. They split up, but the choppers were able to get on station fast enough to identify one of them and walk us in to his location. It was quite a little pursuit. When we caught up, he had dropped all of his weapons and had linked up with his cousin who tried to cover for him. "He's been with me all day." Right. SSG Lark saw you up close and personal. He knows you. He recognizes you. You are ours now, buddy. I had both of them detained. I felt pretty bad about leaving the cousin's eight-year-old kid crying on the street by himself, but getting shot at and blown up can make you pretty callous. We dragged them both back to our vehicles and into our detention facility.
(Cue the circus music.)
Now, ladies and gentlemen, behold the grand spectacle of the detention process in the new Iraq! With time ticking down before mandatory release, the lieutenant here must gather witnesses and documents in an uncooperative country or watch his culprit run free! It's a scavenger hunt of epic scale. Can our hero do it?
The first act is to round up the witnesses. But wait! In a country where everybody knows everybody's mother, suddenly no one wants to talk about the incident! A dozen people on the street, but each one of them is more terrified of the insurgents than of the Americans. Did you see anything? No? Are you sure? Here, if we blindfold these detainees so they can't see you, can you tell us if you've seen people matching this description on the scene? You can't? Oh, you were hiding at the time and completely oblivious? Of course you were. All of you? No? Great. Well, come with us anyway. We're taking your statements whether you want to give them or not.
Now quickly, as time ticks down to the twenty-four hour limit, process these guys into the detention facility! Tick tock tick tock.... and six hours are gone with paperwork and sworn statements. But wait! You can't hold them without a certificate from an Iraqi Colonel or above allowing Coalition Forces to detain Iraqi citizens. And here's the extra challenge in your scavenger hunt: all of the Colonels in your area are on leave! That's right, vacation! They're gone! With two hours left, you need to find a Colonel willing to sign away these citizens to our custody. Isn't there a Colonel at the Brigade Headquarters? Maybe, but he's new. So we speed over there, run out of the vehicles with the documents, and try to get him to sign it. Twenty minutes left now. What's that, Colonel? You haven't heard anything about this incident and want a full report, as well as a phone call to your command group? Uh... listen, we're a bit short on time here (ten minutes left). Could you just take this on faith? No? Got it. Here's the breakdown. And the phone call. Two minutes left. Documents in hand, we sprint back to the vehicles and drive back to the detention facility. A sergeant from headquarters is there causing a ruckus and trying to distract them to buy time (which is now out). Then, just as they are getting wise to our game, up rolls the convoy! Out we go, documents in hand, and sprint to the desk. Congratulations! You have now imprisoned two men for fourteen days. This gives you time to get witnesses (unlikely) and gather evidence.
The interrogator informed us that they started breaking their story. Separating them and trying to get the cousin to flip may be working. One says they took a cab here, the other says they walked, one says there were just two of them plus the kid, the other claims a whole group was with them. The stories start to crack. All the while, this guy has to be wondering how we caught him. Did he ever wonder why those helicopters kept hovering over his general area? Well, buddy, we caught you. And if we have to turn you over to the Iraqi authorities, while they will most likely eventually release you, we know that you'll at least have a very bad time of it. They don't follow the rules we follow. Why don't you just admit to everything now? They execute terrorists. We just lock you up.
Anyway, it's been an eventful few days. We caught one. Yes, we should have killed all three in the firefight. I know. We'll work on that. Embarrassed? Yes, a little. Our marksmanship is not what it should be, apparently. But we did get you. We're the first platoon to make contact, maintain contact, engage, close with, and detain the enemy. SSG Lark is still a bit shaken up, which is understandable, and PFC Timidity will be getting his Combat Infantryman Badge. Good work, crew. We've been very lucky. Couple this with the IED that detonated much too close to me the day before, and we have what can only be described as unreasonably good fortune. So keep the prayers coming. If you get a chance, say one for the little kid we left on the street without a father. He's innocent in all of this. But do I regret my actions? I surprise myself by finding I don't. He's a casualty in all of this, but that's the price you pay when your family supports the insurgency. Don't shoot at my men. It makes me a bit vengeful. So, I'm off to yet another meeting and another patrol. I'll write again when I get the chance.
