Month: October 2007

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We Few, We Happy Few

Today we are in Baghdad hearing from important people that the jobs we are doing are important.  I am just trying to learn how to do it right.  All the PRT team leaders are here.  There are about 20 of us from around Iraq.   Most of the conference has been insider stuff, interesting to me but only because I need to know it.  I will not go into detail.  Suffice to say that we have big jobs to do, big enough to scare me. For probably the first time in my career I am getting (at least promised) most of the resources needed to do the job, so if I mess it up it will be my fault.

Baghdad looks different to me now.   When I got here a couple weeks ago, I though it looked dry and brown.  Now it looks green and lush.   It all depends on your point of view. Coming from green Virginia, it is indeed a desert.  Coming from dusty Anbar, it is a well watered wonderland.   It is cooler now.   The weather has changed and it is actually very pleasant most of the time.

Our complex is on the grounds of one of Saddam’s palaces and the embassy is in the palace itself.  It is a very impressive place, now cut up by us into office space.  Saddam spared no expense on his own living space and the place has interesting marble work, complex ceiling etc.  In our meeting room I feel like the old State Department worker again, thinking the big thoughts and discussing the big events.   When I have to try to do something on the ground, those discussions are sometimes useful (not always).  

We had a talk by the director general of the FS.   He thanked us for our service and listened to our complaints/comments.  He assured the group that those fat-cats currently sitting in comfortable offices will soon be asked to do their part.   (And gentlemen in England now-a-bed Shall think themselves accurs’d they were not here, And hold their manhoods cheap…sorry it just seemed appropriate)   State Department has up till now managed to staff its Iraq positions with volunteers, but it is getting harder.   There are only 6500 Foreign Service generalists and the director says that 20% of us have already been to Iraq or Afghanistan.   Neverthelesss, some of the people who volunteer do not have the needed skills and some of the people with the needed skills do not volunteer and since there are no very many of us in general, staffing is an issue.

We are becoming an expeditionary service.  I am not sure I like the idea of an expeditionary FS.  I came to Iraq for a variety of reasons.   The choice made sense to me.  I would not have made the same choice when my kids were younger.  Others make different choices.  This is where my particular skills are currently best employed and I am proud to serve here, but it is very possible for someone to be doing more for our great country elsewhere.  A diplomat who has become expert in Germany, France or Japan may better employ his skills in those pleasant places than in the deserts of Anbar.  (he which hath no stomach to this fight,  Let him depart) Some pleasant jobs are also very demanding and important. There is no virtue in making him come here out of some fairness principle or promoting him slower even if he shows real accomplishments.   Most of my colleagues in Iraq disagree, but what does “fair” mean?  Is it fair to get promoted just for living in a hardship?  The fact that I can withstand desiccating winds does not by itself indicate competence.  I think it should matter what you do, not where you were.   Having actually withstood those desiccating winds, even for the short time, I can say that w/o fear of being marked as a malingerer or a mollycoddle, but I think it is true.   But how does State staff these positions when we few, we happy few (be he ne’er so vile, This day shall gentle his condition) are used up?

There may soon be much wailing and gnashing of teeth in Foggy Bottom. 

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Embrace the Suck

You never know where you will end up or when if you travel helicopter in Iraq.   I had a 745 show time to go to Baghdad.  I was manifest on the impressive sounding “Invincible”.  After waiting around 1.5 hours, they called us forward to write our destinations with marker on our left hands.  You do not have tickets and nobody can hear over the sound of the rotors.  This is a good system.

When they call the flight, everybody goes outside and waits for a bus that drives around 200 meters down the tarmac where you line up and wait another hour or so. In back of me stood an Iraqi with two black garbage bags for luggage (his story later).  Our flight came and we flew to TQ.  It has a rather longer name, but I do not remember.  We flew along the Euphrates, very pretty.  It is a clear aquamarine color.  I expected it to look browner, like the Mississippi. 

We manifested in TQ learning the show time for the connecting flight was 2215.   You see in the picture the waiting room.  On the plus side, TQ has a nice chow hall, which like everything else is run by South Asians employed by Kellog, Brown & Root – KBR (more on that later).  They had prime rib and it was good.

