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.