09 March 2009
MOSUL 09MAR09
I have been remiss in writing for the last week. We've been ridiculously busy again, but now, between missions and with a new wireless internet service working, I'm able to post another entry. My life over the last week has been a series of missions, varied throughout morning and night, trying to reestablish control of our AO. The insurgents apparently weren't as shocked and awed by our intensive cordon and search as we hoped they would be. Grenade attacks and small arms fire are on the rise. On 07MAR09, Blue Platoon was present for two IED detonations. Nobody in our platoon was hurt. One of my colleagues, a lieutenant in the National Police, took shrapnel to the leg. He'll be fine. These are basically little surface explosives intended to kill dismounted troops; they do very little against vehicles. Might pop off a tire. They want us to stay in the vehicles, apparently, and they want to stretch the National Police thin so that they have insufficient manpower to continue offensive operations. You can't mount a patrol when all of your soldiers are guarding the roads. We've made serious efforts to incorporate the National Police into a real partnership. We pair each of them up with one of our soldiers. We inspect our men before patrols and watch them inspect theirs. We move together, my men paired with theirs, me with their commander, and proceed in tandem. The Blue AO is coming along very well in that department. My colleagues in Red and White are having trouble getting their partnered leadership to understand the importance of patrolling at all, let alone patrolling as partners, so they're essentially stuck far behind us. No lack of effort on their part. I have been fortunate to receive a unit that is comfortable with our presence and eager for our support. I'd like to think that some of this can be credited to our efforts at developing a rapport and friendly relationship with them, but maybe we were just lucky. Red One is having a bad time with his guys especially. Then again, he's also very American in his outlook. He is quick to judge and belittle them when they err, and this probably doesn't do much for the working relationship. It's a problem: we're working in a training/mentoring/partnered relationship, which is basically a Special Forces mission, but we're line infantry. Some of us just can't get out of the mindset.
The difference is palpable. A few nights ago, while on a dismount patrol, Blue was shot at by some National Police. Fortunately I had already recognized them as allies before they shot at us. Given the recent spate of insurgents disguising themselves as police so they can kill us up close, we had some doubts, but I knew these men and their checkpoint. It was dark, they were scared, and they made an idiotic decision. I had my men hold their fire. A tough decision, since that bullet definitely cracked right by me. I was a little angry. We stopped and shouted, with no response. I had some air support choppers buzz them up close, just to put the fear of the Red, White, and Blue into them. Then, with close air coverage, I approached them with a squad and a Bradley, blinding them with the Brad lights. They claimed they thought we were terrorists. Terrorists with helicopters and Bradleys. I have to admit that I held off for a second while SGT Skizz shook them around before I intervened. Usually I put a stop to that kind of thing immediately, but I wanted them to know that we were not happy. Not happy at all. Seriously. I get a little irate when you shoot at me and my men. I just can't help it.
Today is the Sunni celebration for the birth of the Prophet. It was marked by a sharp increase in attacks on National Police. Once again, the enemy pulled out the moment Coalition Forces arrived on scene. They just don't want to engage us anymore. The local populace was targeted as well, with one killed and two wounded, and this has done little to reduce the growing animosity the public has to these foreign fighters. I met a Sheik yesterday who had lost eleven members of his family to Coalition Forces during the course of the war, including his eldest son, and while he was hardly complimentary of our efforts at pacifying the area, he did volunteer that he had come to hate the insurgents even more than us. We at least try to put things right. Say what you will about our efforts here, our intent is honorable. We want to leave the country more secure and stable then when we arrived. The populace is growing to understand this. The insurgents depend on slaughter and chaos and have no honorable plan for the populace, and they are growing to understand this as well. They may not all like us, but they understand us. We're most certainly the lesser of two evils.