Anyway, you hang out.  It kinda sucks, but it is not really that bad if you take the Marines’ advice and “embrace the suck”.  There is time to think, time to read, time to write and time to nap. 

The key to embracing the suck is to live in the present wherever you are. It is Zen-like – the eternal present.  We live in a communal society over here, so it really matters little where you are.  Everybody has the same stuff and you carry as little as possible because you have to carry it yourself. You do not need much, because everyplace you go you can get something to eat and a place to sleep.   Once you have embraced the situation, things are fine.

BTW – I finally got to Baghdad around 230.  The can they assigned me was very small and the bed uncomfortable, but since I arrived in the proper state of mind…I can embrace it.

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Big John the Translator

The Iraqi guy I mentioned in the post below was a translator who worked for us in a nearby city.  In his garbage-bag luggage were gifts for his wife and children.  He was going to visit them.  When we landed at TQ, we had to walk around 400 meters over the dirt.   His bags looked heavy (and they were) so I helped him carry them and we got to talking.

Ironically, he called himself John.  That was not his given name, but evidently Americans found it hard to pronounce his real name, so he took the expedient of using one that was easier for the Anglophone tongue.   I told him that I did the same with my name for a similarly prosaic reason.   My father mispronounced our family name with a hard “a”, but since the toy company Mattel was better known than we were and was pronounced with a soft a,  the current generation has chosen to go with the majority.  (I thought about naming my kids Barbie and Ken, but that was just silly.  Of course, now I have to explain that I am not responsible for the lead paint in Mattel toys imported from China.) I will not include John’s real name or picture for reasons you will shortly understand.

I asked him how things were for him and he told me that they were bad. Terrorists figured out that he worked for us.  They shot his father (who survived the attack) and shot at his house.  Fortunately, his wife and four kids were not at home.  They have since moved to their native village, where the local people protect them from the bad guys as best they can and it is easy to spot outsiders like the terrorists.  It is like the witness protection program.

John’s family had been reasonably well off.  They own a date farm (orchard?).  John told me all about dates and date palms. It was a lot like Bubba telling Forest Gump about shrimp, but I was interested.  I will not repeat it all.  Date palms can live 200 years and they have a special cultural value in Iraq.  According to John, dates are good for almost everything.

He hopes to take his family to the U.S.  Our lawmakers, in their wisdom and compassion, are making it possible for those are threatened because of their work with us to get green cards.  I wondered about the pain he must feel leaving Iraq.   He had spoken with such passion about his home and date palms there. 

Leaving is not really his plan.  John wants to get his family safe in the U.S. and then he wants to come back to Iraq to carry on the fight working, again, as a translator for the U.S.  What you have here is an honorable man who loves trees.   How much better can it be?   I will make it my businesses to make sure my State Department colleagues treat him fairly when the time comes.

I left John at the landing zone in Baghdad.  He will catch a taxi to his home.  He knows the dispatcher, who will give him a reliable driver and he told me that he thinks he will be safe.   Terrorist used to beset the road.   They mostly just robbed people, but sometimes they killed if they were feeling nasty.  The coalition surge had chased them away in any case and now the Iraqi police were doing a better job of patrolling.  We sometimes forget how secure our lives are.

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Get a Life

The great Ronald Reagan said he heard that hard work never killed anybody, but that he wasn’t taking any chances.   Reagan was expressing in his amiable way a truth that anybody who studies work knows.  After working a while, your efficiency drops.  You face diminishing returns.  My guess is that something around nine hours is good.  You can and sometimes must work longer hours needs be, but it is unsustainable.  Workaholics should get a life. 

Around here this wisdom does not apply.  Even if you didn’t want to work, there is just no place to go or anything else to do.   You see my “can” in the picture.   I am lucky enough to have an end unit, but it is not a place to relax.  My view consists of the latrines and a big tank that says “non-potable”. 

I have started to run again and I can go outside the gate, but there is not much to see.  I have found a few lonely eucalyptus trees.  I try to run by them more than once.  I also have a Eucalyptus tree near my office.  Birds have returned to it in the last couple of days and they are active at dawn and dusk.  (During the day, during the summer, Icarus like, they might just catch fire in the hot sun.)  There is just no reason to go home.   So we don’t.  You can find people at work anytime.  You can schedule meetings for Sunday morning or Saturday night secure in the belief that people will show up and probably be grateful for the diversion.  The office is nicer than the can.

