MOSUL 29DEC08

We’re here. In the early morning of 28DEC08, Blue Platoon completed manifest and got on the buses to our Kuwaiti airstrip, boarded a C-17, and flew to LSA Diamondback (Mosul) which borders our current home, FOB Mirez. Stepping off of the plane was a slightly surreal moment; the first sight was the weeping willow-esque trees surrounding the airfield, and behind that was a clear view of the city of Mosul. Game on. We’re finally in a place where a lot of people actively are trying to kill us. The XO told us not to be surprised if we received indirect fire en route to Mirez, as the FOB has received mortar fire for three of the last seven days he was here (one conspicuously close to the place I’m currently living). Nothing yet, but I’m waiting with almost gleeful anticipation. Come on. Lob one at me. Let’s see who gets the honor of trying to kill me first.

All in all, the threat from indirect fire is minimal. It isn’t like an artillery barrage. Some bad guys are just trying to pop a few rounds at the FOB to see if they get lucky, and the atmosphere here is one of minor annoyance. Short of locating and eliminating the mortar team, there isn’t much you can really do about it; we’re already bunkered down surrounded by concrete and sandbags. It would take a direct hit to actually kill you, unless you happened to be walking in the open at that moment, so the general opinion is, “Well, all right. Either you get hit or you don’t.” And the odds of you—individually—getting hit are astronomically high, so we aren’t too concerned.

The city is very, very big. 1.8 million people live in Mosul, and it shows. It’s not New York City big, granted, but it would take the entire US Army to occupy and hold an insurgent NYC. We have a brigade for this one. This isn’t counting the multiple brigades of Iraqi forces stationed here; taken in tandem, we constitute maybe two divisions. Gunfire is a constant background noise, helicopters are circling the city around the clock, and it all feels very real. I’m having a hard time convincing myself that this is just like training. No, this is clearly the real thing.

We haven’t rolled outside of the wire on our first patrol yet, since our CO hasn’t arrived from the additional training he’s been tasked to receive. We’re essentially grounded on the FOB for the next few days. This is pretty beneficial for us, actually, as it forces us to get all of the final maintenance and administrative details out of the way first. Left to our own devises we would be outside immediately. We’re all eager to get out there and see our new battle space, meet the people we’re going to work with, and get this show on the road. After the two years and multiple millions the Army has spent on my training, I know that at some level I’ll feel fundamentally relieved after my first patrol: they’re finally going to get some payoff on their investment. And, most of all, I want to start learning first-hand. The curve will be steep, certainly, but I’m betting that I’ll begin to see things differently and learn tactics, techniques, and procedures that never really made sense in training. It takes nine months for a fertilized egg to develop into an autonomous human baby; what will twelve months of Mosul do to all of us?

Regrettably, SPC Ladies’ Man’s paperwork didn’t come through on Christmas Day. So I didn’t get to reenlist him as Santa Clause. He’s adapted, though, and now wants me to conduct the ceremony in one of the frilly, lacy shirts the locals tend to wear. I’ve decided to humor his request. Now he just needs to get those documents in order. SSG Lark is a little on edge right now. Part of this may be the fact that circumstances have forced us to temporarily share a Containerized Housing Unit (CHU), a little container that would be cramped for one person. Combine that with his OCD and we get a potentially explosive situation. But most of the stress is Mosul. It’s big, it’s busy, and we’re still not entirely sure what or where we’ll be operating. I’ve gotten a good tentative outline of my area over the course of the day. Currently my neighborhoods are relatively safe, but they were a hotspot of insurgency only a few months ago, so we’re going to find out pretty quickly if the progress was permanent or not. Additionally, with the Iraqi elections so close at hand, the new Status of Forces Agreement (SOFA) that limits our role in theater, and the rumor that some of the Iraqi National Police units may be forced to stand down, the city is sitting on thumb-tacks. It could get very volatile, very soon.

There isn’t much to report, otherwise. Most of the time over the last few days was spent in transit, waiting for transit, and unpacking equipment. The food at the DFAC is excellent. I mean truly excellent. Whatever I’ve said about KBR—which I continue to stand by with few exceptions—they can keep the cooks here. The walk to chow is a bit ridiculous, but definitely worth it. I also finally have an address:

NAME (with rank)

UNIT

FOB Mirez

APO AE 09334

Yes, I know. Silly anonymity. If you don’t know my unit, contact Hope or my family. If you don’t know my name, then you probably shouldn’t be reading this, let alone mailing me stuff.

That’s all I have to report for now. We’re here, we’re very eager, and we’re grounded for a few more days. Shouldn’t be too exciting. I’ll update this as soon as I can find internet; we’re not really moved into our final CHUs, so we don’t have internet access yet. But soon. And then I’ll start updating the journal directly, as opposed to writing it on my laptop and then wandering until I can find a terminal with a connection. But days one and two are complete. 300-something more to go.