My crew is doing well. SPC Darkness is reveling in the fact that he gets to drive my truck, which means he is getting paid for a leadership position but is doing a private's work, and he is pleased to find that I don't scream at my crew when they make mistakes. Not my place. I just try to correct them and get the show on the road. I'm always a little frustrated when my leadership stops a patrol to punish a mistake. I understand it has to be done, but there are ways of getting the job done without stopping the whole process. SGT Lady's Man is also pretty ecstatic about the arrangement. He came to be my gunner when he almost crushed one of our HMMWVs with his Bradley. This is his punishment. He couldn't be happier. SGT Mountain is not faring so well, as the constant screaming from SSG Lark is weighing down on him. He tries so hard. I have never wanted someone to succeed so badly. I want him to do it right, but the little things always evade his attention. He's to the point of seeking counseling from the Chaplain. I've instructed SSG Lark to go a little easier on him, but this is outside of my lane, and I understand if that doesn't happen. SSG Lark is keeping the platoon straight inside so I can keep the sector straight outside. His efforts typically work, so I keep out of his hair. But he is definitely a taskmaster and can be pretty ruthless about it.
Blue Platoon is currently fighting a bell curve... and losing. Someone in headquarters had the brilliant observation that most of our patrols were occurring around the same time every day, so the company decided to change things up. Ideally this would mean shifting to one long mission in the early morning or late night, but we're trying to fight statistics, so my instructions are to stage multiple patrols in morning and night, and be ready to act during those peak times when we're typically out. In essence, we patrol ALL THE TIME. Sleep is sparse. Ulcers are plentiful. I had three men go to sick call for stress-related injuries... not the little ones. Heavy blood content in feces. I think I'm even losing hair. Dad, if you win the baldness gene, I'm going to be very upset. The sad thing is that we pushed those three men through sick call, gave them some medication, and then pushed them immediately out on our next patrol. We can't afford not to. We need everyone. In the Army, you can be punished for falling ill. You have by personal neglect inflicted damage to Army property. Conversely, can you be punished for mishandling Army property? Am I running them too hard? Are they running me too hard? Or are we like the vehicles, with expected periods of breakdown? The only problem is that the vehicles get time for maintenance. My men do not. They need sleep. They need time when they aren't constantly paranoid. They need a day when nothing explodes and nobody shoots at them. We're holding on, but at this rate, I'm going to be leading husks by summer. They're doing their jobs well, but that's all they're doing. They have no down time, no life outside of patrols. And no, we are not one of the brigades tasked for early redeployment. Things are much too hot here. We'll be here to the end.
Keep Blue Platoon in your prayers. We're still trucking, despite it all, and the men deserve great credit for their tenacity. I think that America might have pushed off some of its marginal population to the Army, but they will return as America's best. These men remain heroes in my eyes. I'll write again as soon as I can.
The difference is palpable. A few nights ago, while on a dismount patrol, Blue was shot at by some National Police. Fortunately I had already recognized them as allies before they shot at us. Given the recent spate of insurgents disguising themselves as police so they can kill us up close, we had some doubts, but I knew these men and their checkpoint. It was dark, they were scared, and they made an idiotic decision. I had my men hold their fire. A tough decision, since that bullet definitely cracked right by me. I was a little angry. We stopped and shouted, with no response. I had some air support choppers buzz them up close, just to put the fear of the Red, White, and Blue into them. Then, with close air coverage, I approached them with a squad and a Bradley, blinding them with the Brad lights. They claimed they thought we were terrorists. Terrorists with helicopters and Bradleys. I have to admit that I held off for a second while SGT Skizz shook them around before I intervened. Usually I put a stop to that kind of thing immediately, but I wanted them to know that we were not happy. Not happy at all. Seriously. I get a little irate when you shoot at me and my men. I just can't help it.
Today is the Sunni celebration for the birth of the Prophet. It was marked by a sharp increase in attacks on National Police. Once again, the enemy pulled out the moment Coalition Forces arrived on scene. They just don't want to engage us anymore. The local populace was targeted as well, with one killed and two wounded, and this has done little to reduce the growing animosity the public has to these foreign fighters. I met a Sheik yesterday who had lost eleven members of his family to Coalition Forces during the course of the war, including his eldest son, and while he was hardly complimentary of our efforts at pacifying the area, he did volunteer that he had come to hate the insurgents even more than us. We at least try to put things right. Say what you will about our efforts here, our intent is honorable. We want to leave the country more secure and stable then when we arrived. The populace is growing to understand this. The insurgents depend on slaughter and chaos and have no honorable plan for the populace, and they are growing to understand this as well. They may not all like us, but they understand us. We're most certainly the lesser of two evils.