The Marines have a ferocious work ethic and an unrelenting positive attitude.  I do not think they need to sleep at all.  The Colonel is working when I get here in the morning at around 8.   Last night I left the office at 11:45 (2345 to them) and most people were still at work just like they were the rest of the day.

Nighttime is just a brief interlude, just a time to sleep.  Not a time to go home.

Adapting, I am.  I have carved out time for running and time for blogging.  I am going to carve out time for reading books.  I am desperately seeking a routine.  When I get one, I figure I will be less inclined to gripe.  Today I went out and sat under one of my eucalyptus trees, across from the portable toilets to enjoy my moment of Zen.  As I let the rest of the world go by – trucks, helicopters and men going into the green plastic outhouses* – onto my I-pod came “Rhapsody on a Theme by Paganini” by Rachmaninoff.  If you saw the movie “Groundhog Day” you know this music.   It is a calm and urbane.   The soundtrack did not go with this particular scene, but my experience here is reminiscent of the “Groundhog Day” theme.
 

* I have learned that the best time to use the green port-a-potties is around 10 am.   The cleaning crew comes out and washes them down, so you get that daisy fresh atmosphere.  Of course, after dark is also a desirable time, since what you cannot see bothers you less.

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Drinking Tea with the Sheik in Hit

We went to the compound of the leading Sheik near city of Hit on the Euphrates to meet with the sheik & the town mayor.    You can see me above on the way in.  This landscape may look a little on the bleak side to you, but to me it is a green paradise.  On the ride in, I could see the Euphrates.  It is like a green ribbon laid across an eternity of brown sand.

The Sheik is a young man of around 30.  He unexpectedly inherited the leadership of the Albu Nimr tribe, which has around 200,000 members living along the Euphrates.  It is sort of his first post.  State colleagues will know what I mean.  His uncle was a wise old man.  He needs some medical treatment in the U.S. and my task is to make sure he has no visa troubles.  The Nimr are good guys.  They are fighting Al Qaeda and the criminal gangs of insurgents. 

We were treated to coffee and tea.  The coffee was extremely strong and thick.  They give you a little cup with almost none in it, but that is enough.  If you do not want a refill, you have to shake the cup.  You do not want a refill.  Tea tastes like sweet tea and is not bad.  They have a funny custom.  People sit around the room on built in couches.  When somebody else comes in, he goes around and meets everybody.  It seems unorganized, but evidently personal acknowledgement is very important.  Not everybody comes in at the same time.  At first only a few are there.  Then more come in until there is a big crowd.  Everybody is friendly and polite.

We conducted or tried to conduct some business, talking about contracts & projects and then it was time for lunch. 

The meal is a big deal in local culture.  They bring in all the food on big platters and everybody eats with their hands.   The pita style bread is very good.   We also had chicken, lamb, rice, vegetables and some kind of boney fish from the river.  The food was very good.  The same thing goes for the food as for the general meeting. At first, I was just us and a few local guys.  Then more and more of them wandered in.  They would come by, suggest a piece of food, make some small talk and move along.   When we left, a bunch of people descended on the table.  I guess they have to wait and get the scraps.

We had to eat and run because the helicopters were coming.   I will never learn to love helicopter travel.   As you approach, you are fried by the hot air from the exhaust.  It is noisy and slippery.  That said, this was a not a bad helicopter.  I am not sure what kind it was.  Somebody told me it was a Chinook.

We do most of our traveling by helicopter.  Regulations require full kit for the ride.  I do not like it.  Those jackets weigh a lot.  I figure in the event of an actual crash, it would be more dangerous to be crashing with 50lbs of metal strapped to you.  If you crashed in water … I am sitting next to the colonel.  You notice they do not give me a weapon.  The colonel is a great guy and we are getting along very well.  The Marines seem to understand the local tribes.  The tribes are very martial.   One of the complaints the Sheik made  was that there were not enough places in the military for all their young men who wanted to join up.  Desert people are like that.  They are admirable in that respect.   They may be less inclined toward the prosaic arts required for peaceful prosperity.  I can anticipate some frustration in doing business here.  Some of these guys do not appear to own a watch.  I have 360 days to do my job and I keep on thinking Kipling.

“And the end of the fight is a tombstone white with the name of the late deceased, And the epitaph drear:  “A Fool lies here who tried to hustle the East.”

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An Uneventful, but Full Day in Al Asad

Today I did not go anywhere.  Travel is arduous, so I am glad to stick  around.   It was not a nice day, however.  It was a bit humid AND dusty.  I kinda thought those two things would not go together.  We are also getting some bugs and, although I have not yet seen any,  it is snake & scorpion season.  Evidently in summer it gets too hot even for those nasty cold-blooded creatures.  So now with the advent of the cool (the term is relative) weather, they begin to slither or crawl around more energetically.

I had my medical briefing.  The doctor wondered how I could have left the U.S. w/o all the shots.  He was also surprised at my relative lack of medical history.  I told him that my father had been to the doctor in 1945, the early 1970s and when he died a quarter century later.  I am not sure that last one counts, seeing as he was already dead.  Anyway, that was enough for him. I had already been much more often.  I had to get an anthrax shot today.  It stings for about ten minutes.  I have to get three more.    I also need tetanus, smallpox and yellow fever.   The doctor says those things are not really around here very much, but it is a requirement.  He warned about the scorpions, however.  Three of the local species can be deadly.  They are rarely really a problem, he says.  Just a nuisance.  In our “cans” they are not found.  I guess they eradicate them periodically.  I do not feel sorry for them.

Marine culture is interesting, very different from State Dept but I find much to admire.  They have lots of meetings, but people are very well prepared and nobody wanders off topic.  They are also very aggressive and they DO seem to believe all that stuff they talk about.  When they are attacked, they respond.  I can see how it can cause trouble in some PC circles.  If a Marine gets killed or even shot at, they all want to go out and catch the bad guys.

The Marines treat me with respect.  I think I am doing okay with them, but we are very different in our worldviews. My tolerance of ambiguity is something strange among them.  They like plans and they like to make specific progress against those plans.  But, they seem to recognize my particular skills and the need for some ambiguity in what we are planning.  They are coming around and talking to me one-on-one.  I guess it is the same for me.  I recognize the need for their skills and outlook.  I think we can work together well.  I got some mileage for being physically fit, not as good as they are of course, but they can recognize it. It is really a big deal for them.

One guy told me that the way they see it Marines are carnivores and State Department is made up of vegetarians.  I do not want to eat nothing but red meat, but I want to show I am not a “tofudobeast” either.

I talked to the base commander.  Everybody assumes he will make general after this, and he deserves it.  I told him that my job was to make his job easier in development, public diplomacy and peace building.  He liked that.  We agreed on almost all the priorities.  The thing I like about the Marines is that they are very truthful – maybe blunt.   I used to think I was like that, but now I see I am not.  He showed me all the operations on a big map.  He knows it all in great detail. He was proud of what his Marines had accomplished and it is a grand accomplishment.  The new strategy worked.  They take the ground and then they send some Marines to go live there and hold it.  After that comes the building stage, where I hope to make contributions. Conditions at these forward bases are atrocious.  The Marines consider our situation at Al Asad the height of luxury, and I guess it is.  We have AC and hot food.  At these little forward bases, the snakes and scorpions are not eradicated.

Speaking of luxury, I moved into my predecessor’s can.  It is a double wide, literally twice as big. I like to have a little extra space, but that was not a big problem for me before.  What I miss is being able to go out among the trees, even things like sitting on the deck and enjoying the green.  It is also noisy all the time.  Helicopters fly around.   We have the sound and smell of generators.  Trucks roll by.  I am adapting.  The conditions are bad, but the work is good. 

Now comes the time of paperwork and bureaucracy.  I have a bunch of projects to approve, or not.  I can approve up to $25K.  After that, up to $200K we need to have Baghdad approve.  In some of the projects I am afraid that we are getting ripped off.  I really do not mind if that is a cost of doing local business and influencing people,  but I do not want us to be seen as weak or stupid negotiators.  I am asking to go back and get better deals.  I think that will cause of bit of consternation among our guys, but I think we will get more respect from the locals if we do it AND we will get a better deal for the taxpayer.  Nobody likes a cheapskate, but nobody respects a wimp.  I think we have to play the local negotiation game.  That is why we have local specialist and making sure it gets done is where I add value. 