My crew is doing well. SPC Darkness is reveling in the fact that he gets to drive my truck, which means he is getting paid for a leadership position but is doing a private's work, and he is pleased to find that I don't scream at my crew when they make mistakes. Not my place. I just try to correct them and get the show on the road. I'm always a little frustrated when my leadership stops a patrol to punish a mistake. I understand it has to be done, but there are ways of getting the job done without stopping the whole process. SGT Lady's Man is also pretty ecstatic about the arrangement. He came to be my gunner when he almost crushed one of our HMMWVs with his Bradley. This is his punishment. He couldn't be happier. SGT Mountain is not faring so well, as the constant screaming from SSG Lark is weighing down on him. He tries so hard. I have never wanted someone to succeed so badly. I want him to do it right, but the little things always evade his attention. He's to the point of seeking counseling from the Chaplain. I've instructed SSG Lark to go a little easier on him, but this is outside of my lane, and I understand if that doesn't happen. SSG Lark is keeping the platoon straight inside so I can keep the sector straight outside. His efforts typically work, so I keep out of his hair. But he is definitely a taskmaster and can be pretty ruthless about it.
Blue Platoon is currently fighting a bell curve... and losing. Someone in headquarters had the brilliant observation that most of our patrols were occurring around the same time every day, so the company decided to change things up. Ideally this would mean shifting to one long mission in the early morning or late night, but we're trying to fight statistics, so my instructions are to stage multiple patrols in morning and night, and be ready to act during those peak times when we're typically out. In essence, we patrol ALL THE TIME. Sleep is sparse. Ulcers are plentiful. I had three men go to sick call for stress-related injuries... not the little ones. Heavy blood content in feces. I think I'm even losing hair. Dad, if you win the baldness gene, I'm going to be very upset. The sad thing is that we pushed those three men through sick call, gave them some medication, and then pushed them immediately out on our next patrol. We can't afford not to. We need everyone. In the Army, you can be punished for falling ill. You have by personal neglect inflicted damage to Army property. Conversely, can you be punished for mishandling Army property? Am I running them too hard? Are they running me too hard? Or are we like the vehicles, with expected periods of breakdown? The only problem is that the vehicles get time for maintenance. My men do not. They need sleep. They need time when they aren't constantly paranoid. They need a day when nothing explodes and nobody shoots at them. We're holding on, but at this rate, I'm going to be leading husks by summer. They're doing their jobs well, but that's all they're doing. They have no down time, no life outside of patrols. And no, we are not one of the brigades tasked for early redeployment. Things are much too hot here. We'll be here to the end.
Keep Blue Platoon in your prayers. We're still trucking, despite it all, and the men deserve great credit for their tenacity. I think that America might have pushed off some of its marginal population to the Army, but they will return as America's best. These men remain heroes in my eyes. I'll write again as soon as I can.
MOSUL 01MAR09
We’ve completed our portion of Operation New Hope. What it effectively meant for us was a week of very long days and very little sleep. I also got a personal tour of just about every building in a two-neighborhood sector. Of course, by the end of the operation just about everyone knew that we were coming to search their houses. Some of the upper-class houses had chai and baked treats waiting for us when we entered. “Oh, what a pleasant surprise to see you! I suppose you’ll be wanting to search my house now. Please go ahead. We actually thought you were coming yesterday, so it isn’t as clean now as it was then. We apologize for any mess.”
Huh. So much for lightning speed, I guess. But we hit the problem areas first, so everything afterwards was just icing on the cake. The sinister one-eyed man has been captured. A few weapons caches were located and disposed of. I got shot at twice, got scared by a grenade once (as I mentioned earlier, it failed to detonate), and drank maybe fifty cups of chai. I see now why all the old people I meet here have diabetes. It’s the chai and the sweets. They cover everything in high quantities of sugar or salt, depending on the food.