I am also trying to get alternative energy considered.  When we do local power generation, I always ask about solar.   The sun stares unremittingly on this land anyway and shines the most when people want air conditioning; we may as well make some that hot light into electricity.   I think it will work. Even in this land of hydrocarbon, actually getting fuel to remote places is difficult and expensive.  Solar works here.  I hope to make it work more. 

Although riding in helicopters is more dramatic, I have to admit that I have more of the pencil necked bureaucrat than the warrior in me, a talker, not a fighter.  My sort is needed here too.

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Iftar in Haditha

These are some of the Iftar guests waiting to hear the after dinner talk.  Sorry for the blur. I have to work on my camera settings.

 It was a long helicopter ride to Haditha.  We had the show time of 11.  Then we had to wait in the sun for a long time.  Then we had to land and refuel.  Then we flew I do not know where.  The bottom line is that the half hour trip took about 3 hours.

We were going for an Iftar dinner, but since I had a few hours before the event, we went to the CMOC, the place where the Marines interface with the local people.  Since it was Tuesday, they were open for business.  Movement in the city is still controlled and the Marines issue driving permits.  It is a very good way to get to know the people and get a handle on the population.  Unfortunately, it is “good” in the way a visa line is good.  People come, but waiting in line for hours is not their idea of a positive experience.  How popular is the DMV back home?  For now the process provides valuable security protection, but we need to get out of this business quick as we can.  You do not win friends by creating backlogs.

There must have been a couple hundred Iraqi men waiting in line.  Many were dressed in various traditional costumes.   The balance had on something like polo shirts.  They were very patient.  To the apparent surprise of my translator, I decide to work the line.  My translator assured me that no good could come from this, since they would not tell me the truth, but I figured I could learn something from what they said anyway.  Most told me that the security situation had improved.  About that they were happy.  But the restrictions and bureaucratic procedures were starting to pinch.  One guy claimed he delivered cooking gas and had to cross the bridge.  He needed a permit and he complained that he had to renew that permit each week, standing hours in line each time.  He had a point.  Other people just did not like the procedure.  Some figured that they were important people and should not have to put up with such trouble.  I suppose they had a point too.  One guy, who insisted on speaking English but was really hard to understand, told me he was a Turkoman who had fled the city of Kirkuk.  He was not fond of the Kurds and evidently they felt the same way about him, hence his unexpected sojourn in Syria, where he was treated poorly too, and ultimate settlement in Anbar.  He offered the unsolicited advice that I should never eat any food in the south of Iraq because it would give me diarrhea.   Let’s hope he doesn’t end up there should he fall out with the Anbari.

Dressed as I was in my wrinkle free blue Brooks Brothers shirt and civilian clothes (I made a special point of being “civilian”), I am not sure the people in the line knew what to make of me.   Of course I doubt anybody told me the whole truth, but their words had the feel of “truthyness”, as Stephen Colbert says.   I do not know if the smiles were sincere, but the grumbling was real – and justified.   I am sure they also felt a lot of anger, which they did not express to me.  In their place, I sure would have felt that way. 

After a while I realized that they thought I could solve some of their problems.  I felt bad for creating the false hope so I retreated inside.  I am a great believer in eliminating the petty annoyances that plague ordinary people’s lives and  I am trying to think of suggestions to ameliorate the situation, but it really cannot be fixed.  The Marines were working hard & treating the people with respect.  The Iraqi police, who were doing the initial screening, seemed polite.  When it is not Ramadan one of the Iraqi employees told me that they provide water, but there is only so much you can do with something like this.  We need to eliminate the whole thing.  The Catch 22 is that we cannot do that until the situation is more “normal” but such daily annoyances are among the things that make it abnormal.

Iftars start at sundown, so we started up to the police HQ around 5:30.  This are used to be a youth center and sports complex.  There was a soccer field with bleachers.  It looked like an ordinary soccer field, except there was no grass.  One of the guys explained to me that it would not be worth the water to grow grass and that Iraqis were accustomed to these kinds of surfaces anyway.  I suppose it is like playing tennis on a clay court – a dusty clay court.

We went through Iraqi security and then Marine security and got to a big lecture hall where the Iftar meal was to be held.  The local civil authorities and sheiks started to arrive.   The most important was a very old and frail looking guy who chain smoked.  He was very old, but despite the nasty habit was in good health.  He still has a strong handshake and I could see and feel the politician in him even in the twilight years.  He had decided that it was in the best interests of his people to go with America.  He was right and we were grateful.  I then met some of the younger guys.  When they shake hands, they do a type of shoulder bump.  I had seen it before and even practiced it, but they noticed my inexperience.  One of them told me that I would get better as I spent more time in Iraq.

The mayor of Haditha was the official host.  When I talked to him, it was clear he was interested in the good of his people.  He said that schools were most urgent.  They had school buildings, but were lacking desks, supplies and often windows.  There is also a shortage of trained teachers.  Iraqis had once been among the most educated people in the Arab world, but Saddam was not much interested in it, especially in the later years.  The government would sometimes make a PR point of opening a new school, but they did maintain the ones they had.  Education was a kind of Potemkin village in Iraq.   

The mayor of neighboring Barwana said very similar things.   He was a friendly younger guy.  He said he could understand English, but not speak it.   I am inclined to believe he was telling the truth.  He seemed to know what I said before the translation came in. 

Power for both cities comes from the Haditha Dam, which impounds the water of the Euphrates. The dam is running at capacity, but that capacity is low.  This country has lots of potential.  It has come a long way and there is a lot of work to do, but I think it can make it this time, God willing.

I spoke to the colonel of the Marines who is scheduled to take over command in Haditha.   He had been in Falujah during the intense fighting there a couple years ago.  He told me that the change in Al Anbar is unbelievable.   When he was here last time, he thought that we had essentially lost and that all that was left was the recognition.  Today things are going in our direction and peace is possible.

This was a good visit.  People were friendly and seemed ready to cooperate. My only fear is that we ( and I) will not be able to live up to expectations.  There is a lot to do here and it is hard to get things done.   The flight back was uneventful.  I still do not like helicopter rides at night, however.

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River City Charlie

That is the term when private communications on the base – phone & Internet – are shut down.  When I saw the message on my office computer, I knew that it usually lasts 12-48 hours and usually it means that someone has been killed.  That is what it means this time.  I do not know other details, but I know someone died in Al Qaim.  Communications will be restored when the military has notified the next of kin.  If you are reading this communications are open again because the loved ones know that they have lost a son, daughter, husband or wife.   

Although I was in Al Qaim the day before yesterday, I doubt if I met the guy who died.  Still I feel a profound sadness.  I remember the young faces and the energy of all the Marines I met and talked with.   They are the ages of my kids.  It is more personal now.  The Marines take it hard when any of their own is killed.  I cannot feel their sense of family but even in my very short time here I begin to feel closer now that I have slept next to their cots, heard their stories, and rode with them in helicopters & humvees.  

The Marines never forget.  They set a place in the chow halls for the missing and I have observed how they treat these places with reverence.  Next to my office stands a helmet on a rifle hung with dog-tags of the fallen.  The Marines have a strong culture that can be very hard for a career civilian like me to understand.  They never forget, but they go on.  They never forget, but they do not dwell on the loss.  They take it personally, however. 

River City Charlie is becoming less common here in western Al Anbar.  I am grateful for that.  I am starting to take it personally too.  Like the Marines I live with, I want to get this job done and I want all of us to come home safely.

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Helicopter Rides are More Fun in the Daylight

 This is the last one for today.  There are two more new entries below. 

We flew from Asad to Al Qaim, which is up river near the Syrian border.  I am much happier today because I see some real progress and places where we can do some good.

I met with the colonel of the Marines in Al Qaim.   In one hour I learned more about a successful counter insurgency than I learned in years.  I will not go into details but he explained you have to clear, hold and build.  A couple years ago, we were hunkered down on big bases.   The insurgents were intimidating the local population.  Things were bad.  The insurgents and Al Qaida, however, managed to annoy the the local people.  One of the big tribes, the Abu Mahal, decided they had enough and started to fight back.   Unfortunately others sat on the fence.  The insurgents were better armed and they were winning. 