We decided to enact a few personnel moves. SGT Crisis is no longer my gunner, which is fine by me, as he has been given a fire team of dismounts. Let’s see how he handles. My new gunner is SGT Lady’s Man, the only one I know with these standing orders: “If my penis is blown off, do not resuscitate.” Ah, priorities. At least he has some. My driver is SPC Darkness. He was doing well with a fire team of his own before he mouthed off at SSG Crunchberry. He’s set for some obligatory punishment. My RTO, Private Bourbon, had a negligent discharge on the FOB. This means he accidentally fired his weapon. Fortunately no one was hurt, but the penalties for this kind of accident are understandably strict. He has been docked a rank and is working extra duty. I had to intercede on his behalf, or more specifically his wife and two children’s behalf, in order to keep him from losing a week of pay as well. It’s hard enough to support one person on his salary, let alone four. Additionally, he is now serving as SSG Lark’s driver. A pity, since he was really starting to like being RTO. The RTO is a Radio Telephone Operator, my link to the company when I’m on the ground. He carries a radio on his back and walks with me, listening for whenever the commander calls to give orders or request a report. He is easily located by his large antenna. Nice target. I’ve been selfishly hoping that the insurgents never figured out that they should probably aim at the guy BESIDE the big radio, not the guy carrying it.
SSG Regulator is no longer allowed to command a Bradley because he made too much of a fuss in front of the commander that the vehicles weren’t properly configured for combat. When he announced that he would not use it in combat, as it was that unsafe, they removed him from the vehicles. So he is now a dismount squad leader, which is an adventure for everyone. This is maybe the first time in his ten year infantry career that he has been dedicated to the ground. He has two excellent team leaders, including SGT Skizz, so we know he’s in good hands. SSG Chase is now the mounted section leader. He hates it. He spent months trying to get onto the ground, and now circumstances have forced him right back to the vehicles. Of course, given the rate he complained whenever we dismounted, I’m all right with him in the vehicles. Now he won’t wear me down with his constant questioning. “Why are we getting out? We can see just as well from inside the vehicles.” No, we cannot. And when we’re out, we have twenty weapons oriented towards potential enemies. We have twenty individually moving pieces that they have to contend with. When we’re mounted we have only six, and they are unwieldy at best. Deal with it. Get out and walk.
So things in Blue Platoon are new all over again. This gives us a chance to find untapped potential in our soldiers and break up the monotony. The inherent risk, dealing with soldiers who aren’t entirely familiar with their new roles, is just something that comes with the territory. The Army is at its core an adaptable organization. We are supposed to learn quickly. Letting these guys get overly familiar with their jobs only breeds complacency and professional stagnation.
I got a great package from my brother and sister-in-law again, apparently because I issued a “shout out” to them in an earlier entry. So, to Tom and Alicia: extra shout outs to you. Tell your sister’s boyfriend that those were some delicious chocolates. Man, my life can be pretty darned nice sometimes. Hard to complain (mostly because it’s a punishable offense—but seriously, I’m doing just fine).
The platoon also states our appreciation to the Congregation of St. Stephens in
My church, St. Bartholomew’s Parish, continues to pray for the platoon every service. I am forever grateful for their concern. As I wrote to my Dad, though I’m hesitant to think the Almighty ever takes sides in the insanity of men, I can’t help but think that maybe the prayers have had a hand in the ridiculous spate of good luck we’ve enjoyed. Bullets that miss by inches, grenades that drop on us but don’t explode, IEDs narrowly avoided… well, in short, keep those prayers coming. They are deeply appreciated.