Then the tribal leaders asked the Marines for help.  Together they pushed the bad guys out.  Success lead to confidence; more tribes joined in.  Young men started to join the police and Iraqi army.  Pretty soon the bad guys were in the desert eating dirt, with snakes & scorpions their only friends.  Although they can still cause damage, make life unpleasant & dangerous sometimes and fire the odd angry shot, they have not had the initiative since.  The colonel showed me a map of how it had played out. The colors changed.  It is the ink blot idea of spreading security, each month, more territory in the hands of friends.  The Marines are working with local Iraqi army units and police and soon they can give some of the places entirely back to them.  They can defend those places and some of our Marines can come home.

We are in the building stage now.  The Marines, Army Corp of Engineers and Seabees are helping put things in order.  So are members of my PRT.  I am proud of the work they have done and what I will (I hope) do.

We met the mayor of the region.  He was very smart and friendly.  You can see him and his guys, along with the colonel and my predecessor.  I was impressed by their level of professional competence as well as their obvious affection for the colonel.  The mayor hopes to visit him in California and their daughters are pen pals.

We flew back that afternoon.  The ride was uneventful except when they shot off some flares.  I heard pop-pop-pop and thought it was shooting – at us.  Just flairs shot off by the flight crew.  As for the ride, take a look at the picture up top, which is worth 1000 of my words.  There I am below.  Sorry for the blur.

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My First Chopper Ride

Sorry to dump several in one day, but I have not had access to Internet for awhile.  

Riding in a helicopter is something that is more fun in theory than in fact.  It might have been a lot of fun to fly during the day, but we do the night.  I could see the lights of Baghdad, but not much after that.

 I understand that it was a CH 46.  That means nothing much to me.  It looked like a bus with two rotors and the old Greyhound Bus feeling was there.   I got the windy seat and it was like sitting in a tornado because the wind kind of swirled at high speeds with my head as the vortex.  For a minute it was exhilarating – a minute.

We flew through the night and landed in what would be a grassy field back home.  Here it seemed to be mostly sand and gravel.  I really am not sure, since I could not see in the darkness.  The crew chief pointing to six of us and said, “You guys get off.”  We did.  He took pity on our confusion and told us with what sounded like just a hint of condescension, go toward those lights.  A couple of guys were coming toward us with those glow stick.  At least we assumed that, since we saw only floating glow sticks.

They were escorts. We followed them, me dragging my luggage, the wheels working imperfectly on the gravel/sand, with body amour and my backpack.  My advise to self and others is lighter travel.

We got to a plywood and steel building and checked in.  Then we were sent to a canvas Quonset hut where we waited.  We were a mixed lot: a blogger doing embedded reporting, a female Air Force Captain, a Marine going to a forward operating base (FOB) and some strange guy who seemed interested in hearing what I was doing, but would say only that he was “passing through the territory” when I returned questions.  Looked like a journalist.

The glow stick guys returned.  We lined up and waited in a parking lot. Then we went back in the field, where we lined up the middle of nowhere again.  The glow stick guy dropped a glow stick and told us to wait.   As my eyes got adjusted to the darkness, I noticed other groups of sojourners, standing silently like apparitions in the dark.  I also noticed stars, so I laid down on my body amour to appreciate them.  A short time later a helicopter came and picked up one of the groups of apparitions.   It made a cloud of dust, which drizzled out on me and got in my eyes.  I did not lay back down, as I came to fear that something might be crawling across the sand and it probably had a poisonous sting or bite.  Probably not, but such things scare me.  I saw some of those giant scorpions on Discovery Channel.  I hope never to meet them in person.

Finally our ride came.  It was a different kind of machine.  I ask the guy in back of me what kind it was.  I think he told me, but I could not hear over the din of the engines.  We took off.  The back is open.  I could see the darker silhouette of the tail gunner against the dark sky and not much else.  We traveled for a while and then landed.  People got off, so I did too.  The helicopter left, blasting us all with sand and dust.  Then I found out that I was in the wrong place.  The helicopter made a stop at Haditha FOB.   The Marines promised to take care of me, and they did.  I had a chance to see the conditions of a FOB.  They are harsh.