Hope has been sending me little letters, and from time to time I receive a lavishly decorated package. Cut-out hearts, pictures, my favorite comics, the whole deal. Yes, I picked the right one. I thought she had been perfuming her letters until she revealed that she had been using the stationary she accidentally dumped some kind of fruit juice on. Now she is faced with a dilemma: does she perfume the next letter, risking a little tender ridicule from me, or does she not perfume it, thus sending me into a confused and panicked state when I finally see her in person and realize that she does not smell like the woman who has been writing to me? Her schoolwork is going well, and she’s almost done with her Comps project, but the schedule is stressing her a bit. She’s also looking at a trip to
Anyway, we’re finally catching a little time to relax. I never thought a ten-hour work day would seem like a vacation. But it means I have time to sleep, to write, and to catch up on the little things I need like laundry and haircuts. I was getting a bit shaggy. I’ll have to post this entry at a later date since our current internet provider jumped town a few days ago and was last seen forging passports for their new lives in
I’ve taken to a little song that my Father once sang at a hospital party (he was administrator at the time). I seem to remember him saying that it made some appearances in
“If I had the wings of an angel,
Over these prison walls I would fly.
Back to the arms of my loved ones,
For I’m weary and too young to die.”
So melodramatic. It’s not that bad. It really isn’t. The worst part is being away from my wife and family. Next comes the constant paranoia. When the shooting does start, that part really isn’t all that bad. Your adrenaline pumps and you get pretty aggressive, but that’s it. The grenades and IEDs are quick and so far have yet to injure anyone in Blue. You don’t even have time to be nervous before it’s over. I’ve developed a severe mistrust of single-occupant vehicles and large windows. I hate standing in open places. I catch myself peeking around corners on the FOB before I turn them. Not healthy. Not normal. Maybe going a bit crazy. But barring these little eccentricities, it really isn’t that bad. I have food, climate-controlled sleeping quarters, my laptop, and occasionally internet. And I am able to communicate with my loved ones from time to time. Hardly a war at all, really. Just a really violent camping trip.
I’m off to my evening meeting. Best wishes to everyone, my sincerest thanks for the letters and packages, and keep the men in Blue in your thoughts and prayers. We are a quarter of the way done.
MOSUL 23FEB09
I finally found some time to type out another journal entry. We are in the midst of extensive clearing operations as part of Operation New Hope and Blue Platoon is getting pretty worn down. I myself have slept for an aggregate 6 of the last 72 hours. I can't believe I'm even coherent. Maybe I'm not. I'll look back on this and pass final judgment. The commander has had me clearing during the day and placing barriers at night. The problem is, it's just me. I'm tasked to go with the other patrols during barrier emplacement, even though another platoon is doing the actual work. So Blue Platoon is getting some sleep. I'm not. Today is now three days long, and I've been chasing smurfs and leprechauns across
SSG Lark is asking if I'm being punished for something. Nothing that I know of. Maybe the commander just hasn't realized that he's sending me out for days at a time? Maybe he's just failed to connect the dots? I doubt it. If I am being punished, the stubborn part of me has resolved not to even let on that I'm exhausted. I won't complain to him. Bring it on, buddy. My sleep-deprived leprechaun hallucinations give me strength.
Regardless, we've had the Devil's Own Luck for the past few days.
"Bulldog 6, this is Blue 1."
"Blue 1, Bulldog 6."
"Well, you see, there's this grenade under the truck beside you. I recommend you consider moving."
"Aha. (longer and more drawn out understanding:) Aaaaahhhhaaaa. (He slowly steps into his HMMWV:) Bulldog 6 out."
The major points go to the Iraqi National Policeman who, after a minute without explosion, ran into the truck the grenade rolled under and drove it away. We didn't know what was wrong with that grenade. Maybe the pin was partially in and just required a good jostle to blow. Maybe it was just waiting for the stars to align. Or maybe, joy of joys, the idiot who threw it forgot to pull the second safety. That was still an impressive act of courage, as I see it. You should have seen his eyes when he willed himself to do it. I couldn't even stop him. I didn't believe he was doing it until he dove into the truck.
Anyway, to make a long story short, we've been very busy and very, very lucky. The next stage of the operation remains classified, of course, but more will follow once we've finished the missions. I'm going to hit a brief now and see if I'm about to enjoy day five, night four without sleep. Bring it on. The smurfs and I can handle anything.
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